The Secret of the Glass (22 page)

The small woman nodded, attention drawn to the women upon the stage.

“I feel so bad for them. Most have no desire for the monastic life, to live in this place, and these evenings are one of the few pleasures they enjoy.”

Sophia studied the musicians. So many were pale, their skin deprived of any time in the sun. Dressed decently but plainly, yet not a one wore a smile.

“There but for the grace of God go I,” Florentina whispered philosophically, her voice sharp with a tell-tale edge of fear.

By their own admission, these women were merchants’ daughters. Their marriages had saved them from the same fate.

“My husband almost seems attractive when we leave these places,” Nora quipped and Florentina giggled with her.

“Come, come,” Florentina laughed at the wide-eyed look upon Sophia’s face. “Why should we not speak plainly. Ours is an ofttold story.” She shrugged, a glint of dry humor in her sparkling eyes. “I owe my father some gratitude, I suppose. He paid my dowry when he could just as easily have paid the convent, paid for me to become a prisoner and a slave.”

Nora pointed a delicate pale finger toward a middle-aged man, standing in the far corner to the left of the stage, as skinny as a stick, and almost as plain.

“My husband. He is the great-grandson of a Doge.”

“That’s mine, there, ser Zaccario Montecchi.” Florentina pointed in the other direction, to a flamboyantly dressed man, resplendent in deep scarlet and lace. His aged face, etched with wrinkles enhanced by the thick powder upon it, might once have been as pretty as his young wife’s before drink and gluttony took its toll.

Sophia stretched her lips between her teeth, not knowing what to say.

“A husband or a wall, those are our choices.” Nora mused. “Both are meant to govern and contain us.”

The trend had begun with the nobles, those whose unmarried daughters far outnumbered the sons. Now the wealthy merchants sent their daughters into exile with them, unable or unwilling to pay the larger dowries required for a good marriage.

The fear gripped Sophia, the stranglehold of inevitability that came upon her in waves. Her jaw muscles twitched as she clenched her teeth. She almost recoiled when the soft hand patted her arm.

“It’s not that bad, my dear,” Nora leaned in with a whisper, consoling compassion clear in her soft hazel eyes, her young wisdom reminiscent of Sophia’s own Nonna.

“You’ll learn to accept it,” Florentina agreed, a long graceful hand rising absentmindedly to the thick band of gold and diamonds circling her neck.

Nora caught the gesture and laughed. Florentina, realizing what she had done, looked askance, but joined in nevertheless.

Sophia smiled, tense muscles around her neck unknotting. She liked these two women; their openness reminded her of Damiana and their own close, intimate relationship. She hadn’t seen her friend in days and missed her dearly. Nothing could replace what she had with Damiana, no one could take her place in Sophia’s affection, but these two offered a smidgen of hope, a portal perhaps to friendship and understanding or, if nothing else, someone to talk to when abandoned by Pasquale.

“The worst part is the first time they touch you,” Florentina said blithely.

Sophia’s face blanched, her eyes bulged in desperation.

“You will manage, I know you will.” Florentina squeezed Sophia’s hand across Nora’s lap, leaning closer. “You are to marry ser da Fuligna,
sì?”

Sophia nodded and shook off the shiver running through her at the thought of his touch. All three women found Pasquale on the right side of the room. One button of his worn waistcoat had popped, having surrendered in the fight of keeping his girth within its folds, grizzled hair sticking out from the sides of his head comically.

Florentina crooked a finger at Sophia as she tilted closer.

“I’ll tell you my secret.”

Her suspicious gaze flitted about, making sure no one paid them undue heed, wary of the gathering crowd. The disjointed chords of the orchestra began to coalesce into a more recognizable and much loved refrain, Josquin’s
La Bernardina
; the room filled with people taking their seats in preparation of the performance.

“Close your eyes very tightly.” She squeezed her own shut as if in demonstration. “Now, when he touches you, imagine you are somewhere else.”

“Better yet,” Nora leaned in, as did Sophia, the three shininghaired women forming a tight cluster. “Imagine
someone
else.”

Sophia’s lids fluttered, at first in confusion, then with embarrassment, and the two other women tittered again.

“There are so many handsome young men to choose from once you realize the choice of the mind is limitless,” Florentina added through her laughter.

“Look around,” Nora encouraged her.

With unintended boldness, Sophia scanned the room, finding the faces of the young and striking men standing amongst the crowd. It was hard to deny the magnetism of their attraction, the muscular, masculine bodies beneath fitted doublets, or the well-turned ankle beneath snug stockings. She admired their dashing eyes, shiny hair, and glowing skin and felt herself blush at her own enjoyment. When her glance flashed upon him, she gasped as if pricked by a needle.

Nora nudged her shoulder against Sophia’s.

“I like the devilish-looking ones, those you know would be nothing but trouble. What good is imagining the ordinary?”

Florentina said something in reply but Sophia heard nothing save the purr in her voice and another ribald snort of Nora’s laughter. In silence, she wondered why seeing Teodoro Gradenigo again would affect her so greatly. They would meet again, of course, she knew it would happen, and yet she was startled by it. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, stared at him as if captured in a suspended instant of time. In that moment, Teodoro saw her, and a slow, soft smile spread across his lips.

He leaned toward his two male companions and turned, his trajectory on a course directly toward her. Sophia swallowed hard. Teodoro approached with agile charm and Sophia’s dumb-founded perusal raked over him, rebelling against her timid nature. There was a hint of power in his long, graceful stature, and an overwhelming sensuality in his lithe movements.

“If you—” Nora began, but realized she no longer held Sophia’s attention. She followed her new friend’s beguiled gaze and found Teodoro at its apex.

“That’s it. That’s just the kind of man you need,” she said with an almost lewd lilt to her voice. “Put that face on—
mio dio
, he is coming this way.”

Sophia smiled politely but felt her lips quiver; her foot tapped out an arrhythmic cadence against the hard floor. It was too late to respond to Nora, Teodoro was too close.

“Good evening, ladies.” He bowed elegantly before them.

“
Buona sera
, signore,” Florentina and Nora said together, a chorus of twittering birds.

Sophia caught the sly looks the women shared and the mutual admiration. She took a deep, steadying breath; this would be awkward but there was nothing for it.

“Signore Gradenigo, may I present signora Montecchi and signora Pinelli? Florentina and Lenora, this is ser Teodoro Gradenigo.” Sophia longed to include some kind of explanation to his introduction, but knew not what to call him. Was he her friend? Would the women believe it if she called him such?

Teodoro took each of their hands in his, bowing over them with a charming smile. “How wonderful to make your acquaintance.”

“It is so
very
nice to meet you, signore.” Nora batted her eyes at him as Florentina smiled from ear to ear. Both cast sidelong looks of surprise tainted with innuendo toward Sophia. She felt the heat rise on her cheeks and her own discomfited smile spread across her face.

“May I join you?” Teodoro asked, addressing Sophia and her companions.

Florentina jumped up, yanking Nora with her.

“Oh, no, signore. Please sit with your…friend?” The inquisitive edge to her voice was lost on no one. “We will move—”

“Please don’t,” Teodoro said magnanimously, halting their retreat with an outstretched hand. “I was looking forward to enjoying the concert with all of you.”

The young women stopped, smiling prettily, acquiescing to his polite offer with pert nods of their jeweled heads.

“Move down, Florentina.” Nora nudged with a sharp elbow, leaving a seat open next to Sophia for Teodoro. “The music will sound all the sweeter if you are with us, ser Gradenigo.”

“Teodoro, please,” he said, stepping around Sophia easily with his long legs and taking his seat. He gave her a smile and a twinkle-eyed look that belonged to her alone, then turned back to the other women. “Then I will be the luckiest man in the room.”

The women’s tinkling laughter burst forth once more. They sounded as young as they were; two giggling girls in the company of a striking man.

“Did I not see you at the Pucini wedding, signora Pinelli?” Teodoro asked.

“Why, yes, you did,” Nora responded merrily. “Were you there?”

Sophia listened to their sociable, well-mannered banter but found little to say, tongue-tied by Teodoro’s nearness. The shifting of his body so close to hers, the hardness of his arm that brushed up against hers as he spoke; her disordered mind had emptied of any comprehensible comment. He turned back to her again and again, his expression changing from a mask of dutiful politeness to intimate indulgence, as if they shared a special secret.

“Do you come here often?” Sophia found her voice at last, shaky though it may be.

Teodoro nodded. “Two or three times a week, at least.”

“You do? Really?” Sophia said with a discourteous whisper as the concert began, unable to keep a note of disgust from overriding appropriate politeness.

“
Sì
, there is a special lady I come to visit.”

“Oh, I see.” Sophia heard the revealing disappointment in her voice and she dipped her head, staring at the tightly clasped hands in her lap.

Teodoro’s lips twitched into a wry, half smile

The soprano’s first high, sweet notes filled the air, her audience settled.

Teodoro leaned closer to Sophia though his regard remained firmly transfixed on the talented performer on stage.

“She is my sister,” he whispered.

Sophia’s mouth formed a small “oh” of surprise, at once sorry for him, for them, yet pleased. She threw off the inappropriate, perplexing twinge of gratification and watched him as he watched his sibling proudly. The tenderness he felt for her sparkled like night’s first star in his eyes. How terrible to be parted from one so dear, to see her only from afar. A knot of sorrow formed in Sophia’s throat; she would know such sorrow for her own. Just the thought of estrangement from her own sisters, no matter how they might annoy and aggravate at times, and she felt a pang of harrowing separation.

“To be a
monache delle coro
, is not so very bad,” Sophia offered him as a weak panacea—choir nuns were afforded concessions many others were not—but his sorrowful consideration lingering upon his sister showed little appeasement.

The tenderness of her light touch upon his arm connected them in a way no words ever could. “She knows how much you love her.”

Teodoro’s gaze found her, his brow relaxed and a sad yet serene smile transformed his features.

“Yes, she does.”

Sophia answered his tender smile with one of her own. The room faded away and with it, all the other occupants; they were all that remained. Any air in her lungs whooshed from her by the force of his glance and what shone in his deep blue eyes, as if crushed beneath a heavy weight.

Nora leaned forward, mischievous and inquisitive eyes peering around Teodoro’s broad shoulders, a bawdy smile upon her impish face. Sophia’s cheeks burned again and in the heat, she found the impetus to look away.

The music swelled and filled the room, making further conversation as difficult as it was impolite. Through every note, Sophia remained intensely aware of his presence, as the vibrations of the deep bass vibrato coursed through them. The air seemed more alive, her own form more real. Her eyes betrayed her, skipping to Teodoro again and again, following the contour of his profile, down the long length of him, to the trim torso and muscular limbs.

The last note faded and the audience replied with appreciative, enthusiastic applause. Caught unawares, her attention focused on the man beside her, the performance a mere backdrop to her perusal. Sophia flinched, joining in the approbation a second late, hoping to cover her misstep with enthusiasm.

As the spectators around them stood, Teodoro followed his sister as she quit the stage, acknowledging, with an almost imperceptible nod, the small, inconspicuous wave and bittersweet smile she offered in his direction before passing behind the curtain.

It was a glimpse into a family’s window, beyond the closed curtains. A nip of contrition bit at her, a moment of guilt for having witnessed it, yet such devotion and loyalty was a thing of beauty. It told her so much about this man whom she knew so little. For Sophia, how someone loved and respected their family was a sign of how they treated others. Her experience with Pasquale and his family was certainly incontrovertible evidence of her theory.

A smile appeared on Teodoro’s face as he found her regard.

“Did you enjoy the concert?”

“I did.” The connection formed between them once more and swelled. “It was…lovely.”

“It was.”

His brows quirked together and his smile faded.

“Thank you for your most pleasant company.” He stood up and bowed to Florentina and Nora, who watched their exchange with rapt attention.

Sophia expelled a short breath of relief. His brusque behavior was no dismissal, but in truth, gentlemanly efforts to not compromise her reputation.

“It was our pleasure, I assure you,” Florentina curtsied, as did Nora.

“Hopefully we will all meet again soon.”

Teodoro bowed over their offered hands. Taking Sophia’s last, his lips brushed the sensitive skin with the flash of a stroke, so light she scarcely felt it, so quick she could have imagined it.