The Chocolatier Page 17

  Lauro seemed taken aback by her question. “I don’t think one ever gets over such a deep wound. I have felt married to her in my heart all these years. I vowed my life to her.”

  “But at some time, the anguish you felt must have subsided.” Tony’s death had left her reeling and forlorn.

  He shook his head. “From the moment I met you, you have complicated my life, and now, my heart.”

  “I have complicated your life?” The thought was so absurd, she laughed. She’s the one who was thinking of leaving all she and Marco had ever known behind.

  Lauro looked perplexed, as if she were the one mistaken. “This feeling I have for you, it’s also quite uncomfortable. You can understand, yes?”

  “You’ve made me uncomfortable since the day I arrived.”

  Lauro leaned forward in earnest. “I thought you should know, but I am your cognato. Surely you agree that others shouldn’t know about...” He motioned between them.

  “Wait, you’re ashamed of this?” Her chest felt constrained, as if the air had become too thick to breathe. “What did you want of me?” When he didn’t answer, she knew. This knowledge hurt her more than she could have imagined, and she lashed out at him. “So I’m just someone to play with while you pine for Isabella.”

  Still he said nothing. She hated that she felt a measure of satisfaction from the hurt look on his face, and she knew she should stop right there, but inside, the pent-up side of her erupted, intent on searing his heart as he had hers. How dare he play with her emotions, which were still so raw from Tony’s death—or was he the type who took advantage of widows? She curled her lip in a defensive sneer. “You’re used to your brother’s leftovers. Was kissing me your twisted way of getting even with him?”

  He stared at her as shocked as if she’d slapped him. “No, tesoro mio, no. But you kissed me first. I couldn’t help myself.”

  She blew out a puff of air. She had kissed him, but it wasn’t as if she had misread the cues of their mutual desire. “Why are you doing this to me?” She held up her hand, shielding herself as her fragile heart shattered again. What a fool she was.

  “So you could understand what I hold in my heart for you, and why I’ve been acting the way I have. Even so, we cannot dismiss the vows we each made. You see this, yes?”

  “My husband is gone.” Celina jerked to her feet, unable to remain in his presence even a moment longer. “I feel sorry for you, but I understand you even less than before. If you are still so devoted to your memory of Isabella, then please don’t make me feel anything for you. Don’t look at me that way. Don’t even touch my hand. And leave my son alone.”

  Drowning in anger-fueled despair, she bolted for the door. When she reached it, she hesitated, angling her gaze over her shoulder, a part of her praying he might call her name, willing him to speak the feelings of his heart again to prove her wrong.

  Lauro’s head was bowed and his hands covered his face. He drew a ragged breath as if to speak.

  For a moment, hope sparked in her soul.

  But he only shook his head.

  Celina yanked open the door just as Lauro’s secretary smiled with expectation, but Mariela’s sunny expression quickly clouded with disappointment. Had she hoped that Celina would rescue her boss from a strange, unrequited love?

  No, that would never happen.

  Celina charged from his office and through the hallways, determined to get as far from him and Cioccolata Savoia as she could. She didn’t need anyone to change her life. She could do that by herself.

  And that’s exactly what she was going to do.

  Chapter 17

  After sliding out of a taxi, Celina hurried over cobblestone steps to meet Sara and Carmine and Marco. As she followed the directions to the café that Mariela had raced out the front door of Cioccolata Savoia to give her, she ignored the curious looks of sophisticated passersby and brushed angry tears from her cheeks, trying not to further soil the grass-stained white cotton gloves she’d pulled back on as she walked.

  Though she didn’t care about the strangers she passed on the elegant Via Chiaia, she hoped Sara and Carmine wouldn’t notice her distress, if only because she didn’t want to explain in front of Marco.

  “That’s enough,” she said to herself with a swift spread of her hands, the way she’d seen Adele and Sara do. She had to admit, that felt better.

  She was determined to put Lauro and everything that had happened today at Cioccolata Savoia behind her. Her mind was a swirling mess of emotions. She chastised herself for her moment of weakness in the test kitchen, but in her next breath, she found herself reliving it.

  She blew out a breath of frustration.

  There was no one to blame but herself. Indeed, she had instigated the kiss with Lauro. All he had done was massage her shoulders and arms and neck in a way that inflamed her senses. In a way no other man ever had, and she hadn’t even known existed—unless she counted the way actors swooned over each other on celluloid film—which wasn’t real anyway. Oh, dear Lord! Was she really so vulnerable?

  Yes. Yes, she was.

  Damn it.

  That had to change. Starting now.

  And yes, Lauro was at fault, too, even if he refused to admit it. How dare he play on her vulnerability and then make excuses to her?

  Her T-strap heels clicked on the stones beneath her feet, each step a mark of her determination. Catching a glimpse of her anguished face in a boutique window, she slowed her pace and tried to gain control. She was on her own now, and she had to think of herself and her son, and what was best for them.

  Her mind whirred with possibilities. She could stay in Amalfi, where she could live for less than in San Francisco, and open a shop on the main street near the Piazza del Duomo. After overhearing Lauro on the telephone with the London store buyer, she knew she could live here, make her chocolates, and sell her inventory abroad to make a good living. Sell to tourists, too. She could figure it out; she always had.

  In listening to Lauro’s call, what had surprised her most was the volume of demand at the large stores. After some quick mental calculations, she was sure that she could make a go of the business here in Italy, and she wouldn’t need the Savoia family help.

  Nearing the café on the corner, she slowed to catch her breath and paused in a doorway to smooth her hair and refresh her lipstick. Taking her pressed-powder compact from her purse, she pursed her lips. As she peered at herself in the tiny mirror, doubt chiseled at her budding confidence. Could she really manage what she imagined? Or was this merely an emotional reaction to Lauro? She swiped a swift slash of red across her swollen lips and snapped the cap back on her lipstick.

  Stay in Amalfi, indeed.

  Her wounded pride was filling her full of lofty ideas. She was too old for this nonsense.

  No, they would go back to San Francisco right away, and Marco would start school. Surrounded by everything that was familiar, she would study the opportunity and make a decision based on logic, not on emotion.

  And definitely not on Lauro Savoia.

  Though he was correct on one point. He was her brother-in-law, for heaven’s sake. What was she thinking? She started off again, marching toward her destination.

  When Celina arrived at the Gran Caffè Gambrinus, she made her way through the well-dressed luncheon crowd dining beneath crystal chandeliers before spotting Carmine and Sara at a sunny table on the patio. A basket of bread and a carafe of wine sat in front of them. Marco was slurping a fizzy Italian fruit soda.

  “Where is Lauro?” Sara asked, glancing behind her.

  “He’s not coming. He had a call from London.” That much was true.

  Carmine and Sara traded glances, and Sara looked concerned, but to her credit, she did not pursue the question. Celina was sure that Sara would ask her later.

  “You seem winded,” Sara said.

  “I hurried because I didn’t want to keep you waiting.” She sat down and hugged Marco. “Did you sample any more chocolate?”
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  Marco grinned. “Nonna got a giant box and filled it with everything I wanted. Look, Mom, it has chocolate animals. Ducks, fish, bunnies.” His face lit with delight.

  “Only the best for our grandson,” Sara said, looking as excited as Marco.

  “What a beautiful gift, thank you,” Celina said. After what she’d just been through with Lauro, watching the three of them enjoying each other’s company calmed her.

  “Sara has waited a long time to spoil a grandchild,” Carmine said. “And I can’t think of any young man more deserving than Marco. He was a big hit with the staff. Even got to help make chocolates.”

  “Did you? I’m awfully proud of you.”

  Marco snuggled next to her and craned his face up, turning quite serious. “Mommy, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course, what is it?”

  The boy scrunched up his face. “I know school is starting, but I really like it here. Can we stay longer? I can start school here, Nonna says. She’ll help me talk better Italian.”

  Sara smiled. “I don’t mean to influence you—”

  “Yes, you do,” Carmine interjected, chuckling. He poured wine into a glass for Celina.

  “We’ve grown to love Marco so much,” Sara said.

  “Mommy, please?”

  Three expectant faces surrounded her, yet she maintained her poise. “It’s a good thought, but I think we should go back to San Francisco and reconsider.”

  Marco’s lower lip began to tremble. “I don’t want to leave,” he cried, clutching his grandmother.

  Sara’s eyes misted as she rubbed his little back and kissed the top of his head. “You’ll be back, little one.”

  Carmine tapped the table in thought. “Adele told us you were looking at a shop in Amalfi next to hers. We thought you were planning to stay.”

  “Don’t let anyone else in our family dissuade you from what you really want to do,” Sara said.

  Celina caught her meaning. “This is my own decision. It’s rational and logical. I need to look at our lives and decide what’s best. When I’m back, I can see more clearly.”

  Sara sighed. “Having family nearby is an advantage.”

  “Lot of opportunities here,” Carmine said. “The economy is growing. Your cioccolateria would probably do quite well, and your money goes farther here than in America right now.”

  “Of course, San Francisco is an exciting place for a young woman,” Sara allowed. “You probably have many friends there, yes?”

  Celina shook her head, thinking about the question as she methodically loosened each glove finger before removing her soiled gloves. She wished she could say yes, plenty of friends, but her days were consumed by work, making dinner, and caring for Marco.

  After her mother had died, she’d withdrawn to her work. It wasn’t until Tony came along that she’d met many people outside of Marge and Monsieur at La Petite Maison du Chocolat. She’d just come to know a few families in their neighborhood, but after Tony died and she sold their home, they faded away. People had commitments, too, and she was a cracked, unmatched teacup at their social tea party.

  “It’s been a lovely vacation, but we have to return to our real world,” Celina said, though now the thought saddened her. Her life in San Francisco was safe and predictable, but it was a dark charcoal sketch next to the fluid, watercolor life here in Italy.

  “They must have a good life there,” Carmine said to Sara. “We shouldn’t push her.”

  Marco scrunched his face, which turned crimson red. “I don’t have a good life,” he cried. “I don’t like Mrs. Jackson.”

  “Why would you say that?” Celina drew her brows together.

  “Because I don’t,” he wailed. “She yells at me and makes me sit in a dark closet when I ask too many questions.”

  A chill snaked through Celina, and she sucked in an alarmed breath. “Why haven’t you told me this before?”

  “Because you told me I should mind her.” Tears sprang from his eyes, and he balled up his little fists to rub them away.

  “But that’s not right, not at all.” How dare that woman lock her son in a closet! The thought of it made her sick. How could she have overlooked his emotional distress? She felt guilty for having been mired in such blinding grief.

  She hugged Marco and kissed away his tears. “I’m so sorry. I wish you’d told me as soon as it happened.” She would certainly speak to Mrs. Jackson, but she’d have to make other arrangements for Marco.

  “I don’t want to go back to her, or San Francisco,” Marco cried. “I know you can’t help that Daddy died, but I want to stay here with my nonna and nonno.” He pleaded with them through tear-streaked cheeks. “I love them.”

  “But school—”

  “I’ll be good, Mommy, I can learn anything. You always tell me that.”

  “Maybe just for a year?” Sara ventured the thought. “Until you’re both over the shock of losing Nino. Then you could go back—if that’s what you want.”

  “You and Sara and Adele can go to the thermal spas in Ischia, where you can relax in natural hot springs and have massages and face packs—what do you call that?” He patted Marco’s cheeks.

  Sara smiled. “Facials. We could also go skiing in the winter. We have a chalet in the Alps, not too far from Torino. Then there’s the opera, and so many museums and ancient sites we can visit.”

  “Don’t forget sailing,” Carmine added. “You’d love Capri. We like to sail there in the summer. Many excellent restaurants and activities for Marco, too.”

  They meant well, but the thought of Mrs. Jackson being mean to Marco, and the lonely life he led—even lonelier than hers—made her cringe with guilt. How could she deny her son’s beseeching looks?

  Sara nudged her husband. “And I haven’t even taken Celina and Marco shopping yet.”

  “You make it sound wonderful,” Celina said. “I wish we could stay.”

  Marco looked hopeful. “Mommy, please. Just for a year, like they said. Please?”

  Carmine put his arm around Sara, and the three of them stared at her, willing her to change her mind.

  They’d made strong arguments, but more than that, the air was lighter here, her cares farther away. Except for one, but she could ignore Lauro, couldn’t she?

  Was facing reality such a good idea if it meant missing out on once-in-a-lifetime adventures? She and Marco could share this, and hopefully, heal together, too.

  Celina turned Marco’s face up to hers. “Are you telling me the truth about Mrs. Jackson?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want you to be mad or worry about me.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s a mother’s job, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.” Celina held him and rocked him, though he was too old to hold on her lap like a baby anymore. Where had his toddler and baby years gone?

  “He’ll grow too fast,” Sara said. “When he’s older and has friends, you won’t be able to visit often. I see that with my friends who have children in America.”

  At once, the thought of all the days and years stretching ahead of her was sobering. The sheer mundaneness of their existence was often mind-numbing. She woke as tired as when she’d gone to sleep, and she had little respite. Monsieur clucked his tongue and chastised her whenever she had to take off work with Marco. He’d already fired one woman, even though Marge said the woman had worked ahead and always had more than enough inventory. Plus, she knew that other chocolatiers made more money than she did, but they were men, of course. Although that shouldn’t matter, because she considered herself more accomplished than most of them. But that’s just the way it was if she worked for someone else.

  Until she opened a shop of her on, she would never get ahead. How many years would it take for her to save the money she needed to open in a good location in San Francisco? She glanced at Marco. He’d probably be in high school.

  Celina swept a hand across her face. Honestly, she was exhausted by it all. Why would she ever
want to go back to San Francisco when she had so much here?

  One year would stretch into another, whether it was here or in San Francisco. Although she loved her beautiful city by the sea, she hardly had time to enjoy it. Would she here? In Italy, people seemed to find time to enjoy life more. Life had a different rhythm.

  As for opening a shop and running a business, it was an exciting, seductive thought. She thought about what the Savoia family had built up. She’d seen the photos of their modest beginnings in Lauro’s office. Why couldn’t she do the same? She was confident of her talent, and she knew she could find whatever answers she needed.

  Yes, it was time for a little bit crazy. She was thirty years old and not getting any younger. If not now, when?

  Celina smiled at the eager faces surrounding her. “Okay, one year.”

  Marco screamed with delight, and Sara kissed Celina on the cheek. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

  Celina knew she would have only one regret, but it was two hours too late to worry about that one.

  One glorious year. The thought took shape, blooming like a solitary flower in the dry landscape of her soul.

  Now that she had finally discovered the reason Tony had never returned to Italy, she couldn’t wait to move on with her life.

  Chapter 18

  Lauro sat at the dining room table across from Werner. They both watched Adele gliding down the terracotta steps of the couple’s comfortable villa that was situated on a hilltop to take in the ocean view.

  Werner is a lucky man, he thought. Adele had been quite an attractive young woman, and she had only grown more alluring since her marriage. Werner was devoted to her, and Lauro admired that.

  Happy relationships like theirs were a mystery to him. In contentious relationships, it was generally easy to point out the shortcomings of partners, though here in Italy, most people remained committed to marriage by virtue of their religious vows.