“How did your parents meet?” Ruby asked as they sat with their legs touching in the back of the cab. The warmth of his body next to hers was enthralling.
“My mother’s father has vineyards in the north, and my other grandfather had an art gallery in Rome. One day my mother traveled with her father to deliver wine to a gallery, where my father was working. Wine and art—a good match, they always say.”
She lifted her face to the warm breeze through the open window. “And is it, do you think?”
Niccolò laughed. “What a funny thing to ask. We have so much love in our family.” He kissed her on the cheek.
Niccolò’s simple kiss sent tingles clear down to Ruby’s toes. Giggling, she returned the kiss on his cheek. The driver smiled at them in the rearview mirror as he slowed in front of their destination.
“This is Terme di Caracalla,” Niccolò said, gesturing toward towering ruins. “That means Caracalla’s bathhouse,” he added, chuckling. “My mother loves opera.”
Ruby stared out the window. “Opera?”
“You’ve seen opera, yes?”
“No, but I can’t wait.” Beautifully dressed people milled about, laughing and kissing each other on the cheeks. Ciao! Come stai? She frowned. “Is it expensive to get in?”
Niccolò laughed. “I have a cousin.” He paid the driver and took her hand, helping her slide across the bench seat in her dress.
As she slid from the car, she noticed a few people looking at her. Frowning, she pressed a hand to her chest and asked Niccolò, “Do I look okay? People are staring.”
“That’s because you are mesmerizing,” he said, sliding his arm protectively around her.
Relieved, she raised her face to his. Niccolò pressed his cheek against hers, kissing her cheek and neck. Her heart was bursting with such emotion she’d never felt. This is passion. A warm feeling flooded her. The passion she’d seen portrayed on the screen was actually real.
Niccolò pulled away and cradled her face in his hands. “Anima mia,” he said in a husky voice. “My soul.”
“Anima mia,” she repeated.
He laughed. “Not bad. I’ll teach you Italian if you want to learn.”
“Oh yes,” she cried, completely lost in his embrace. And yet, she was found—by another soul so much like her’s. She’d never dared hope he might exist, but here he was in her arms. She felt like the luckiest girl in the world and a million miles away from Texas.
He motioned toward the front of the crowd. “Andiamo.”
Clasping her hand, he led her through the crowd. “Teatro dell’Opera performs here in the summer. This year, they are performing Aida. You know Aida, yes?”
Ruby shook her head. She was hardly paying attention to anything but him, and the passion she saw in his eyes, too.
“Wait until you see it and hear it.” Niccolò touched his fingers to his lips. “L’opera è magnifica. Sensational. Maria Pedrini is performing, and she has the voice of an angel. If I ever have a daughter, I would name her Mariangela. It even sounds musical.” He grinned. “Say it for me.”
“Mariangela.” Ruby laughed with him, but she loved what he was saying. And the name did flow off the tongue.
When they reached Niccolò’s cousin, the man, who was a little older than Niccolò, nodded and waved them in with a smile.
“Now, we have to look for empty seats, but don’t be too obvious about it,” Niccolò said in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Act like we’re looking for friends.”
“I can do that,” Ruby said, grinning.
They waited with nonchalance near a row that had open seats until the lights went down. Quickly, they scurried into the empty seats, stifling their laughter. But as soon as lights illuminated the stage, which was positioned between massive stone pillars, Ruby and Niccolò watched in rapturous awe.
Ruby loved everything about the opera—the music, the story, the performers, the costumes. The soaring passion of the performance reflected what she felt in her heart. Niccolò whispered a little about the story, but even without understanding a word, she comprehended the meaning deep within her being.
If given a chance, she vowed silently, she would bring these emotions to the stage and to film—in her way, of course, but she would be just as strong and memorable.
After the opera ended, the crowd erupted in applause and cheers. Ruby and Niccolò stood with everyone else, and Ruby was amazed at the outpouring of love.
As they made their way out, Niccolò snatched a program from a chair for her. Aida, Giuseppe Verdi, 1870. Taking a pen from his jacket, he drew hearts on a page before giving it to her. “For you to remember tonight.”
“How could I ever forget it?”
They splurged again and took a taxi.
“Scalinata di Trinità dei Monti,” Niccolò told the driver.
The Spanish Steps were near where Ruby was staying with the rest of the cast. Her pensione wasn’t as fancy as the Hotel Hassler where the stars were staying, but she loved simply being in Rome and having a chance to be a part of the production.
At the base of the broad steps, they lingered in the Piazza di Spagna, perching on a low wall near a large sculpted fountain. The sound of rippling water muted nearby conversations and the breeze off the water cooled Ruby’s bare arms.
Gazing at the fountain, Ruby recalled something she’d heard from a fellow cast member. “Baroque style, right?”
“You know art?” Niccolò smiled. “This is the Fontana della Barcaccia. Fountain of the boat.”
Ruby regarded it with a finger to her chin. “Aptly named, seeing as how someone left their boat in the middle of the fountain.”
Niccolò chuckled and drew close to her, lifting his arm around her shoulder. “You make me smile so much inside.” He’d removed his jacket in the balmy night air.
Ruby shivered in his embrace with anticipation.
Sliding his fingers under her chin, he tilted her face and grazed her lips with his in question.
Responding, she kissed him back, softly, but surely. This was her first kiss, here in Rome with a boy whose heart beat in rhythm with hers and whose eyes saw into her very soul. She would never forget this night.
“Anima mia,” she whispered.
Chapter 3
Los Angeles, 2010
* * *
Her heart thumping, Ariana flung open the door of the small church and raced outside. Gripping her flowing, hand-beaded silk skirt in her fists, she wedged herself and her bridal finery into her vintage MGB convertible.
“Ariana!” Phillip called out, but she dared not turn around.
Although she hadn’t planned to wear her dress in the car, going with a slim silhouette of a wedding dress over a billowing, crinoline-enhanced style was the right choice for a fast getaway. Even with the top down, a full-skirted dress simply wouldn’t have fit into the sportscar.
“Stop,” he called again.
No way was she taking time to change.
After the wedding, she and Phillip had planned to put the top down and drive up the coast of California. Phillip wanted to see the towering redwood trees and play golf with friends from school at Pebble Beach. Since she didn’t play golf, she’d be on her own for much of the time. As much as she’d looked forward to their honeymoon, that was his dream trip. Her aunt’s trip to Italy sounded more romantic.