AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Not to get hooked!’ He was clearly being honest. ‘But I am...probably always have been...’
‘Oh, save your smooth talk for your international guests,’ she said. ‘Yoursyrup...’ She threw back his word from last night.
‘Alicia, I just froze for a moment last night. That compact mirror was from me.’
‘No.’ She wouldnotlet him rewrite things. She wouldnotlet him add to the fantasy of him she had carried for far too long. ‘It was your mother’s parcel. I know her writing.’
‘Gold-plated tin, with a picture ofLa Scapigliata?’ Dante said.
‘Dishevelled?’ Alicia frowned.
‘It’s the name of the portrait. I bought it for you.’
‘No, you must have seen it when I took it out.’
Except mirrors still felt like a guilty pleasure, and she only checked her reflection in private.
‘When would I have seen it?’
‘Perhaps you went through my bag.’
‘Why would I do that?’
He wouldn’t, Alicia realised, because he wasn’t interested enough in her to snoop, and she must never forget that fact.
‘So, you gave me a mirror...’ Her voice quavered. ‘And that’s supposed to mean something? Make me believe you cared all these years?’
‘I bought it in Rome because I wanted you to have something special for your birthday, but I almost didn’t send it...’
‘Why?’
‘Because it might give you hope. I was worried you’d read too much into it,’ Dante said. ‘Because you might hitchhike to Rome and I didn’t know how to take care of myself let alone you. Did you read the engraving?’
He watched her shrug, and it made him ache that she couldn’t tell him why.
‘You said last night that you carry it with you everywhere.’
‘I only kept it because I thought it was from your mother.’
‘Show me.’
Reluctantly she opened her bag and took out the little compact she had carried with her for a decade.
‘This is a picture by Leonardo da Vinci,’ he said. ‘It’s called...’
‘La Scapigliata,’she snapped. ‘You said. So you thought I was dishevelled?’
‘We both were back then,’ he said. ‘Apparently the great man carried this portrait with him everywhere. It was never really finished as he would constantly add to it. Did you read the engraving? It’s one of his quotes.’
‘Dante, it was a gift from your mother ten years ago. I can’t remember what it says.’
‘Of course not,’ he said, and took the mirror.
He swore that one day she would trust him enough to tell him that she could not read, but he would let her keep her secret until she chose to do so.
‘It’s almost gone,’ Dante said, looking at it closely, pretending that he was struggling to make out the words. ‘It’s really faded but...’ He paused before reading the words that felt as if they had been etched on his heart from the moment he had read them. ‘“L’arte non è mai finite, he ma solo abbandonata.”Art is never finished, only abandoned.’
She looked far from impressed.
