Italian Interlude Evelyn Trimborn
Handsome sculptor Mason York meets beautiful art historian Sibylla Monroe on his whirlwind cultural tour of Florence and Venice. Both have had difficult relationships in the past; the last thing they are looking for is love.
Yet as the romance of Italy takes over, they find it increasingly difficult to resist their mesmerizing attraction for one another, however much their common sense tells them they are too different to ever have a future together.
What seems a small lie to Mason causes Sibylla's whole dream to come crashing down around her. Mason lives in a world she knows nothing of-one of power and prestige. How can she ever be happy in his world? But how can she be happy without the compelling man who has captured her heart?
Mason and Sibylla must decide if their love is a mere Italian interlude, or the kind of passion that comes along once in a lifetime, and lasts forever.
He leaned across to kiss her lightly on the lips, stroking her cheek with one gentle finger. "There's a very suggestive rhythm in the lines ot that poem too. 'And how very blessed I have been in discovering thee.'"
She felt herself going as red as her hair, but could not look away from his glowing eyes, which were now a rich deep green like jade.
She reached out one hand to touch his cheek, so perfect, so hard, but to the touch so warm, soft and vibrant.
"I feel blessed too," she whispered, bringing her lips within a breath of his own.
He blinked and smiled. "Really? You mean you don't hate me for your aching leg muscles and blisters?"
"Not at all. It's been wonderful so far. And there's still so much more to enjoy."
He pressed her palm to his lips. "Yes, by all means more."
Sibylla nodded, her jealousy vanishing into thin air as he looked at her with naked admiration. He had had some amazing lovely women in his life--especially his last.
But he was with her now, and thought her gorgeous. She basked in his warm regard, and kissed him on the cheek.
"That will have to do for now. We need to catch our bus."
"Yes, but I'll be catching you later for sure."
Italian Interlude
Evelyn Trimborn
Setting: Florence and Venice, Italy, Modern Day
Rating: Very Sensual
Word Count=73,400
Chapter One
"Here we see the Devil looking at the souls as they are cast down into the pit of fire," Sibylla said, indicating the figures on the Baptistry ceiling with a wave of her hand. "Most people in the medieval and Renaissance periods would have found him terrifying."
A deep voice from the group rumbled, "I think he looks like a Furby."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, I think he looks like a Furby. You do have them here in Florence, don't you?"
Sibylla was too stunned to reply, and simply nodded. She wasn't sure whether to berate the man or burst our laughing. Ever since the cute little toys had come out, she had been thinking precisely the same thing herself.
She assumed her most serious professional demeanor, and turned to face the heckler.
"To a modern person, I admit that the Devil might look a bit absurd. But in an age of faith..."
He grinned teasingly, showing even white teeth and the most gorgeous dimples. "Go on, admit it, my dear," he said in his crisp upper-class English accent. "He looks just like a Furby."
Sibylla was once again lost for words. Only this time it was because of the stunning handsomeness of the man determined to ridicule the Baptistry ceiling. He was well over six feet, dressed from head to toe in black, and had the finest features she had ever seen short of a Renaissance statue. His finely chiselled profile could have been carved out of marble had not his deep even tan indicated a vibrant, living man who spent a great deal of time outdoors.
Sybilla guess him to be a few years older than her own twenty-seven. She could see that the wrinkling around his eyes was from squinting at the sun and laughing, rather than from his chronological age. His hair was a rich dark brown with intriguing chestnut highlights. His eyes were his most arresting feature, mercurially changing from grey to green and back again as he smiled down at her.
She had stared at him so long that by the time she came to herself again, the other people on the tour had moved to the far end of the building, and were already going out the door.
"Now you've done it," she hissed. "I didn't get to finish explaining the mosaics."
"To be perfectly honest, I've saved you your breath. We only just arrived this afternoon. Even after only two hours I can already tell you they're only interested in taking a quick snap and moving on to the next place."
"And you're not?" she asked despite herself, as she saw him once again craning his neck to look up at the ceiling in the unusual octagonally shaped building.
"No, I'm not. Coming to Italy has been an aspiration for me for some time. I'm not going to let that boring bunch spoil Florence and all the beauty it has to offer." His eyes rested on her face warmly.
"I thought you had to make the best of things on a tour. Aren't you traveling with anyone special?"
He flashed her a striking smile. "If you mean a girlfriend or wife, the answer is no. I was going out with someone for a long time, but we split up last year. Now I'm doing all the things I always wanted to do that she held me back from. I only came on this tour because I wanted to come to Florence and Venice, but haven't got a word of Italian. But I'm an artist and lecturer. To just rush past all of this beauty just to head to the shops is unthinkable."
Sybilla was alarmed at the thought of him being unable to grasp the language at all. "You do know which hotel you are staying at if you get separated, don't you?"
"I'm staying at a modest pensione not far from the train station. I wanted to get the real flavor of Italy. So you needn't worry, I won't get lost."
She nodded. "Well, in that case, I see another party coming. So if you don't want to hear any of my dull tourist information, I'll leave you to enjoy the building."
He held out a hand to detain her. "No, really, I wasn't trying to be rude. I was very interested in everything you had to say. I wanted to liven the group up a bit, that's all. Try to get them going. I'm sorry it backfired. I didn't mean to chase them away. I hope you'll forgive me. I was rather rude, wasn't I?"
"No, not rude."
He peered down at her kindly from his great height. "You looked upset."
"Only because I was trying to stop my sides from splitting." She lowered her voice, whispering in a confidential tone, "I think he looks just like a Furby too."
They both stood grinning at each other wordlessly until he held out his hand. "Mason York, from England, sculptor and lecturer, at your service."
She took it and shivered with delight at the warm firm pressure of his clasp. "Sibylla Monroe, also from England, tour guide for the Baptistry and Duomo. I really must go greet to this other group, Mr. York. But if you're happy wandering around and taking it all in for a little while longer by yourself, I get a break in a few minutes. I can give you more detailed information then. That is, if you're really interested in the history."
"I am indeed. But for now I just want to sit here and absorb and admire it all at my own pace."
"I see you have a first-rate camera. Don't forget to take some good photos as well. The guidebooks are excellent, but nothing in them can do justice to the mosaics. Not to mention the doors."
He glanced at her in surprise. "Knowledgeable about art and photography as well?"
"I suppose so. Nothing special, though. I mean, I'm not creative like you are."
"I'm sure you are. What do you do for a hobby?"
She blushed. "I've tried most handicrafts, but I actually enjoy writing."
"Let me guess. Magazine articles?"
She shook her head. "No, romance novels, actually."
"It sounds fascinating."
"Er, not really," she said quickly, not wanting to discuss something so personal with a complete stranger. "Listen, I really have to go. I'll come find you in half an hour. That is, if you're still here."
"I can't think of anywhere I would rather be." He rested his hand on her shoulder for a brief moment, then went to sit down on one of the benches which had been placed in front of the small altar on one of the octagonal sides of the Baptistry.
Sibylla scurried over to the new group of tourists who had been snapping away and heading inexorably for the door marked 'Exit.'
She often felt like shaking them. It was such a magical place to her. Why was it that no one else ever seemed to see it in quite the same way she did?
Well, no one until Mason York had come in, she amended silently to herself as she put on her most cheerful smile and began to explain that the building took its name from its function.
In the olden days there had been a vast font in which all the babies born the previous year would be baptized. It had been at least twenty-five feet in diameter, and octagonally shaped, like the building itself. In Northern Italy this had been a peculiar feature of Italian buildings, octagonal domes often gracing the tops of churches and cathedrals.
But the dome in this particular case had been remarkable for its very early mosaics, from 1225. She also had to admit inwardly that the decorated dome in the Duomo itself was also fairly awe-inspring, even if only done in fresco.
So caught up in her spiel was she that handsome Mason York slis body to stare at yet another part of the ceiling.
"Your neck is going to get sore if you don't take a rest," she said quietly as she joined him on the seat.
"It's fascinating. Are you able to explain the symbolism of the saints to me? I was brought up to take religion as just another part of daily life my parents made me do, like brushing my teeth. I plead almost complete ignorance to the significance of a lot of this. I mean, not that I don't have faith. I just don't have a clear sense of how it's all supposed to fit together."
She sat down beside him, pleased to be sharing the warmth emanating from his huge body. "We can start with the simple ones, the symbols of the four evangelists. You'll see them a lot on the art of the period, and also on the bronze doors by Ghiberti which are outside. We have Matthew, Luke, Mark, and John."
"I know John is the winged eagle, because you see it on the lectern to hold the gospels."
She nodded, impressed that he even knew that much. "That's right. Then there's Matthew, a winged man who represents salvation, and Mark, the winged lion, which is of course is the symbol of Venice, and strength and power of the spirit."
"Yes, I knew that too. I'll be going to Venice at the end of the week for the New Year's celebrations."
Sibylla blinked for a moment. What an amazing coincidence. She had been planning to go there to see her old friend Steve. She continued with her explanation.
"The winged calf is Luke's symbol and represents earthly temptations. Then for the other saints, we have St Peter with a key, St John the Baptist with a lamb or the crooked staff..."
Mason listened avidly as she pointed out the pictures on the ceiling, and asked many intelligent questions about it and the whole building.
Suddenly he said, "I'm sorry. It was supposed to be your coffee break. What about a trip to the café across the piazza?"
She glanced at her watch. "To tell you the truth, my time is nearly up. In any case, if you want to see the doors before the sun sets, perhaps you'd better go outside now."
"Not trying to get rid of me, are you?" he asked quietly, an undefined spark in his mercurial eyes.
"No, of course not," she said a bit too hastily, and blushed to the roots of her hair.
"I'm sorry. That was a bit forward of me."
She stood up to distance herself from his mesmerizing presence. She couldn't believe she had been sitting so close to him, their knees almost touching...
Then she shrugged. "No, not at all. I love discussing the building. I just thought that you being a sculptor, you would really like to see the Ghiberti bronzes."
"Can't you come with me and tell me all about them?"
She looked around. The Baptistry wasn't exactly teeming with people and she was pretty much her own boss and could do as she liked.
"Well, I'm supposed to stay inside, but I could do with a breath of fresh air. In any case, it saves you the trouble of having to try to read the guidebook at the same time that you look at the doors to figure out all of the panels when the sun is going down."
She went to fetch her coat and scarf from the small staff office, which she shut and locked. After wrapping up warmly, she headed to the exit.
She noted with dismay that all of the tourists who had just left had simply walked out of the building without a glance at the doors.
She and Mason exchanged looks of bemusement.
"They don't know what they're missing."
"Their loss, my gain. I get a personal tour." He flashed her another one of his devastating smiles, so warm it was starting to melt even her usual frosty manner with men. Especially large, powerful men....
She forced her thoughts away from that dark abyss of despair and concentrated on her job. She could recite the usual highlights for him and flee, but there was something about his earnest gaze as he put his nose almost up to the doors that made her relent and give him all that he seemed to long to learn.
So she began to detail the stories from the Bible, from Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, through to Christ Crucified and Risen.
"My goodness, look at that donkey, the detail. The workmanship. To think of all the work casting such a magnificent bronze. It's astounding," Mason marveled.
"Yes. I'm really fond of him as well. He looks so irritated by the whole thing, doesn't he?"
He laughed heartily at that. "A humble donkey on a global stage."
"A bit like in Shrek," she said, giggling.
He laughed even harder at that. "Nothing humble about that donkey," he said, picking up the reference at once.
They came to the panel of the Four Evangelists, and Mason correctly identified each one of them.
"Excellent. You're a fast study."
"I have a good teacher," he said with a wink.
Sibylla found herself enjoying Mason's company more and more the longer they spent together. For once in her life she felt like the most fascinating person in the world, not some sideshow freak.
Her mother had always told her that her brains were a turn-off for most men, to which she had always replied, she didn't want just any man, she wanted someone special.
At the same time, though, when she had turned twenty-seven a couple of months before, and had found herself alone after the break up of her five-year relationship to an Italian businessman, she had started wondering more and more if there might not have been a grain of truth in what her mother had said.
Gianni had thought her too modern and independent. True, there were certain expectations which many Italian women still had to fulfil regarding the home and the family. While they had never got around to the marriage and children part, she had tried to be an excellent cook and homemaker, a good partner.
She shuddered. His notion of good. Certainly not hers.
She had had to struggle to go out to work even part-time at the museum of the Duomo. At least she had had money and a job to fall back on when Gianni had said his mother though it high time he settled down with a proper Italian girl from a good family. She had been so relieved after the horrors of the previous five years she had never looked back.
She'd toyed with the idea of going back to England after the break-up. But she had been in Italy so long, ever since she'd been a student, that it had seemed like a defeat. Like the past eight years of her life had been wasted. She wasn't going to go back to England unless she had something really promising to go back to.
"I said, are you thirsty?"
"Oh, sorry." Damn, and she had told herself she was not going to think about all that and spoil her day...
"You were miles away. Care to share?"
She shook her head vehemently.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.
"You're not prying. Besides, you told me all about yourself, your personal life."
He looked around, realizing with a start that they were alone. He grew unaccountably shy, but didn't want to relinquish her company.
"Well, as much as I would love to hear more about you, this wind is getting a bit biting, and it's starting to flurry. Do you want to come for a quick drink, or not?"
She wondered at the wisdom of accepting. Plenty of men tried to invite her, holiday fling and all that, but she made it a rule always to say no.
On the other hand, she couldn't remember the last time she had met someone she could chat to about her favorite subjects. Moreover, he had separated himself from his party to stay at the Baptistry and learn more about it. The least she could do was go for a coffee with him and point him back in the right direction of his pensione.
She cast a glance up at the wintry Florentine sky. "All right, let's go."
"There's no one waiting for you at home?"
"Only Sebastian."
At this Mason's face fell.
Sybilla looked up at him and said with a broad grin, "But he has his catnip mouse to play with, so I'm sure he won't mind."
She noted the look of relief on his face, and felt a warm cozy feeling inside. He was gentlemanly, he was obviously interested, and he was the most handsome man she had ever set eyes on. What could be the harm in one drink?
She decided to take him to the local art bar for Happy Hour and order him a litre of beer. It was always fun to surprise people with the huge beer stein, and she would give him a good photo of himself to take back to his friends.
"I'm just going to go inside and have a look around to make sure everything's all right. Back in a tick."
She went to say goodnight and Happy New Year to the guards and the rest of her colleagues, all milling around chatting about their families now that the tourists had all disappeared.
"Have a wonderful time. We're so sorry you didn't have more time off over the Christmas holiday."
"It's no matter. I'm going to make up for it at the New Year."
"Have a lovely time in Venice."
"Thank you. I will." She recollected happily that Mason was going to go to Venice at the end of the week. Perhaps she might bump into him there?
But that was silly. It was a big enough place, with masses of tourists all year round. And he had his tour group to go around with...
She said the last of her goodbyes and headed outside, her heart strangely gladdened by the prospect of seeing Mason York again.
"There you are. I'm gasping for that drink. I've been up since four and I feel as dry as a bone."
"Four? Oh dear. Come on, then. My favorite bar isn't too far. It's just across the square here, and you can still get a good view of the buildings as the sun goes down completely."
He fell in step beside her at once, and they headed off in companionable silence. Sibylla questioned the wisdom of going out for a tete a tete with this huge, magentic man, but the streets and cafes were not exactly deserted at that time of the evening.
One drink, and she would make sure he got back to his pensione in one piece. She loved Florence, but it was easy to get lost, and even more easy to get run over by a mad Italian driver in a car or zipping along on a moped if you weren't extra vigilant at all times.
So she quashed the nervous feeling roiling in the pit of her stomach at the prospect of sitting across the table from the stunningly handsome Mason Yorke, and swung open the door to the Art Bar.
Italian Interlude
Evelyn Trimborn
Setting: Florence and Venice, Italy, Modern Day
Rating: Very Sensual
Word Count=73,400
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