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He frowned at her, shaking his head. “Katerina, Katerina, I am sure you feel this strongly. You are an artist. Of course you do.” He took her left hand and kissed the outside of it. “We will see what we can do to make this work. But next time, you must promise me you won’t go wandering off course because of some momentary notion.”
She shook her head. “I know you are upset, and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, but it’s what I want, Giancarlo. I want to do this exhibition. I feel inspired and my work so far, I think, shows it.”
“You have done some pieces already?”
She nodded. “A couple. I set up a makeshift studio in our attic. The two pieces are a little experimental, because I wanted to try out a few different things. But I’m pleased with the results so far.”
He nodded, serious. “You must show me then. When we return to your father’s house.” He squeezed her hand. “Now, we will talk of more exciting things. I have some news. I have spoken to Mamma while you were in the shower earlier and she has said that she has a date for Villa Borghese in April. And, the church has been arranged.”
“April?” she said. She could hardly fathom anything in April. April was a different universe, one she just couldn’t entertain.
“Yes,tesoro, isn’t that wonderful? It’s a perfect time. Your exhibition will have finished here, and Mamma says that it is almost certain thatGraziawill ask for a whole spread about the wedding for their April or May issue. They will want to know about your art as well as my gallery.”
She nodded, at a loss for words, her mind a blank slate. She looked down at her hand in his, with their carefully polished pale pink nails, carefully matched to the ruby engagement ring. It didn’t seem possible that the hand he held belonged to her.
He gave it another squeeze and released it, pulling out his phone. “Oh, and even more exciting for you, Mamma asked me to show you this picture. It’s the perfect wedding gown. Marcelo, her couturier at the Valentino atelier, recommended it to her after she showed him your photograph. She’s arranged to put it aside until you can return and have it properly fitted. Mamma has been wonderful putting all this together. She knows that you have so much to do, so she thought she would help as much as she could.”
He held out his phone and Kate took it, staring down at the image of a dark-haired model, hair pinned up, dressed in a sheer flowing gown embroidered with tiny red roses and dark vines all over the dress. It was artful and sophisticated, achingly beautiful, the train mid-length and almost suggesting medieval. Kate could only imagine its cost. Or perhaps not.
She looked up at Giancarlo. “I don’t know what to say.”
He covered her hand with his. “I understand. It’s overwhelming. And your mind maybe has been on other things. You no doubt think of your father. And I have been considering that. Perhaps we could contact your priest and see if he would do a blessing. We could make a little ceremony of it while I am here. Hold it in your back garden, or even in the house, if you think your father wouldn’t be able to manage anywhere else. Would you like that?”
She was hit by a moment of panic. A priest. A blessing. In her backyard. The idea of it seemed impossible.
Twenty-Two
Pockets of mist hovered over the lake, the trees arcing around them as though they were trying to contain them. Many of the leaves were brown now, especially the oak, and the vibrancy had muted to a soft maroon, umber, and sienna color, against the background of the green of the pine trees now emphasized by the overcast sky. Kate studied the scene, wondering if the memories would ever leave her. The lake seemed harmless, and it was, she reassured herself.
She hadn’t bothered to lift her camera yet, having taken a seat on the edge of the dock, her feet dangling over the water. It was early, barely past dawn, and cold.
She pulled down the wool beanie she’d shoved on her tangled hair and pushed her hands in the pockets of her mother’s old wool pea coat. She took deep breaths and made an effort to continue to observe the lake, the trees, and the mist in detail. Noted all the tiny movements, the way the mist curled over near the far shore, the stillness of the water, the distant splash of a fish and the scent of pine in the air.
It had been another night of little sleep, the third in a row. Last night owed nothing to Giancarlo’s amorousness. Even he seemed to have given into the exhaustion of the last few days’ activities. No, it was her own mind, the turmoil, the unnamed restless desire to do something.
Her dad had sensed it. He’d even questioned her quietly when they’d had a moment alone, yesterday afternoon, when she and Giancarlo had returned from New York. He’d taken her hand as she leaned over to kiss him goodnight and looked into her eyes and asked her what was wrong. She’d shaken her head and denied that anything was wrong, but she’d given him an extra long hug that night, noting his jaundiced skin and that he was so frail now she might snap him in two.
That was part of it, she knew. The waiting. The knowing what was to come and being unable to stop it. Halloween had passed that weekend she and Giancarlo had been away, and no one had even remarked on it. She could imagine the darkened house and the nurse’s quiet tread as she ignored anyone who’d attempted to knock the door for a treat.
Tom felt the waiting, too. She could see it in his stiff demeanor and false heartiness, along with the shadows in his eyes and his drawn face. He’d been there yesterday when she’d returned, frowning when he’d caught sight of her tamed hair and chic outfit. His only comment had focused on her shoes, a seemingly innocuous remark about slipping on her more comfortable Converses, but Kate heard and felt all the subtext. Tamzin hadn’t been with him. Apparently she was in Boston and wouldn’t be down for a while, She had too much to do. Tamzin obviously knew he wouldn’t make the trip up to see her, not now, but surely Tamzin could see Tom would need support more than ever.
Kate sighed and lifted her camera, hoping she might get lost in the image through the lens. Think about its possibilities. Possibilities that she knew deep down Giancarlo wouldn’t approve.
“Penny for them?”
She turned, startled to find Ethan behind her wearing sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and running shoes, a beanie shoved on his head. He was breathing heavily, and she could see beads of sweat on his brow and upper lip. He swiped the beanie from his head, wiped his brow with the back of his arm and took a seat beside her. She could smell the sweat from his earlier efforts as it mixed with the scents of pine and wet mist from the lake.
She struggled to find words to say to him. They hadn’t spoken since his gig at O’Connor’s, and it seemed to hang over them now, despite his casual words.
“Careful, you don’t want to cool down too quickly,” she said finally, turning to face the lake again. His body heat created from his run began to penetrate her thick coat, heavy and quiet.
He shrugged, drew up his knees and rested his arms on top of them. “It’s okay. I usually come and sit here for a while after my run.”
“You run every day?” She kept her eyes resolutely fixed ahead.
“Most days. Well, here. It hasn’t always been possible.”
She could detect a trace of frustration and sadness in his voice. She started to ask him about it, but he interrupted her.
