Free The Last Promise by Richard Paul Evans Page B

same way some feel a calling to preach the word. That is what he was, he decided—a preacher, expounding the divinity of art. Though more times than not his pearls were cast before swine, before those too jet-lagged and culture-shocked to hear, but sometimes his sermons fell on willing ears, and he saw the light come into their eyes, and sometimes tears, and that was when he was happiest.
     
    By nine o’clock Ross had completed his first tour of the day. His second group canceled. Their tour bus had broken down in Siena, and Ross had waited in the courtyard for nearly an hour before Francesca found him and gave him the news. He took coffee at a bar in Piazza della Signoria then went out to the city to purchase a scooter.
    His first week in Italy he had decided that riding a scooter on the Italian roads was akin to a death wish, but he had since repented of the thought. A scooter was the only practical way around Florence. After a little while he found one he liked, a Piaggio Vespa, black and yellow like a wasp. He bought a helmet and lock and drove out of the dealership feeling more like a native. He drove to the northeast perimeter of Florence, upward to the hills of San Domenico and Fiesole. He stayed awhile in Fiesole, toured the Etruscan amphitheater and tombs. The town square, Piazza Mino, was as beautiful as he had been told it was, but there were too many tourists, so he drove back down from the hills, across the Arno toward Rendola.
     
    Earlier that morning, while Ross commuted to work, Eliana had taken coffee with Anna. The sky was a brilliant blue, and Eliana had opened an upstairs window near the parlor overlooking the courtyard.
    Anna spooned her third teaspoon of sugar into her coffee.
    “The American moved in yesterday.”
    “I saw him.”
    “He leaves for work early. He left at six this morning.”
    “Are you spying on him?”
    “Every chance I get. He’s very bello . And he speaks un buon italiano .”
    “Really?”
    “He speaks better Italian than my ex. I told him so.”
    “Gorbachev speaks better Italian than your ex. I could never understand his accent.”
    “Maybe you should go welcome him to the villa.”
    Eliana looked up over her cup at Anna. “By welcome him do you really mean seduce him?”
    “Certo.”
    Eliana laughed. “I’m married, Anna. For worse maybe, but until death do us part.”
    “We could only be so fortunate.”
    Eliana ignored the comment. “Why don’t you make a go of it? You definitely could use a man.”
    “Perhaps when I return. I may not have my looks anymore, but I’m definitely available. Isn’t that half the battle?”
    Eliana smiled, looked at Anna’s cup. “More coffee?”
    “Just half a cup, per favore .”
    Eliana took the cup to the counter and poured the coffee. “What’s his name?”
    “Ross,” she said, though the way she said it sounded more like Roz.
    “Is he here for work?”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. He wired his rent from Switzerland.”
    Eliana finished her coffee, looking out over the courtyard at Ross’s apartment door.
    “Is Alessio still asleep?”
    “Penso di sì.” I think so.
    “It’s a shame. I wanted to say goodbye.”
    “I’d wake him but he needs to sleep. I’m pretty sure he’s sick. His cheeks are flushed.”
    “You’ll say goodbye for me?”
    “ Certo. He’ll be sorry he missed you. You won’t be back until September?”
    “If I can stand being with Claudia for that long.”
    Eliana smiled. “If she’s such miserable company, why do you go on holiday with her?”
    Anna raised her hands. “Who else is there? You won’t come with me.”
    “Maybe if Maurizio was around.”
    “If Maurizio was around, I would not invite you.” She glanced over Eliana’s shoulder at the wall clock. “Is that the correct time?”
    “Sì.”
    “Claudia will be crazed if I’m late. I better go.” She downed her coffee; then the women walked to Anna’s apartment. Eliana helped her carry the last of her