The Chocolatier Page 13

  “I can’t,” he cut in. “But I will try.”

  Why did such swift disappointment seize her chest? Feelings, long buried since Tony’s death, pushed to the surface in search of sunlight. Desperately tamping them down, Celina tried to smooth the surface of her emotions, which were now ragged with rips in the fabric of her consciousness. This newfound awareness of Lauro was not what she wanted.

  This would complicate everything.

  She took a step back, forcing herself from the enchanted space that had captured them. The air around them seemed charged with strange electricity. She felt drunk with the realization that she felt attracted to Lauro. No, not that. She stumbled backward and let out a cry.

  Lauro caught her before she could fall.

  The feel of his muscular arms around her took her breath away and was almost more than she could bear.

  Why in heaven’s name did she have such a reaction to him?

  “I…have to change,” she mumbled, twisting herself from his arms and whipping the thin curtain around her. Slipping the coral straps from her shoulders, she shuddered against the strange, involuntary sensations that had gripped her. Resting her back against the brick-lined wall, she tried to regain her equilibrium.

  After a few moments, she stepped back into her plain, sturdy clothing and took comfort in the solid familiarity cloaking her and separating her from whatever crazy, momentary dream might have crept into her mind. She stooped to peer into the old mirror. Her face was pink, her hair wild. She ran her hands over her cheeks and hair to calm the tell-tale signs.

  Celina slid the curtain back.

  Lauro was gone.

  Thank goodness. After the heated connection they’d shared, the air felt cool on her skin, yet emptiness crept back into her heart. This is better, she insisted, chastising herself. This is real.

  Yet, sometimes in the lonely hours before dawn, she still slid her hand across the sheet hoping to find Tony there. After she woke to realize she was alone, heaviness would settle into her soul. It was what she’d come to expect and now accepted. It was too soon to replace him in her heart.

  Especially with Lauro.

  Celina spied Adele in the front of the shop, where she was wrapping a parcel of new clothes her customer had decided on. Looping the coral dress and shoes over her arms, she made her way toward her new friend.

  The customer left, and Adele turned toward her. “Lauro said he had to go.”

  Celina gave a nonchalant shrug and held out the dress. “Thanks for letting me try this on, but I guess it’s not really my style.”

  Adele scooped the dress from her arms and began to fold it. “You’re wrong. It’s precisely your style for here.” She paused. “Lauro liked it on you.”

  “His opinion doesn’t matter to me.” Even as Celina denied him, heat gathered in her chest, and she felt self-conscious.

  “Doesn’t it?” Adele slid the folded dress into a bag and handed it to her. “I insist. This is my gift to you. A new dress for a new woman.”

  Celina hesitated. Not wanting to appear rude, she accepted it. “Thank you, but I haven’t changed,” she said, still shocked by what had transpired with Lauro.

  “No? Maybe it’s time for a change.” Adele’s expression softened with compassion. “I don’t mean to sound crass, but you weren’t the one who died.” Lifting her chin toward the door, she added, “Even as a boy, Nino was serious, studious, intense. He could never stay in one place, but then, you knew that. Lauro was the responsible brother, remaining true to only one woman. Although they were nearly mirror images when they were young, that’s where it ended. Lauro is very different. Don’t confuse them.”

  Mirror images? Even without his scars, Tony hadn’t looked anything like Lauro. “I fail to see any resemblance.”

  “Lauro and Nino? Why, they even walked the same way.” Adele raised her brow in surprise. “I could never tell them apart from a distance. And I’m not surprised that he likes you.” Lowering her eyelids, she shot Celina an empathetic look. “I wouldn’t blame you either.”

  “You’re mistaken,” Celina said, shocked at what Adele was implying. She pressed her lips into a tight line. “Lauro isn’t fond of me.”

  The edges of Adele’s lips quirked up. “I know my cousin.”

  Feeling flustered, Celina was anxious to change the subject. Yet somehow, she had to justify their differences, if only to herself. “Tony had so many scars…mainly physical, but also emotional. He’d changed, he was different.”

  “His scars…” Adele blinked with realization and pressed a hand against her mouth. “I’m sorry. Sara told me his appearance had changed.”

  “He had a lot of reconstructive surgery,” Celina said quietly. More than she’d realized, until now. That had to be the explanation. The alternative would render her entire visit fruitless. She shook her head, dispelling the disturbing thought.

  “Well then, Lauro looks a lot like Nino used to. He’s a good man.” Adele’s expression softened. “You should know that he’s been through a lot, too.”

  “In the war?”

  “Actually, that seemed to be his refuge. No, before that. With Isabella.”

  She shouldn’t be curious, but for some reason, the words tumbled out. “What happened?”

  “It’s…complicated.” Adele glanced at her watch. “I have to go, but I’ll tell you later.”

  Why should Lauro’s story matter to her? Celina shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her brain, as much as in answer to Adele. Nothing good could come of such curiosity or thoughts.

  Adele leaned across the counter in earnest. “But I saw Lauro’s reaction. And I saw the wild look in your eyes when you arrived on my property on horseback. It was the same.”

  “It’s not what you think.” Was it? She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was tousled, and she looked confused. No wonder Adele had made such an assumption.

  “Accept love where you can find it,” Adele said. “We don’t find it often enough in this life.”

  “Impossible.” Celina shuddered. She couldn’t imagine what his parents would think if they suspected there was anything between them.

  Which there wasn’t, of course.

  At that thought, a hollow feeling swelled in her heart.

  She would talk to him, she resolved, to straighten out any misunderstanding. Celina straightened her shoulders.

  Yes, that’s exactly what she would do. As soon as possible.

  Chapter 12

  Celina was learning that in Amalfi, dining on the terrace under a starry canopy with the ocean crashing beneath them in accompaniment to operatic recordings was a typical summer evening. Tonight, a recording of tenor Enrique Caruso’s “Vesti la Giubba” from Pagliacci by Leoncavallo played on the record player. The record had been played so many times the scratches had become part of the score, but it didn’t diminish the astounding performance.

  “There will never be another Caruso,” Carmine said after the song ended and silence hung thick in the balmy evening air.

  Celina sipped her red wine, savoring the earthy notes and trying not to let her eyes linger on Lauro, whose gaze was unnerving. “I saw Mario Lanza in a film called The Great Caruso. He’s incredibly talented.”

  “And handsome,” Sara said, fanning her face.

  “Not too bad,” Carmine said, sniffing in annoyance. “But not Caruso.”

  Sara flicked her hand dismissively. “I still think he’s magnificent.”

  Celina was growing accustomed to the friendly bickering between them. Maybe that’s what kept them interested in one another after all these years. “Caruso visited San Francisco, but after he survived the great earthquake in ‘06, he vowed never to return.”

  “The night before,” Carmine began, gazing into the distance. “Caruso had appeared at the Mission Opera House and sang the part of Don José in Bizet’s Carmen. And you’re right, he never returned, God rest his soul. If only you could have seen him, Celina.” He kissed
his fingers for emphasis.

  Celina smiled at her father-in-law. Carmine and Sara had made her and Marco feel at home, and she was beginning to feel like they were part of the family. Watching the flickering candles on the rough-hewn table before her, Celina breathed in the fresh sea breeze. A strap of the coral sundress Adele had given her slipped from her shoulder, and she quickly shifted it back in place.

  Watching her movement, Lauro quickly averted his eyes and lifted the wine bottle. “Care for more?”

  “A little.”

  He poured a splash of wine into her glass. “You like this vintage?”

  “I do,” she said, casually meeting his direct gaze. “It’s a little smoky. What is it?”

  “Taurasi, another one of our regional wines of Campania. It’s from our Aglianico grapes, and blended with a little Sangiovese—sanguis Jovis, the blood of Jupiter in Latin.” He lifted the glass to his nose to inhale, never taking his eyes from hers. “What chocolate would you serve with this?”

  Celina touched her tongue to her lower lip in thought. “Hmm, dark chocolate…infused with smoky Lapsang Souchong tea.”

  “Chinese tea?” Lauro leaned toward her, intrigued.

  “We have a lot of Chinese teas and herbs in San Francisco,” Celina said. “I like to experiment with different flavors.”

  “Maybe you can introduce that here,” Sara said, casting an inquiring glance toward her and Lauro.

  When Celina didn’t answer, Sara went on.

  “Adele told me about your idea for a cioccolateria.” Sara passed a basket of freshly baked olive bread to her. “It sounds exciting. I’m sure Lauro wouldn’t mind helping you source the chocolate you’ll need for your confections.”

  Lauro arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re planning to stay here?”

  “It’s a consideration,” Celina said, wondering why Sara was encouraging Lauro. “But I’m sure I can manage on my own. I’ll write to the owner of the chocolaterie I worked in San Francisco for referrals. I plan on roasting the beans myself.” She could also buy processed chocolate like the pastry chefs and most chocolatiers used, but she wanted to experiment with different roasts.

  Celina tore a piece of bread and dipped it in olive oil for Marco, who was eagerly alternating between antipasto of mozzarella and prosciutto, and linguini with basil pesto and delicate green beans. She’d never seen him enjoy food so much as since they’d arrived. He was active all day, too, playing with Adele’s children or following Sara as she looked after the gardens every morning. He loved to help pick fresh vegetables from the garden and fruit from the orchard.

  “Nonsense,” Carmine said. “It’s no trouble for Lauro to help you.”

  “I can arrange Trinitario through our supplier,” Lauro said.

  “I prefer the delicate flavor profile in Criollo or Porcelana.” She loved the Venezuela chocolate, which her mother had favored, too. It blended well with violet and bergamot, equally smooth flavors that created the lightest of delicacies. For most of her work, it was superior.

  Lauro wore a serious expression she couldn’t quite read. Celina reflected on what Adele had said about Tony at the boutique. Serious, studious, intense. That described Lauro more than Tony. But had her husband once been more like Lauro? If so, whatever had affected him must have been profound. Although many veterans had returned feeling withdrawn or fighting recurring nightmares, Tony had overcome his demons and more, evolving into a gregarious personality.

  Carmine and Sara shared a fleeting look.

  “Why don’t we take care of Marco tomorrow,” Sara said. “So you can visit our chocolate factory with Lauro.” She glanced at Lauro as if to punctuate her sentence. “I insist.”

  From the tone of Sara’s voice, Celina realized saying no wasn’t an option. Lauro must have sensed that, too, because his face flushed, but he said nothing.

  Marco tugged on her sleeve. “A chocolate factory? Mom, I want to go, too.”

  Sara and Carmine traded bemused expressions. Celina noticed that they seemed to communicate perfectly in a silent language of glances and touches, much the way she had with Tony.

  Carmine ruffled Marco’s hair. “Then we’ll all go.”

  The boy beamed at his grandfather, and Celina couldn’t say a word. To see the obvious attraction and budding love between Marco and his grandparents added weight to the decision she knew she must soon make. The weeks of summer had slipped from the calendar.

  After they finished supper, Celina excused herself. “I have a surprise for dessert.” She hurried to the kitchen, where she retrieved a tray of fresh strawberries she’d infused with orange liqueur and drizzled with dark chocolate. After arranging the berries on a platter, she returned to the table.

  “I thought you might enjoy these,” Celina said, serving a juicy red strawberry to each person at the table. “And a special one for my big boy, sans liqueur.”

  “These look and smell divine.” Delight lit Sara’s face for a moment before she frowned a little. “Marco can eat strawberries?”

  “Can he ever,” Celina said, laughing. “He loves them, just like his father. The two of them used to churn strawberry ice cream together in the summer. I had to be fast to get any at all.”

  Marco grinned and dug into his dessert.

  “What a sweet memory.” Sara lapsed into a thoughtful, melancholy gaze.

  Celina watched her, wondering what was on her mind. Memories of summers past, perhaps. She didn’t press it.

  Sara shook herself and turned her attention back to Marco, who was devouring the large strawberry. “Marco, you’re a fortunate young man to know how to make ice cream. We could pick some berries from the garden this week.” Sara brought a bite of strawberry to her lips and tasted it. “That’s heavenly.”

  “The chocolate is well flavored,” Carmine remarked.

  Across from her, Lauro met her gaze and nodded. “Exquisite.”

  “I’m glad you all like it.” Celina smiled modestly. A new sense of excitement over what the future might hold was bubbling up inside of her.

  When the conversation turned to plans for a cousin’s wedding, Celina saw Marco stifling a yawn. She excused herself to put him to bed.

  After helping Marco change into pajamas and brush his teeth, she tucked him into bed.

  Even as his eyes were closing, he cried out, “Where’s Rocky?”

  Celina checked under his blanket and looked under the bed. Thankfully, the ever-grinning monkey was sprawled under the bed. She fished it out and tucked it next to Marco. With a satisfied sigh and the smile of an angel, he wrapped his arm around Rocky and closed his eyes.

  Lightly stroking Marco’s back, Celina watched over him for a few minutes to make sure he was asleep. Since they’d arrived, he’d been sleeping better here than he had in San Francisco. He’d often been agitated when she picked him up from Mrs. Jackson’s, but even though she asked him what was wrong, he would never tell her. And when she asked Mrs. Jackson, the older woman just shrugged and said she had no idea what she meant. Celina assumed that Marco was still grieving his father, just as she was.

  When Marco shifted and mumbled, Celina began humming a soft lullaby. As she did, she thought about how lucky they were to have been accepted by Tony’s family.

  She reflected on the time they’d spent here, satisfied that she’d decided to come. Marco had forged a relationship with his grandparents and cousins, and if nothing else ever came of this visit—though she hoped it would—she would be content that she had helped Marco discover the family she could never give him.

  Sara, Carmine, Adele, and Werner looked upon her as family, too. Even Lauro had come around. My new family, she thought, her heart swelling with emotion. Although the circumstances of their arrival had been unusual at best, she was deeply comforted that they had welcomed her and Marco. My family. Silently, she rolled the words around on her tongue, smiling to herself.

  Marco’s breathing became steady, and Celina tucked the light summer blanket around his fra
me. Leaning over, she kissed his cheek. “I love you, my brave little boy.” She tiptoed from the room and eased the door closed.

  As Celina had learned was often customary, they finished dinner close to midnight. Two of Carmine’s brothers she hadn’t met stopped by, and they all laughed and traded stories. Sara had insisted that Matilde go to bed, so Celina helped Sara clear the dishes from the table and carry them into the kitchen.

  “Your dessert was delicious,” Sara said.

  “Thank you. Chocolate-drizzled strawberries were one of Tony’s favorites, too.”

  “Were they now?” Sara seemed to choose her words with care. “In families, my dear, what is not said is often more important than what is said.”

  Celina eased the plates she carried onto the tile counter. “I don’t follow…”

  “No, you might not.” Sara furrowed her brow and brought her hands up to Celina’s shoulders. “Whatever might happen, I want you to know right now that I love you and Marco, and I hope you will always think of us as your family.”

  “As I was tucking Marco in, I was thinking the same thing.” Celina smiled. “But what do you mean by ‘whatever might happen?’”

  “Never mind that.” Sara hugged Celina tightly. “You have given me the most precious gift—that of a grandson. We have big plans for Marco, my dear. You will never have to worry about college for him. Or anything else.”

  Surprised by her generosity, Celina pulled back. “I appreciate that, but that’s not why we’re here. And I wish that Tony had contacted you sooner. I feel so guilty about that. I often think about all the time we missed out on.”

  Sara waved a hand. “I don’t care about any of that. Seeing Carmine’s eyes light up when he sees Marco and knowing that he has accepted him as our Antonino’s child—why, that’s worth more to me than you can ever imagine. My husband’s spirit is reinvigorated—mine, too. We needed that, Celina. So you see, we all get what we want.”

  Celina wasn’t quite following what Sara was saying. “I only wanted you to know your grandson, and for Marco to know you. Really, I don’t expect anything else.”