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“I had an idea already,” said Kate. “I might explore the concept of the stars and the cultural tales surrounding them. For instance, the Native American tales, like Star Boy, or even the Roman and Greek tales. Orion, for example.
“Orion is a Greek tale,” said Paloma tightly.
“It doesn’t have to be Orion,” said Kate. She made herself smile. “It was just an example.”
Giancarlo took her right hand and lifted it to his lips for a kiss. “I’m glad you are excited and are filled with ideas,tesoro. And I like the idea of the stars, but perhaps we can put that aside for now and focus onThe Aeneid, which is a natural follow-on from the style and form of your first exhibition. It’s a time to establish your brand. Your unique selling point that is your signature art form.”
His words were filled with reason, and Kate could appreciate all the points he made, but her heart and her art were taking her elsewhere. Surely he could understand that the inspiration, the desire that led her to create, couldn’t be governed so purposefully by a brand or a unique selling point?
“Give my thoughts some consideration before you make your decision, Katerina.”
“Yes,” said Paloma. “Giancarlo is the expert. You should listen to him.”
Paloma smoothed her immaculately styled Schiaparelli gown in jeweled colors. She was attending a dinner following this discussion. Giancarlo had persuaded Kate that this visit was an informal celebratory drink to celebrate the success of the exhibition and their engagement. The engagement had yet to be mentioned or acknowledged in any way.
“I promise to give it some thought,” said Kate, looking at Giancarlo.
He smiled back at her, his eyes bright and filled with confidence. “I’m glad to hear it. I don’t do this for me,tesoro mio, but for you. Because I want you to be a success.”
She nodded. It was true, every word that he spoke. He’d proved it over and over again during the past two years since they’d met. He’d supported her every step of the way, helping her build this new life, forge the path into the art world. Showing her the way, guiding her.
She picked up her wine glass from the table at her side. Her elbow knocked the arm on the journey back and a small bit of wine spilled from the glass onto the cloth of the sofa. She cursed softly, forgetting for a moment where she was, who was with her. At least the wine was white. She glanced over at Paloma quickly and saw a flicker of disdain pass through her eyes.
Kate put her glass back down on the table and rose. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just get a cloth.”
“Nonsense,” said Paloma in clipped tones. She looked at her son. “Giancarlo, call for Sofia.”
Giancarlo rose and made his way to the door. Once there, he opened it, and Sofia appeared a moment later, as if she’d been waiting for a summons. Giancarlo returned to his seat while Paloma issued swift instructions about the spill.
Kate rose to make way for Sofia and watched as the maid assessed the spill, left the room and returned a short while later with a damp cloth that was applied to the spot with such delicate care that the flush spreading across Kate’s face and down her neck to her chest deepened. No words were spoken. The whole procedure was carried out in tense silence, a further source of humiliation for Kate.
Once Sofia left, Kate returned to the sofa and took up a position a little closer to Giancarlo, away from the stain. She placed her hands once again in her lap, noticing that a small drop of wine had found its way onto the skirt of her dress. She resisted the urge to tuck it under her, away from Paloma’s eagle eye. She’d probably seen it already anyway.
“I wanted to ask you about the wedding, Mamma,” said Giancarlo. He smiled over at Kate before returning his gaze to his mother. “We of course want to consult with you on all things, since you know the best how these things must be approached. When would be the best time for the wedding itself?”
“We should wait until the spring,” said Paloma.
Giancarlo nodded. “Yes, that would time it nicely after Kate’s winter exhibition in New York.”
“That’s not confirmed yet, though,” Kate managed to say.
She knew she shouldn’t be surprised that nothing more was said on the matter of the spill, or even a reassurance that it would be fine. And Kate felt somehow an offer to pay for it to be cleaned wouldn’t be appreciated.
“It’s only a formality,” said Giancarlo. “If your two pieces aren’t sold, we can put those in for that exhibition and you can just produce more in a similar theme. Perhaps a different photograph, but using similar phrases to the phrases used in the original series.”
Kate blinked. “That’s a lot to do between now and the exhibition, which might even happen as soon as January. Or it could be in the spring. She didn’t commit to a definite date. She just said sometime early in the New Year.”
“But it’s not as many pieces as the series here,” said Paloma.
Kate looked over at Paloma, opened her mouth, and shut it. “No,” she said finally. “She said fifteen pieces. So that would mean thirteen more. Creating just over four a month. That’s what will be difficult to manage.”
“That’s just one a week,” said Paloma. She tapped her nail against the wine glass she had in her hand. “Surely you can manage that, given the reason.”
Kate looked over at Giancarlo who smiled at his mother indulgently. “Oh, Mamma, you shouldn’t tease Katerina in such a manner. And you should go easy on her for now.” He looked at Katerina, humor in his eyes. “You must get used to Mamma’s humor. It is one of the little wicked mannerisms she loves to use.” He placed an arm around her. “After all, you are to be one of the family soon.”
Paloma smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course, Giancarlo.” She drained her wine glass. “Since you have mentioned it, perhaps we should set things in motion. There is much to be done. I will of course consult with the monsignor, and I’m sure we can secure the basilica for the wedding. The reception, I feel, must be at the Villa Borghese. We can limit the guests to 350. Once we secure those details, we can ensure the attendance of those who should be there.”
The words washed over Kate and hardly registered, not just from the speed of their delivery in Italian, but because she was too astonished at their audacity. In theory, she couldn’t argue with the choices. She should be thrilled to be married at one of the oldest churches in Rome, and to have a reception at a location like the magical Villa Borghese would be anyone’s dream. She just wasn’t certain it was hers.
