The Chocolatier Read online

  Celina shook her head and pressed her hand against her mouth, giggling as he reeled through the flavors.

  “Not chocolate, then, and surely not vanilla. Banana, cherry, peach, strawberry—”

  “That’s it!”

  “No kidding? Mine, too. Two cones with double scoops of strawberry,” he said to the vendor.

  Later that evening, after they had danced to the band and ridden the carousel again, he steered them toward a Ferris wheel trimmed in lights. It was late, and there weren’t many patrons. Tony said something she couldn’t hear to the old man running the ride, and then he shook the man’s hand.

  They climbed into a compartment, and Celina held onto Tony. At the top, the amusement ride stopped, and their little chamber dangled in the air. Enjoying the breeze off the ocean, Celina tipped her head back, gazing up at the stars overhead and feeling loved. Every time she looked up at the stars, she thought of her mother, because her mother’s name, Stella, meant star in Italian.

  “What a beautiful evening,” she said, nestling in the crook of Tony’s arm. “I could stay up here forever, just like this.”

  “It doesn’t have to end.” Tony took her hand and kissed it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tonight. You and me. It could be like this forever, I promise.” Tony tilted her chin and feathered a tentative kiss on her lips.

  She’d wondered what his kiss would feel like. His lips were soft and warm, and she responded, letting him know it was okay. When he deepened his kiss, Celina felt a strange sort of energy shoot through her limbs as if she were electrified. Heat gathered in her midsection, and she felt her body responding in a way she’d never experienced.

  After a few long moments, Tony regretfully pulled away. “I could gobble you up,” he said nuzzling her neck. “I’ve never felt this way about any other girl, Celina.”

  His voice sounded funny—thick and emotional. She ran her hands along his broad chest. “That means a lot to me, Tony.”

  “I don’t think you understand how much you mean to me. Celina, I’m in love with you, I knew I was the first time I saw you. Maybe it was your smile, maybe it was that chocolate truffle, but whatever it was sure walloped me. I’ve never been in love before. But this is right, I just know it.”

  Smiling, Celina pressed a finger against his lips. “That’s so sweet, and I care for you, too.” She felt her cheeks blaze. This must be love. This is what all the songs and movies were about. “I, I guess I love you, too, Tony.”

  “Oh baby,” Tony cried, peppering her face with kisses. “This is what I’ve been dreaming of. You and me, baby.” He kissed her again and fumbled in his pocket. “I’ve been carrying this around, afraid to ask you.”

  He held up a delicate, silvery band with a small diamond that glinted in the Ferris lights. “I know you can have your pick of any guy, but I’ll make you proud, I promise. I’ll love you until the day I die.”

  Celina stared at the slim band and the stone that winked in the light at her. Tony’s eyes were moist and pleading, and held such a pure look of adoration. How could she let him down? That was love, wasn’t it? Wanting to do your very best by a person, wanting the best in the world for them. That’s how she felt about him.

  He was so close to her that she could feel his heartbeat, matching hers in intensity. Being so close to someone, feeling so protected and loved, it was the sweetest feeling she’d ever had. A feeling she never wanted to let go. It was like coming home.

  She raised her eyes to his. “I’d like that, Tony.” She held out a wavering hand.

  “Um, wrong one,” he said.

  She laughed and switched hands, and then Tony slid the ring onto her finger. As she gazed at it in awe, the happiness of belonging, of togetherness, washed through her with force. She raised her lips to meet his, and their passion sealed their promise, though she could tell that Tony restrained himself.

  “We’ll get married as soon as you want,” he said in a husky voice when they finally parted. “Very soon, I hope, but it’s up to you. Is there anyone you want me to talk to?”

  “Talk to?”

  “Ask for your hand. Make it official.”

  “My parents are gone, Tony.”

  “An uncle or grandpa?”

  Celina smiled. “You’re the only man in my life, Tony Savoia.” At that, the Ferris wheel shuddered, and they were soon spinning through the air again, the ocean breeze cooling their hot skin, but not their newfound passion for each other.

  “Since neither one of us has any family, we’ll have to start our own.” Tony hugged her close to him. “Imagine, you’ll be my wife. I’m the luckiest guy alive. Now it’s you and me against the world.”

  Filled with happiness and hope for their future, she kissed him again, and as she did, she felt the tears on his cheeks mingling with hers. Now everything was going to be all right in her world—their world—forever and ever.

  When the Ferris wheel came to a stop, they stepped off. Spying a Photomaton, Tony grabbed her hand and raced toward it, laughing. “I need a picture of you.”

  “What for?”

  “The guys are never going to believe me.” He fished in his pocket for coins and pulled back the booth’s curtain. “In you go.”

  Laughing, she posed for a shot, her left hand over her heart. Snap. On a whim, she yanked Tony’s hand, pulling him inside with her. “Come on, your turn.”

  He protested, burying his face behind her hair. She smiled for the camera. Snap.

  “I want one of you, too.” She tried to push his face toward the camera, but he resisted. Snap.

  “Aw, come on.” She ducked to the side, exposing him.

  “Don’t!” he cried out with sudden rage, whirling around.

  Snap.

  Blustering with anger, Tony jerked away from her and stormed from the photo booth. “I don’t take photographs.”

  Celina sat in the booth, stunned. How could he have morphed so in a split second?

  Two teenage girls pushed back the curtain. “Are you finished?”

  Moving in shock, Celina stepped out. Tony stood with his back to her, running his hands through his hair.

  She walked to him and touched his shoulder.

  He clasped her hand in his, which was trembling from his outburst. “Look, I’m sorry. You didn’t know.”

  “But why?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “I think you’re awfully handsome.”

  “Never liked photographs anyway. Don’t force me again, okay?”

  Celina nodded, still disturbed by his behavior.

  But in the next instant, he swept her into his arms and planted a kiss on her mouth. “Hey, weren’t we celebrating?”

  Before they moved on, he snatched the black-and-white photo strip from the Photomaton. “This first one of you is good.”

  “The second one isn’t bad. At least I can see the back of your head pretty good.” The last two were blurry messes.

  Tony tore the first photo from the strip and slid it into his wallet. He tossed the remaining three into a waste bin by the photo booth.

  Tony spied the men’s bathroom. “Wait here for me?”

  “Sure.”

  As soon as he disappeared, she lifted out the discarded photos. After separating the one she wanted, she tucked it into her purse.

  Upon emerging, Tony bought a couple of beers from a vendor, and they danced to the band and a Bing Crosby-like crooner. Afterward, they strolled along the beach, talking until almost sunrise, the Photomaton incident nearly forgotten.

  After Tony kissed her goodnight, she lay in bed replaying the events of the evening, from Tony’s proposal at the top of the Ferris wheel to the fun they’d had dancing. She recalled how livid he’d become over taking photos, and this disturbed her.

  Yet, if their places were reversed, she imagined she’d feel the same way.

  Yawning, she slid her hand with its new ring under the pillow and burrowed under the covers. Outside th
e ceaseless roar of the waves drew her toward sleep, yet her mind was still troubled about his reaction. Shifting in bed, she thought about how she’d never seen him angry before.

  Was this an isolated incident, or should she be concerned?

  Chapter 6

  Amalfi, 1953

  Celina left the dinner table and whipped through the bedroom door, surprising the housekeeper who’d just settled in to watch over Marco.

  Alarmed, the older woman lowered her knitting.

  “It’s okay, Matilde.” Celina bustled toward Marge’s brown suitcase, which rested on a bench at the foot of the bed.

  Matilde’s face crinkled with warmth, and she lifted her yarn.

  Celina smiled and nodded toward Marco. “Grazie.”

  Returning to her task, Celina opened her suitcase and shuffled through their belongings, fuming with anger as she did. Lauro Savoia was maddening. He’d ruined a nice family dinner. Never had she thought she’d have to prove who she was. How demeaning. She pulled out a folder and pursed her lips.

  Surely this would do.

  When Celina returned to the dinner table, she pushed a brown folder with a sheaf of documents toward Lauro. “If it’s proof you want, there it is.”

  The folder held her marriage license and birth certificates and passports for herself and Marco. She’d traveled with all the essential documents she’d thought they might need.

  “That really wasn’t necessary—” Sara began.

  “Actually, it is,” Lauro cut in. Stretching his neck and shifting in his chair, he reached for the documents and began to inspect them.

  Celina slid a hand into her pocket and withdrew a sturdy chain with a notched metal tag debossed with Tony’s name and serial number—the identification tag he’d worn in the Army. Handing it to Carmine, she said, “He would have wanted you to have this.” She paused. “I kept the other one for Marco.”

  With his lips pressed into a solemn line, Carmine accepted the well-worn dog tag. He brought the metal tag to his lips and kissed it, while tears gathered in his eyes.

  Watching him, Celina realized Carmine—and Lauro—were both as passionate and emotional as her husband had been. They were family, of course.

  Sara ran her fingers over the metal tag with reverence. “He was such a handsome young man when he left. Did you bring any photos with you?”

  This is what Celina had been dreading.

  She slid her hand over her gold locket, cupping in it her palm. “I have one here.” After lifting it over her head, Celina found a tiny groove on the side of the locket that had once belonged to her mother and opened it. One of her most cherished possessions was inside.

  “After the gasoline rations had been lifted in the States, Tony and I took a motoring holiday to Santa Monica. There was a Photomaton on the pier. He was clowning around...” Celina’s voice tapered off as she recalled her cajoling efforts to get him to face the camera. Now she wished she’d been more insistent. His face was mostly buried behind her hair.

  Sara peered at the photo, her lips turning up in a sad smile. “I can’t see him very well, but it looks like you two were having a good time.” She hesitated. “What’s that on his face?”

  Closing her eyes and sighing, Celina recalled the angry, jagged crease that coursed from hairline to jawline. “A scar. It faded more over time.”

  Sara drew her eyebrows together and caught her lip between her teeth. Carmine placed his hand over Sara’s, but she steeled herself and went on. “Had he been injured?”

  “In the war.” Celina tried to choose her words with care. “That’s what he told me.”

  His mother pressed a hand to her mouth. “He never told us...” Carmine encircled his wife’s shoulders and drew her close to him.

  “Do you have any other photos?” Lauro asked.

  “That’s the only one I have.” Celina lowered her eyes. After a while, she had seldom noticed his facial scars. With his gregarious and generous nature, Tony endeared himself to people, forcing them to look beyond ugly reminders of the past and laugh along with him. Now she was glad he’d laughed so much in life. He did everything to excess—especially love. If there was one thing she was certain of, Tony had loved her and Marco with the fullness of his heart. “He didn’t like to have his picture taken.”

  “I don’t remember that,” Lauro said, folding his arms.

  “Have you ever torn up a photo of yourself you didn’t like?” Celina asked, straining to keep her voice level. “He felt that way about all of them.”

  Nodding in agreement, Sara showed her son the photo.

  Lauro peered at it. “I can’t tell if that’s him. You don’t have any others?”

  “That’s what I said.” Was he listening to her at all? Celina flicked an apologetic look toward Sara and Carmine. “He didn’t like to take photos because of his scars.”

  “Did he have more than...this one on his face?” Sara asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She touched his photo again before returning the locket to her.

  “A couple on his arms.” Celina lifted the gold chain over her head and let the locket nestle in her décolletage again. And his torso and legs, but in seeing their reaction, she couldn’t get those words out. Lowering her gaze to adjust the chain, she blinked away the hot tears gathering in her eyes.

  “With his personality, most people forgot all about his physical imperfections. And the scars faded over time. He was still attractive, and everyone loved him.” The scars really hadn’t faded much, but Sara looked so stricken.

  Sara smiled with relief and touched her hand. “Then you never saw him—his face—as he was in the photo in your room.”

  “No.” Celina wouldn’t mention the multiple surgeries he’d told her about, or the painful reconstruction and having to learn how to eat and speak again before leaving the hospital—or how drastically different he’d said he looked. There would be time for that later, if ever. Why intensify their pain?

  At least they weren’t asking about the accident. Having to identify her husband’s body was the most horrific, gut-wrenching task she’d ever had to do. If not for her neighbor who’d looked after Marco that night, and another neighbor who’d taken her to the morgue, she didn’t know what she would’ve done. Without family, she’d been suddenly and painfully adrift.

  Swallowing against her thickened throat, she cupped her chin in her hand, taking in the faces around the table. She couldn’t imagine having the extent of injuries that Tony had and not wanting to reach out to your family for comfort and support. Even one of them.

  If only she’d been able to reach out to them during the long days following his death. Her neighbors had families and jobs. Seeing their faces full of pity, she’d even hated to go outside to hang the laundry. She’d only step outside to collect the milk bottles on the porch before hurrying back inside to the sanctuary of her darkened house and bedcovers. But that was no way for Marco to live. So she’d let their home go, along with all the plans they’d had for the future there.

  “How was he injured?” Carmine asked, his voice gentle.

  Celina shook her head. “He wouldn’t talk about it.” Glancing at Sara’s troubled expression, she doubted she would have shared such details now, even if she had known.

  Carmine kissed his wife’s cheek and hugged her to him. When he pulled away, he asked, “Who’d like more wine?” He motioned to Lauro. “Would you bring another bottle from the cellar? You know the one.”

  Without a word, Lauro got up.

  Sara and Carmine turned to her after he left the room. “Please don’t judge Lauro by what you see tonight,” Sara said.

  “I don’t know what’s happened to his manners,” Carmine added, shaking his head. “That’s not how I raised my sons. Antonino was never like that.”

  Sara shook her head. “Both our boys are passionate—or, were,” she added. Taking a handkerchief from her pocket, she blotted errant tears on her cheeks. “Like their father sometimes.”

  How well
Celina understood. “Tony was passionate.”

  “Lauro suffered a double loss,” Sara said. “His brother and the woman he loved.”

  Celina saw a strained look pass between them. “His wife?”

  “He wanted to marry her,” Sara said. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “Lauro has never gotten over her,” Carmine said, his eyes darting toward the doorway where Lauro had gone. “That’s why he’s the way he is sometimes.”

  Celina wondered what had happened to Isabella. What had caused them to break off their engagement? Whatever the reason, Lauro had suffered, too.

  “It’s good to remember Antonino,” Sara said, indicating closure. She drew a breath of resolve. “But it’s up to us to create the future for our family. For Marco.”

  Sara smoothed her hand over Carmine’s shoulder. “God works miracles when we least expect it. Nino is lost to us, but in his place, he blessed us with a grandson.” With her eyes shimmering through her tears, she held her arms out to Celina. “And his beautiful mother. You are part of our family now. We mean that.”

  “Thank you,” Celina murmured, sinking into Sara’s embrace. “And in my husband’s place, God gave me a family.”

  This wasn’t how she’d envisioned her life unfolding a year ago, or even a month ago. After the losses of her parents and her husband, if there was one thing life seemed intent on teaching her, it was to be prepared for the unexpected. This time the unexpected seemed far more pleasant—a relief, really. Celina hoped she wasn’t wrong. Tony’s words still rang in her mind, but people could change, couldn’t they?

  Or would whatever had occurred between them affect her, too?

  Sara smiled. “You know, I could use some help around here.”

  “Let her decide, cara.” Carmine gave his wife a sweet nudge.

  “Oh, do stay here with us, Celina, at least for a while. We want to get to know you better.”

  Celina knew Lauro wouldn’t like it. “An extra week, perhaps.”

  Sara brightened. “There’s so much to be done, not only here, but in all of Italy. The country is growing, and the economy is improving.” She swept her arm out, gesturing to their surrounding property, bountiful with citrus trees laden with blossoms and fruit, the hills that cradled them, and the azure sea beyond.