Trust (17 page)

She whirled around. “It’s-”

“Shhh. I know you’re still unsure, but I love you. You don’t have to say anything.” His Mediterranean azure eyes were sparkling. “I’ve planned so many surprises for you.”

“It’s your birthday and you planned surprises for me?” She sipped her champagne.

“Yes, starting in…” he looked at his Vaucheron Constantin Tour d’Ille watch, “five minutes, max.”

Their personal butler knocked on the door, and announced they had visitors.

“Starting now,” Ethan said, bit her earlobe and turned to receive the group.

The butler announced Signora Marconi and she suddenly flooded the airy living room along with four assistants. In their arms, the two women and two men carried heaps of velvet, silk, and plumes.

Sophia looked at Ethan, questioning him silently.

“Our costumes for the doge’s ball,” he explained. “Mrs. Marconi, I’m sure everything is perfect for tomorrow night.”

“Signore Ashford, this is my easiest and most pleasurable mission.” The short and thin woman answered as she measured Sophia. “Signora Ashford is
belissima
!”

Sophia giggled at the mistake and Ethan kissed her soundly. “See you in a few minutes, Signora Ashford.” He waved at Sophia with a wicked smile, leaving the room with the men to try on his ensemble.

The small woman unzipped a black garment bag and took out a mantua with a small train made of black velvet embroidered with silvery thread and Swarovski drops. The embroidery was a delicate pattern of flowers and swirls. The black velvet sparkled like a starry night.

“It’s magical,” Sophia breathed, delighted by the cloth.

Mrs. Marconi helped Sophia put on a delicate silver and black silk brocade gown with a fitted bodice and flared petticoats, fastening them on Sophia’s body. The low, square neckline and bodice emphasized her collarbones and breasts. The black, sparkling mantua was drawn back over the hips to expose the bodice and petticoat beneath, fitting tightly at her waist. The sleeves narrowed at the elbows and then opened wide to show the lace-trimmed sleeves beneath, almost covering her wrists. The matching shoes, made of the same black embroidered velvet, had a curved heel and a squarish toe with a bow of the silver brocade.

“It is absolutely perfect, Signora.” Sophia marveled at the gown. “You had my measurements?”

“Your husband knows your size exactly, Signora.” The woman circled an amused and grinning Sophia. “
Splendida
. Come and see in the full length mirror.” She held Sophia’s hand and led her to the bedroom, knocking on the door and waiting for an answer.

Ethan opened the double doors and had already changed into his normal clothes. His breath caught in his lungs. He lifted a hand, stopping the women and stepped back to better enjoy the amazing vision in front of him. He tilted his head to the side. “Magnificent,” he breathed. He crooked his finger at her, commanding her inside the master bedroom.

When Sophia saw her reflection in the mirror, she stood in awe of it. “Lovely.”

“Just perfect. Everything I had imagined,” he whispered in her ear, “my queen.”

Signora Marconi advanced, taking Sophia’s hair up and pilling it up with some pins. “No wig.
Definitivamente
, no wig and no hat. You need something sparkling in this glorious hair. Maybe the silver plumes. Or a Swarovski diadem.”

“Diamonds.”

“Bravo, Signore Ashford! Let’s see the effect.” She snapped her fingers and an assistant hurried to pick out what she wanted.

“How were your clothes, Signore?”

“Perfect. As for the hat, I prefer the one with the black plumes.”

She rearranged Sophia’s hair in a loose bun and set a sparkling diadem on her head and some plumes, leaving a cascade of locks at the back, dropping them to her left shoulder. “No,” she said, thinking out loud, “no plumes in the hair. You don’t need accessories. Hmm,” the seamstress pursed her lips. “Curls.
Si, si,”
she bobbed her head, “you should have curls. I will set an appointment with Marco Bianchi for your hair and makeup, Signora. He is the best in
Venezia
. Is five okay?”

“May I?” Sophia asked, looking at the box with combs, pins, tiaras and a whole set of hair accessories. She took off the tiara and fitted a single Swarovski headband with small leaves over her hair. “What do you think?” She asked Ethan.

“Well,” he cocked his head to the side, “if you like it better, it’s up to you.”

She looked at the mirror and liked the effect.

Simple, but extremely elegant
. “It will go spectacularly well with the Makis set you gave me.”

“Hmm…” he lifted an eyebrow and shrugged.

“You can use this headband, Signora.”

“Done. So, tomorrow at five o’clock I will wait for Marco.” She pivoted in front of the mirror and beamed at the seamstress. “Thank you very much. I loved it.”

Sophia emerged from the bedroom into the living room. Ethan talked on his Blackberry while perched on the desk near the door to a private balcony overlooking the lagoon. When he saw her, he ended the call and stood to welcome her in his arms.

“It’s still raining,” he pouted and led her to sit with him on a love seat facing the canal.

She laughed. “You look like a child who’s been forbidden to play with his favorite toy.” She sat on his lap. “The weather will get better, you will see. I checked online this morning.”

“Taste this,” he put a Venetian biscuit in her mouth, grinning naughtily at her.

“Mmm.” She closed her eyes, savoring the delicacy. “I think you’re trying to cloud my senses with all these delights. What do you want this time, Ethan?”

“You,” he murmured in her ear, sending a thrill through her body. “Only you. It’s all I want. You.”

She smiled at him. “You know, if we had some time to spare tomorrow,” she said between bites, “I’d love to visit Rubelli Fabrics.”

“For your new house?”

“Mm-hmm. I told my sister Carol I was coming here and she told me to go. Their shop is hidden in a tiny square just off Piazza San Marco. They have the most gorgeous velvets and silks. Their finest silk damasks adorn the grand apartments of the Palazzo Ducale. I want the rooms of my house restored to their former glory.”

“Sure, baby. We have some time before our dinner. Want to go now?”

Sophia jumped from his lap. “Let me get my coat.”

5.19 p.m.

“You have such good taste, Ethan. And you’re very patient. I’ve never seen a man so willing to help out in a shopping spree,” Sophia said while they strolled back to the pier.

“Your company is worth it.” He helped her board the boat, said something to the captain, and sat at her side, with an adoring smile on his lips.

As the sun set, it lent a golden hue to the magical, romantic city.

“A small detour,” he explained as the boat slowed down, putting his arms around her. “It’s said that lovers are granted eternal love and bliss if they kiss on a gondola at sunset under the Bridge of Sighs,” he murmured looking into her eyes and kissed her when the shadow of the bridge fell over them.
And I want us together, eternally
.

She smiled at him when he ended the kiss, “Do you think we can steel the hope of the late prisoners?”

He frowned, “Prisoners?”

“The famous name of the bridge refers to the sighs of prisoners who, passing from the courtroom in the Doge’s Palace to the prison, sighed as they took a last look at freedom glimpsing the lagoon through its small windows. You’ve never been inside the bridge?” He shook his head. “We should go tomorrow morning.”

“I’d love to, baby.” He grinned at her.

“Did you know that Casanova was one of the most famous inmates of the prison? He escaped onto the roof one night, reentered the palace, and was let out through the front door as if he were a magistrate working late.”

“Casanova… You know the most peculiar things, don’t you?” He never felt so happy in his whole life. He had never dreamt of finding a woman like her.

“Do you know how many women he bedded during his life?”

He shook his head, amazed. “No, but
you
do.”

“He boasted in his memoirs that he had a hundred-and-twenty-two lovers. The question is,” she wiggled her brows at him, teasing, “did he satisfy them all?”

“The legend says he did,” he chuckled, “but what matters to me is: Do I satisfy you?” he murmured on her ear.

“I’ll answer,” she bit his earlobe, “this ridiculous question” and she kissed his throat, “back at the hotel room.”

He cupped his face and stared deeply into her eyes, “I can’t wait, baby.”

Saturday, February 6
^th
, 2010.

9.30 a.m.

Ethan nuzzled Sophia’s neck. “Wake up, lazybones. Breakfast is here.”

As always, he was already up and dressed before her.

What on earth he does to me to make me sleep late, I can’t fathom
. “Good morning.” She stretched lazily on the bed and blinked.
Saturday the sixth!
“Oh! Ethan!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him, “Happy birthday, my dear.”

She kissed him on the lips and jumped from the bed. Grabbing a wrap, she opened the chest of drawers digging with one hand under her clothes for his gifts while the other struggled to tie her wrap. She turned to him, hiding two boxes behind her back. He grinned at her sudden clumsiness.

“I have something for you. I hope you like it.”

His azure eyes sparkled with love. “The best gift you can give me is your smile.”

“Very well,” she smiled broadly at him. “Seems I have made the right choice.” She handed him the smaller box from her back and handed it to him with a quick kiss on his cheek. “But first, this.” She put the box in his hand. “This reminds me of your eyes. I had them made for you.”

He first opened the cream and navy card attached to the box.

Venice, February 6
^th
, 2010.

Dear Ethan,

I wish you the same happiness you have given me.

Sophia.

He kissed her on the lips, enchanted. “You’re so sweet, baby.”

From a black velvet box, he removed a pair of classic square cufflinks and four shirt studs. Each one featured a three carat cushion-cut Brazilian Paraíba tourmaline almost the exact color of his eyes set in platinum.

“Sophia, darling…” he breathed. “They’re extraordinary. Where did you find such a gem?”

“Well, the Paraíba tourmaline is Brazilian.” She lifted a shoulder, dismissing all the trouble she had been through to locate the exact color and size she wanted. The gems were very rare. And the color she had chosen, even more so.

“The color is exquisite, isn’t it? Just like your eyes.” She smiled at him. “Now. This isn’t your main gift, but, I think you will like it the most.” A big, rectangular bluish-gray silk box from Buccellati wrapped with a gray shiny ribbon appeared from behind her back. “Open it,” she beckoned.

He eyed her askance and opened the box taking out another case. He lifted the lid slowly, blinking when he looked at the intricate silver frame that encased a photo of him embracing a smiling Sophia, in front a beautiful sunset at his manor in Scotland they had visited the previous weekend. At the bottom of the photo was a message in her handwriting, in dark-green ink.

Thanks for bringing me back to life. S.

It took his breath away.

“Oh, baby.” He sat there, frozen, looking at the photo and at the message, in complete wonder.
This woman is absolutely perfect
. “Sophia… What have I done to deserve you?”

7.50 p.m.

Sophia admired Bianchi’s work on her hair. The diamond headband Ethan had given her earlier that afternoon shimmered in the mirror. It was similar to the one by Swarovski she had tried on yesterday.

He is really crazy
. She shook her head, a broad smile on her face, and reapplied the lipstick when she heard Ethan cursing in the bedroom.

“Need some help?” she inquired, entering the bedroom. She first noticed two Venetian velvet capes on the bed: one plain and one hooded and lined with white ermine. Alongside them were identical Columbine black masks decorated with silver Italian lace and Swarovski crystal, two pairs of black gloves, a small, velvet-embroidered pouch handbag, a walking stick, and a black tricorn hat with black plumes.

Ethan stood in front of the mirror, wearing a gray wig, a black velvet dress coat finished with antique silver braids and breeches, a silver brocade waistcoat buttoned over a black shirt with cuffs and jabot lace, black knee-high socks, and black velvet shoes with a silver buckle and two-inch heels.

“I don’t know if this was such a good idea,” he spun on his heels facing her.

“What-” she stopped, openmouthed. She bit her lip to hold her laughter but wasn’t able to interrupt the twist of her lips.

“Laugh on,” his mouth curled up, too. “I’m ridiculous, I know.”

An unbidden grin appeared on Sophia’s face as she walked up to him and her fingertips touched his shaved jaw. “Have you gone crazy? Why did you do it?”

“It was that bloody Marco Bianchi’s idea.” He leaned his face on her palm, scolding. “He said that men from the eighteenth century didn’t have beards.” He shrugged.

Sophia giggled and shook her head. “You silly man.” She kissed his jaw, running her lips over it, “I like it better this way. You have a strong jaw.”

He captured her lips with his, appeased. “So it’s settled. No more beard for me.” He extended his bent arm, “Shall we, Your Majesty?”

They arrived punctually at eight-thirty. From the moment they approached the sumptuous Palazzo Pisani Moretta on the Grand Canal, Sophia’s imagination soared. Upon their arrival at the doorstep, they were welcomed into a fairy-tale world of dancers, singers, musicians, jesters, acrobats, and fire-eaters.

The façade of the palazzo was an example of Venetian gothic floral style with its two floors of six-light mullioned windows and ogival arches.

Inside the palace, the sensual and sophisticated decor depicted debauchery at its most extreme. Ancient decadent Rome mixed with Bram Stoker’s
Dracula
and creatures of hell. Representations of flesh abounded everywhere. Decadent sculptures and paintings of lascivious nudes proliferated. Devils, winged-demons, extravagantly dressed vampires and barely dressed pans, harpies, and fallen angels, some bare breasted, others covered only in body makeup, taunted the guests as they arrived.