The Chocolatier Page 18

  Lauro had once vowed to devote himself to Isabella and her happiness. But that had been many years ago, and he had to admit that the memory of her had faded. Now, as a mature man, he saw their relationship as little more than infatuation. But he had made a commitment, even if she had pushed him away in anger at the end. That night had haunted him for years. Only by honoring her memory could he atone for his part in her tempestuous flight and ensuing death.

  Savoring a fragrant amaretto after a light supper of zuppa di cozze—a dish of mussels with tomatoes, peppers, and parsley simmered in white wine that Adele and Werner had prepared together—Lauro wondered what it would be like to have a woman and children in his life now. His friends were far ahead of him. He missed having someone to come home to and cook with as Adele and Werner did. More than he’d ever thought he would.

  For years, he’d closed himself to love and would not speak of Nino. His parents had questioned whether he was punishing himself. There was truth in that, he supposed. He hadn’t forgotten the guilt he felt over what Nino had done to Isabella, and he felt he owed a duty of honor to her family. Unlike Nino, he was not one to run away. Even at the expense of his own pleasure.

  Nino. Lauro drew a hand over his forehead and stared at the golden liqueur in his glass. As much as he was ashamed to admit it to himself and his parents, he was complicit in his brother’s disappearance. He’d never told his parents about their argument, and his remorse intensified as the days stretched into years and Nino never so much as wrote.

  Though Nino had started the catastrophic chain that would change all their lives, Lauro had finished it. And now, here was Nino’s widow, complicating the even-keeled existence he’d managed to achieve in the wake of such tragedy.

  Frowning against his memories, Lauro drained his amaretto as Adele returned to her chair next to her husband in the dining room.

  “Are the children asleep?” Werner asked.

  “They will be soon, they’re reading.” Adele smiled at Lauro. “Have you two solved all the world’s problems while I was gone?”

  “At least those in this household,” Werner said, casting a glance at Lauro while he stroked his reddish mustache. “Lauro says he’s sure there’s a place for my youngest sister at the chocolate factory.”

  A smile played on Adele’s lips. “Or she could work at Stella di Cioccolato.”

  Lauro looked puzzled. “Never heard of it. A new company?”

  “It’s opening in the space next to my boutique,” Adele said.

  “No, you don’t mean…” A roar of confusion rushed through Lauro’s mind. “She can’t do that.”

  Werner glanced between them. “I wish my wife would fill me in. Who’s moving next door to you?”

  Lauro huffed with exasperation. “Antonino’s widow, Celina. She’s a chocolatière.”

  “Ah, the pretty American,” Werner said. “So what’s wrong with that?”

  “You’d have to ask Lauro that question,” Adele said. “I think she’s lovely. And Sara and Carmine have the luxury of having their grandson close to them. Isn’t that nice?”

  Lauro furrowed his brow in consternation. “It is if you want an imposter nearby.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Adele said. “You’re not going to start that again, are you? I thought you two were finally getting along. What happened?”

  Lauro jutted out his chin. Ever since she’d taken advantage of his weakness in the test kitchen, she’d taken up permanent residence in his head.

  “Come on, with that look on your face, it must have been fairly horrible,” Adele said, chiding him the way she had when they were children. “Did she put a frog in your bed? Tie your shoelaces together?”

  “This isn’t funny,” Lauro said, scowling at her. Sometimes Adele pushed him too far.

  “You know Adele teases those she loves,” Werner said, observing his reaction. “Looks like Celina plans to stay. Maybe I can help you sort out the situation. What happened?”

  Lauro threw up his hands. “If you have to know, she kissed me.”

  Puzzled, Adele and Werner stared at him, then laughter broke through their resolve. “How exactly did this terrible deed happen?” Adele asked. “Was she provoked?”

  Lauro shrugged. “We were at the factory. She looked tense, so I rubbed her shoulders a little.”

  “That’s often what we do to get them to kiss us,” Werner said, winking at his wife. “So, was it disappointing?”

  “Not at all. It was extremely pleasant.”

  “Pleasant? That’s as bad as nice.” Adele sighed. “What did you expect? She just lost her husband.”

  “No, no, no, you misunderstand me,” Lauro said, feeling flustered at the interrogation. He wasn’t easily unnerved, but this conversation was troubling. “Actually, it was absolutely incredible.”

  Werner sipped a digestif, studying him. “Then what’s the problem?”

  Exasperated, Lauro pushed back from the table. “Have you both forgotten about Isabella?”

  Adele and Werner exchanged a guarded look.

  He knew what they were thinking. They had been there that day, on Christmas Eve, when Signore Guardino had finally given him permission to ask Isabella to marry him.

  But Lauro had never had the chance. He and Isabella weren’t officially engaged. She’d been full of flirtation and innuendos, sure that he would ask for her hand in marriage if her father approved. Lauro ran his hand over his slightly stubbled chin.

  “How long has it been?” Adele asked.

  Didn’t she remember the date? It was seared into his memory. “Thirteen years.”

  “Have you thought about letting Isabella go?” Adele stared at him with the same gentle compassion he’d once seen on her face when he’d broken his arm on a ski slope while racing her downhill. “She would have wanted you to live a full life.”

  “I made a vow.” Lauro shot a look at Werner. “You vowed to wait a long time for Adele. Until after the war ended.”

  “That’s true,” Werner said, sliding his hand over Adele’s.

  “Then you two, of all people, should understand my dilemma.” Lauro bit down on his lip after that last word. He hadn’t wanted to admit that to himself, but there it was. Celina posed a severe dilemma for him.

  “If you’re going to keep walking by, you might as well come in and have a look around.”

  Lauro turned at the sound of Celina’s voice and feigned surprise. He was curious, and he had been walking past her new cioccolateria, which fit snugly between Adele’s boutique and a popular café. So he had walked past a couple of times, so what?

  When he didn’t answer right away, she shrugged and turned to go back inside.

  “Anyone can walk on this sidewalk,” he said, sharper than he’d intended. “You don’t own that do you?”

  She clamped her fists on her hips. “As a matter of fact, I’m putting tables and chairs right where you’re standing.”

  “What for?”

  “Why do you care?”

  When he didn’t move, she blew out a breath in consternation.

  “If you’re not going to move, then the least you can do is give me a hand.”

  “Don’t you have workers for that?” Once again, his voice belied his frustration with the dilemma he found himself in.

  “Not all of us have an army of employees.”

  The way she propped the door open and waited was a definite challenge and left him little choice but to accommodate her. And Adele was watching through her window. She’d certainly have something to say later. If nothing else, he prided himself on being a gentleman. Besides, it was only natural to be curious, and he wanted to see what she’d done with the inside of the old shop.

  With her hair pulled up into a ponytail, Celina looked younger than her years, but she was marching around the cioccolateria with the air of a general. She looked better than she should in slim black pants that hugged her legs and stopped short, revealing slender ankles. She wore flat shoes and an oversiz
ed white shirt splattered with paint that gave her an artistic look.

  Most men would find her attractive, so he could be excused for staring a little longer than he knew strictly proper.

  Celina gave him a chilling glare and pointed to hand-wrought wicker tables and chairs. “Those, outside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She made a face, picked up a paintbrush and paint can, and climbed atop a step ladder like a nimble mountain lion. A love song blasted from a record player in the corner, and she began singing along with the music—and assiduously ignoring him.

  Which he probably deserved. Admittedly, he had misled her with a shoulder massage—according to Werner—but he’d found her irresistible, and she had taken it even farther.

  Glancing around, Lauro saw the transformation she’d made in the small space. Everything was clean—even the chandelier sparkled in the sunlight. New mirrors and the high ceiling dotted with celestial stars made the place appear much larger. The dusty old shop had come to life under her touch, and he was genuinely amazed. However, he didn’t want her to think that he was easily impressed.

  Gesturing toward the record player, he said, “Little loud, isn’t it?”

  She made a face. “Where have you been? That’s Doris Day. It’s her latest hit. My friend Lizzie in San Francisco sent me a package of records last week. Or you might like Eartha Kitt better. Have you heard her sing C’est si bon?”

  “No, but I like good music...”

  “You should watch out though.” Celina tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “That one’s pretty sexy. Don’t know if that’s your style.”

  “My what?”

  Celina ignored him and went back to singing a bouncy little tune.

  Lauro shook his head. He deserved that, too, but what had changed about her?

  Celina seemed to have transformed along with the space she’d renovated. She was more determined, more expressive. Definitely more American. He scratched his chin, unsure if that suited him. Not that what he thought about her mattered. But it had only been a few weeks since he’d seen her last. He’d managed to avoid going to his parents when he knew she was going to be there.

  He stood rooted to the spot, watching her.

  Now who was acting the fool? He’d always been decisive in business, but now he was venturing into an area of emotional quicksand.

  From her perch on the step ladder where she was slapping paint onto a wall, she jerked a thumb toward the record player when the song ended. “See if there’s something else you want to play.”

  Lauro flipped through the records. “Rosemary Clooney, Nat King Cole, Perry Como, Tony Bennett. Who are these people?”

  “Those last two are Italian.”

  “By way of America, you mean. That’s not Italian music.”

  “You’d like them, I bet.”

  “I doubt it.”

  She stopped with the paintbrush in mid-air. “What a grouch you’ve become. What happened to you? I’m the one who should be upset.”

  Lauro opened his mouth, but she’d caught him by surprise. Maybe she was right. He’d thought a lot about the last day he’d seen her at Cioccolata Savoia in the test kitchen and later in his office. He should’ve stopped himself; he should’ve explained himself earlier. Despite the vow he’d made to the memory of Isabella, he was a man, not a monk, and it had been a long time since he’d held a woman in his arms. Too long. “What is this grouch?”

  “Look in the mirror.” She motioned behind him.

  An old beveled mirror had been scrubbed clean, and he leaned in. A scowling man stared back at him.

  He looked bitter, angry, and old. So that’s what a grouch was. Deserved that, too, I guess.

  “I’m having fun here,” Celina called out. “I would love some help with the tables and chairs, but if you’re going to stand there and complain, or gawk at yourself in the mirror, I’d rather you get out and make room for someone who will help.”

  “Fine.” Lauro grabbed a table in one hand and a chair in another and stepped out through the wide open doorway. After he’d set up the groupings outside, he went back in.

  “Serving chocolates outside?”

  “Ice cream in the summer. Cioccolata calda in the winter. And bicerin.”

  “Bicerin? That’s only served in Torino.”

  “Why not? Is there a law?”

  “Of course not, but this is Amalfi.”

  “The tourists will love it.” She turned around. “And I told you I don’t want that grouch in here.”

  “Caffè napoletano,” Lauro muttered as he straightened a table. “And cappuccino freddo in the summer.”

  “What?”

  “I should go. Let me know if you need more help in the kitchen.”

  Wincing at his choice of words, Lauro hurried from the shop before she could respond. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her watching him. Her lovely lips parted in surprise. Those lips… How he yearned to take her in his arms again.

  When he was out of sight, he smacked his forehead. He was a fool to let the past dictate his future.

  What could he possibly do to make his actions up to her?

  Chapter 19

  “Buongiorno,” Celina called out to the people she passed as she zoomed along the narrow road on her mint green Vespa, the sun warm on her shoulders and the salt-tinged sea breeze cool on her face. Citrus blossoms lined the road and sweetened the air, perfuming the hillside and filling her with inspiration.

  What a sweet life, she thought, almost afraid of the happiness blooming inside of her. In the past weeks, she’d forged a truce between her head and her heart. She was thankful she’d decided to stay in Italy, though Lauro remained a thorn in her sunny garden. Marco had started school, and they were learning Italian together. If the year went well, she and her son would stay. If not, she could sell the chocolaterie or find someone to run it for her.

  When she arrived at Stella di Cioccolato, she hopped off her scooter. She turned the key in her shop door, intent on completing the chocolate inventory she’d need for her grand opening party tomorrow. As she opened the door, the scent of chocolate wafted to her in welcome. She’d managed to track down sources for the most exceptional quality beans she could find. She inhaled the rich aroma. Expensive, but worth it.

  After she’d turned on the lights, the door banged, and Werner’s youngest sister bounded in. A strawberry blond of eighteen, Karin was thrilled to have a job as Celina’s assistant.

  “Buongiorno, come stai?” Celina grinned at the lanky young woman. She was glad to have her. Besides German, Karin also spoke Italian, English, and French, which would be helpful with tourists.

  “Hey, great pronunciation,” Karin said, sliding into a flat American accent while stashing her purse under the counter. “Once you learn Italian, I’ll teach you German.”

  “By that time, you’ll probably be in the diplomatic corps.” With her sunny disposition, Karin would serve customers, but as a quick learner, she was also helping in the kitchen, carrying tubs of warm couverture from the tempering machine, or hand finishing truffles with toasted, finely crushed bitter almonds and pistachios, or artfully drizzled designs.

  Karin rested her chin on her hands, a dreamy look in her eyes. “I’d rather go to Hollywood and be an actress like Marlene Dietrich. Do you know anyone there?”

  “The closest I ever got was staying at an inn in Santa Monica on the beach next to the grand Marion Davies estate.” That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

  “Did you see any movie stars?”

  Celina shook her head.

  Karin rambled on. “Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn just filmed a movie in Rome. It’s called Roman Holiday. Isn’t that romantic? Gregory Peck is so handsome.” Her eyes lit up. “Did you know that dreamy actor James Dean is in love with an Italian actress, Pier Angeli? Oh, he’s even more handsome than Gregory Peck. Do all the men in California look like that?”

  Celina laughed. She could hardly remember what it felt like to be
that young and excited about life. But since she’d decided to remain in Italy, she felt like she was getting a second chance. Marco deserved that as well.

  “Come help me with the truffles before we open,” Celina said. “I’m starting with raspberry-infused truffles with dark chocolate ganache, and I’d like you to dip the candied ginger from yesterday.”

  Karin’s eyes widened. “The raspberry truffles were your husband’s favorites, weren’t they?”

  “I made them for him every Valentine’s Day.” The bubbly teenager asked a thousand questions and had a knack for drawing stories out of her.

  Karin followed Celina downstairs, peppering her with questions all the way down the stone steps until they reached the kitchen.

  After Celina and Karin had scrubbed the kitchen clean, with a little luck and a lot of telephone calls, Celina had cobbled together a kitchen of used equipment, copper pots, and cast iron molds, many of them antiques. She gazed around, satisfied with the work they’d done. It might not be as fancy or modern as the test kitchen at Cioccolata Savoia, but it was hers.

  “We have a lot to do today,” she told Karin, anxious to finish before the opening. Sara had agreed to look after Marco if Celina needed to work late in the kitchen.

  As they worked in an assembly-line fashion, Karin chattered on, wanting to know everything about California, falling in love, and making chocolates. With her wide-eyed enthusiasm, Celina couldn’t resist her questions. And in truth, Karin’s enthusiasm had rubbed off on her.

  While Celina had roasted and processed cacao beans for some of her most special truffles, for others she had obtained couverture, or blocks of processed chocolate that were ready to use.

  She hefted a double boiler filled with water onto the stove and then melted a block of couverture in the double boiler, taking care to keep the water temperature at the precise temperature. Watching the silky chocolate, she made sure to add hot cream and liqueur at just the right moment to make ganache for the truffle’s smooth centers.