Luke’s hands were filled with bags. “You look absolutely adorable,” I declared.
“I look like a work mule,” he said. “If you can pull out my cell phone from my pocket, I’ll call Enzo to have someone come and take all this back to the castle.”
“Front or back pocket? Because if it’s the front, we might get arrested for indecent and lewd acts in public,” I joked, wiggling my eyebrows at him.
He turned and stuck out his behind at me. “Back.”
I slid his phone out, and he instructed me on which contact to select. I dialed the number and held the phone up to his ear so he didn’t have to put down any of the many sacks full of my souvenirs.
“Enzo will send Claudio to come fetch the bags,” he said, thanking me for helping him call. “In the meantime, there’s something I’d like you to see just a little stroll up this way.”
We walked away from the crowds of tourists and up a narrow street. Stores gave way to houses built on top of each other, taking advantage of every square inch the city offered. Laundry hung from lines stretched in between houses across the road from each other. A couple on a scooter whizzed past us, and I avoided a black cat who skittered across the street and ended up mewing on the front steps to another house.
“Just a little further,” Luke urged, pushing us both around another hilly curve.
The street grew narrower until we reached the pinnacle of the incline. A modest chapel sat surrounded by well-kept flowers and plants. Luke entered and placed the bags near the front, holding his hand out for me to take. He led me further into the interior, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the sunlight outside to the dim lighting of the structure.
My fiancé crossed the small room and stood in front of a partition that protected the far wall. He placed some money into a nearby collection box, and some overhead lights flashed on, spotlighting the paintings on every single wall.
“Holy hexes,” I exhaled, marveling at the sight in front of me. “They’re all beautiful.”
Each surface contained paintings that captured life at the time in Perdaggia. Luke walked me around, allowing me to take it all in.
“How old is this place?” I asked in a reverent whisper.
He chuckled. “Not as ancient as me. It was built sometime after the castle, but the painting was done towards the end of the fifteenth century. It’s Pinturicchio again.”
“You like his style,” I commented, moving to the next vignette of captured life.
“I like his bold use of colors, which he learned in an art school here. Because of his bright hues, these paintings still stand today with less fading than some of his contemporaries who trained in Tuscany,” Luke explained.
I moved to the next scene and my breath caught in my throat. A tall tower climbed towards the ceiling. On the left side of the painting, the sky stood blue against the stone structure. On the right side, the darker night sky with stars covered the city. But in the middle of the dark was an angel wearing period clothing with outstretched wings that looked like flames of yellow, orange, and red.
I gasped. “Your sister?”
Luke stretched out his hand to touch the brilliant depiction of Isabella. “The townspeople thought she was a good omen. They talked of their angel and passed on stories about her to their children. If something good happened, they’d say the angel blessed them. If a child did something bad, his or her parent might tell them to behave or else the angel would come for them.”
“Nobody knew she was real?” I pressed.
He shook his head. “But my parents and I mourned her from when the stories started until they morphed into town lore. I used to visit here quite often, experiencing my guilt over the loss of Isa as a form of punishment.”
I stopped scrutinizing the details of every flaming feather of the angel and wrapped my arm around Luke’s waist, leaning into him. “You need to stop blaming yourself.”
“But something kept Isabella from trusting me. Why wouldn’t she talk to me about her plans? Maybe I could have helped her instead of disappointing her,” he complained.
“Or maybe those are the words coming from a man who’s matured and finally understands why his sister made the choices she did at the time,” I countered. “You told me yourself, one of the reasons you could love me was because of Isabella. Because she had been brave enough to stand up for her love.”
He kissed the top of my head. “You’re right.”
I giggled, and he asked me why. “I just like hearing those words.”
Luke leaned down and whispered into my ear. “You are right, cara.”
A shiver spread from my head to my toes, but I still giggled. “Well, if you’re man enough to admit that, then I guess you’re worthy of marrying me.”
My fiancé swept me into a full embrace, looking like he wanted to kiss me.
I placed a finger over his lips to stop his progress. “Not in here. It doesn’t seem…right.”
His eyes flashed over at the painter’s rendition of his sister with her arms and wings spread wide. The money from his donation ran out, and the spotlights turned off with a faint click, leaving us no view of the frescoes.
“I think Isabella would have liked you,” Luke said after a weighted silence.
Her ring tingled against my finger, and I smiled. “I hope so.”
We walked back to the main part of town together, both of us carting an equal share of the bags. Claudio met us with a car, and he rushed to put all of my new goodies into the trunk.
The smell of chocolate still lingered
