The Roman's Woman (A Singular Obsession Book 4) (6 page)

“Hi,” he called out, catching her attention.

She turned toward him, a bright smile lighting her face. It rivaled the sunshine. Suddenly acid pooled in his stomach, and he clenched his teeth behind his smiling lips.

He had promised himself so many times last night that the second he saw her this morning he would tell her the truth, but he couldn’t do it right now. He didn’t want that sunny smile to fade away yet. After lunch was a better time. Or even after dinner. There were so many things he wanted to show her first.

Definitely after dinner, he thought as they chatted aimlessly in front of the hotel.

“How did it go with your aunt?” she asked as he led her down the street, toward the center of the historic district.

He shrugged. “As well as can be expected.”

“What did you need to talk to her about? Or is that too intrusive?” she asked.

His shoulders dropped.

“Nevermind, you don’t have to tell me,” she said quickly, pulling the long strap of a travel purse over her head and across her shoulder.

“I don’t mind,” he assured her. “It had to do with her son. He’s been getting into trouble the last few years and it’s getting worse. Lucca is quite spoiled, but he’s starting to slide into criminal territory.” He kicked a stray piece of trash aside. “I’d rather not be involved, but in my family that’s not possible. Everybody is in everybody else’s business, and if you’re not they hunt you down and ask your opinion, anyway. Demand it, in some cases.”

Her head tilted to one side and gave him a sympathetic side glance. “I’m sorry. I understand if you’d rather not waste your time acting as tour guide today so you can attend to your family.”

“Are you kidding?” he laughed. “You’re saving me from them. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Her mouth pursed. “Only if you’re sure.”

“Oh, I’m certain,” he said, widening his eyes for emphasis before directing her up the
Via dell’ Anguillara
.

They walked a little further and he watched her carefully, gratified when her face lit up at the sight of the
Basilica di Santa Croce
.

“This was one of the places at the top of my list,” she said, beaming at him. Pleased, he started detailing the history of the church as the burial site of some of the most notable figures in Italian history.

The next few hours were some of the best of Gio’s life. He loved sharing this special place with Sophia. They saw the tombs Niccol
ò
Machiavelli, Michelangelo, and Galileo as well as an altar monument to Dante Alighieri, which she assumed was his grave until he told her otherwise. He also showed her the tomb of Rossini, who had composed the famous opera, the Barber of Seville and the rows of inset chapels that lined the walls—including the Bardi chapel featuring the fresco of the death of Saint Francis by Giotto.

Eventually they wandered to the cloister and Pazzi chapel before rounding out their visit by exploring the adjoining museum.

After that, they were both starving, so he took her to a little out the way restaurant. He ordered a light veal dish and she ordered lasagna, self-consciously citing all of the walking they were doing as an excuse to splurge.

He was tempted to offer another form of calorie-burning exercise as a more pleasurable alternative to walking, but he bit his tongue. Instead, he suggested they spend the rest of the afternoon getting lost in the Uffizi, and was pleased when she agreed. He was able to show her his favorite paintings by Raphael, Titian, and Boticelli before she nudged him along to the neighboring science museum.

“I should have realized this would be a bigger draw for you than some old boring paintings,” he teased as she surreptitiously snapped a picture with her camera phone of Galileo’s finger on exhibit.

“I loved the art,” she assured him with her hand on his arm. “I just didn’t want to miss this. Galileo is one of my personal heroes.”

He wanted to ask for more details, but she wasn’t paying attention anymore. Her rapt attention was fixed on the dried and desiccated fingers, displayed behind glass like priceless treasures.

To each his own, he thought, taking advantage of her distraction to study the lines of her exquisite face.

Her fascination with the macabre display tickled him, particularly when he asked her what she was thinking about. She leaned toward him and whispered, “Cloning him,” before releasing a maniacal mad scientist cackle that drew a few stares.

The visit to the rest of the museum went by quickly, but he still had to hurry her out of there to a waiting car. It took them to the Piazzale Michelangelo so they could watch sunset from the peak. The plaza featured a bronze version of Michelangelo’s David overlooking the city and magnificent panoramic views. He took a dozen pictures of Sophia posing with the Duomo, the massive domed main cathedral of Florence, in the background. After they were driven back to town to enjoy dinner from another restaurant he loved, this one with a view of the Arno River and the Ponte Vecchio.

Exhausted, he and Sophia went their separate ways early, but not before he convinced her to spend the following day with him, as well. It wasn’t until he reached his penthouse apartment that he remembered he hadn’t told her who he was.

Merda
. He had sworn to himself that he would come clean, but it had gotten lost in their easy conversation and light flirtation. Tomorrow, he would tell her the truth.

It had been far too easy for Gio to talk Sophia into spending more time with him. Wondering idly where her suspicious nature had gone, she recognized she might be losing an uphill battle.

Her self-appointed tour guide was magnetic and articulate, with a breadth of knowledge that kept surprising her. From his choice of topics of conversation, it was clear that he was well read and spent a lot of time keeping up on current events. He knew more about the world than she did.

As a scientist, Sophia tended to isolate herself in the little bubble of like-minded academics that she spent time with. It wasn’t intentional, but happened as a matter of course. Scientists spent time with other scientists. Her friendship with Kelly and her former relationship with Richard were the exceptions to the rule, but both of them had entered her life because of their ties to her father. And both were academics, too, albeit in a different field.

Gio was her first experience of friendship outside the ivory tower, and it was remarkable how comfortable they were with each other. One conversation naturally evolved into another and another with an ease she wouldn’t have believed before meeting him. It felt effortless.

He was content to indulge her chosen activities, too. Their second day in Florence began by climbing to the top of the Duomo, the massive domed cathedral of
Santa Maria del Fiore
.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Gio asked.

The signs at the bottom warned the visitors that is was four hundred and sixty-three steps to the top. There was no elevator. Many tourists had to turn back, unable to handle the narrow winding stairs that led to the fenced-in balcony at the summit.

“I play soccer,” she replied. “Don’t worry. My legs won’t give out.”

He looked down. She was wearing shorter shorts today, and her muscular thighs were more visible than the day before.

Her father had hated her legs, along with the rest of her figure. Sophia favored her mother in appearance, a detail he would never let her forget.

“Must you run around chasing a ball all the time?” he would criticize, adding that it made her thighs too thick.

Which was true. She built muscle easily on her legs, and soccer made them grow wide, much to her father’s disgust. Richard wasn’t much better in his opinion of her body, and she couldn’t help but wonder why he had pursued her when she was so clearly not his type. But Gio looked at her legs with ill-concealed appreciation, and she couldn’t help basking in the warm glow of his interest.

All too soon, however, that warmth quickly turned to hot sweatiness as the two of them huffed and puffed their way up to the top of the dome. Once at the top, a hot dry wind whipped her hair as she squinted against the sunlight.

“Are you all right?” Gio asked, noticing that she was hugging the wall of the dome, rather than taking a photo from the rickety railing surrounding the circular balcony.

Tense, she smiled thinly. “Um, yes. I just learned the hard way not to stand close to the edge.”

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“Not exactly,” she said, still plastered against the wall.

Gio smiled and held out his hand. Sighing, Sophia took hold of it and stepped to the edge. She was fine until she looked down, then her head spun and she had to close her eyes as a wave of vertigo swept over her. She swayed slightly.

“Okay, bad idea, bad idea.” Gio put his arm around her and herded her to the stairs.

She laughed weakly and they started down the long winding descent, her hand gripping the rails or stone walls whenever she could.

“This is a recent problem,” she explained as they reached the street.

“Did you have a bad experience?” Gio asked, his brow creased in concern.

“In a way. It’s the damnedest thing. I was in Barcelona earlier this year for a weekend holiday, and I visited all of the Gaudi monuments. I was on the top of
La Pedrera, Casa Mil
à
. It has those guard-shaped turrets and uneven floors. It’s kind of like a cartoon about knights on acid.”

He laughed. “Yes, I’ve been there and it is a little disorienting.”

“You won’t find an argument here. I couldn't walk up there. I felt ridiculous hanging on to the walls and railings. And now it keeps happening. I step near an edge more than two stories high and bam—vertigo.”

He ran his hand up and down her back in a comforting caress. “No more high places.”

“But I don’t want to miss anything!” she protested. “Let’s just stay away from the edge next time.”

“Okay,” he promised.

After grabbing a quick bite, they wandered some more, soaking up the venerated atmosphere of the city. She snapped a thousand pictures of her favorite statue, Perseus with the head of Medusa, outside of the Palazzo Vecchio. She had loved the piece since she saw it in her favorite movie, “A Room with a View”. When she mentioned that to Gio, she was pleased to learn that he knew it well enough to show her where some of the scenes had been shot. It wasn’t exactly a guy movie, but he seemed to have eclectic taste in films.

Despite the crowds and heat in the street, Sophia had never felt so energized. It was like swimming in electrified water, the fictional kind that didn’t electrocute you. She loved the way the air smelled and the way the sun beat down on her skin. It was a welcome change from English weather.

Later, they shopped on the Ponte Vecchio, a medieval stone closed-spandrel arch bridge over the Arno River. It was lined with stores, most selling jewelry. She bought herself a silver necklace, but had to argue with her earnest tour guide to be allowed to pay for it.

Gio seemed genuinely upset that she wouldn’t let him buy her the expensive piece of jewelry, but she was adamant. He worked too hard for his money to let him spend it on her.

“You can buy me a gelato,” she bargained with him, teasing until he grudgingly agreed and they headed back to the
Gelateria Carabe
.

Gelato led to dinner and dinner led to tomorrow and another city. She mentioned wanting to see the ancient site of Pompeii and suddenly they were there, walking through the baking hot and dusty streets. They pored over the ancient mosaic frescoes that had been buried in ash throughout the preserved cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, and refilled a water bottle from quaint spigoted fountains doting the complex. After viewing the famous
Birth of Venus
fresco, Gio bribed a guard for access to villas closed to the public to view even more works of art.

Throughout the visit, Gio was the perfect gentleman, even when she was blushing her way through the lupanar, the well-preserved brothel in Pompeii. Apparently, the ancient Romans weren’t shy about sex. The graphic depictions were found outside the brothel too, catching her unawares and sending a periodic flood of heat through her body whenever they came across one. The images wouldn’t normally have embarrassed her, but somehow seeing them with Gio made her nervous.

That night, they ate at a casual buffet place called
Todisco
. They filled up on a delicious assortment of food. Once they were finished she was given a tour of the kitchens while Gio chatted with the owner, whom he seemed to know well. Later, when she tried to pay, Gio didn’t argue with her because the owners waved her cash away and insisted it was on the house. Then he walked her to the hotel and went off to spend the night with yet another relative.

The next day, they headed to Naples to view more treasures excavated from Pompeii and Herculaneum at the archeological museum. While there, a friend of Gio’s led them through a display of mummies and showed them a few treasures hidden in the storage rooms. They also explored some of the Roman water deposits and a few churches off the beaten path.

Completely spent from the non-stop sightseeing, she let Gio convince her to spend a few days lounging on the beaches of Ischia—a gem of an island an hour’s boat ride from Napoli. He didn’t even blink when she wore a concealing swim tank and boy shorts covered by a gauzy shirt. He simply smiled as if he could see through it and ordered her a cocktail from a beachside bar. They drank them on shaded lounge chairs, enjoying the sun and view of the crystalline water.