Inspired by music…
(A look at where the story was born)
Back in 2006 a young Italian singer by the name of Patrizio Buanne had come onto the international music scene. He was an old style singer, with a powerful and seductive voice, rich in emotion and range. He was in his mid-twenties then, and had just recorded his second album, a collection called Forever Begins Tonight. It was on this CD that a particular song caught my imagination, with the story it told and the romanticism of the tale. Bella Bella Signorina was one of the most popular songs on this CD, and remains a fan favourite. For me, the more I listened to the song, the more certain I was that I wanted to write a story. I met Patrizio after concert in April of 2007, and by then the story had come into being in my mind. I asked for, and was given permission to use a few lines from the lyrics of the song as the framework for the story I wanted.
Later in the summer, I wrote the first draft of Bella Signorina and after getting the properly signed release from the copyright holder, it was submitted to a publisher. The decision was made to “tone down” the sensuality of the story and make it a sweetheart story, so any sexual overtone were removed, leaving the romantic fantasy to play out like a song. The book held the #1 best-seller spot for over six months, but went largely unnoticed, despite good reviews. I revised the story after the contract expired, and it was released again. This time it was largely unnoticed.
So, when I finally located the file of the original story and had the chance to read this story the way it was originally written, I thought this time it could be released as it was meant to be. Eirelander was willing to give the sexy, sensual version a home at last.
Coming soon in AUDIO
Stefano kept a close eye on the pretty dancer even as he walked to the small caffè. She was lovely, and he’d seen her many times, always enchanted by her presence, but never inclined to find out if the outward beauty was all there was to her. If she was another vain and brainless girl, he didn’t want his illusion shattered. The romanticism of the thought made him smile. He wasn’t as jaded as he pretended to be if he was still protecting his heart with illusions.
Less than fifteen minutes after he’d left her, he rejoined her and handed her a steaming cup of coffee.
“It’s so different here at night,” Bianca noted, her eyes scanning the area. In a matter of hours, thousands of people would begin their daily movements, passing over the steps, not noticing anything but the need to be wherever they were headed. “There’s peace here now.”
“Is that why you dance, to find peace?”
She sipped her coffee and considered an answer. When it came, it surprised him.
“The music is freedom, and the motion is passion. Sometimes the only passion that matters.”
“All passion matters, bella,” he commented. “It’s what gives us life.”
“Or burns it out of us.”
He turned on the steps, faced her fully. Then he touched her chin and made her look at him.
“Who abused your love so fully that you can believe that?”
“People destroy each other for love,” she replied after a lengthy pause.
Stefano shook his head. “Love is the only gift there is worth having, Signorina. It’s what men live and die for.”
“Who are you, Signor?”
He was startled again, twice in less than five minutes.
“Would you like to walk?”
She laughed in the growing darkness, and Stefano felt it ripple the length of his spine, as though cool, flawless silk had glided over him.
“Where are we to go, Stefano?”
“I think you’ll like the place,” he observed, with a hint of irony texturing the subtle undertone of his voice.
She eyed him for a few timeless moments, then nodded and rose.
He smiled when she offered her hand, and he curled his fingers around hers in a loose, but firm grip.
“So, is there a wife hidden somewhere?”
He laughed. “No. What about you? A husband who will come looking for me before dawn?”
She shook her head and sipped her coffee. “How does a man with so much passion not have the woman of his dreams in his arms every night?”
“I could ask you the same question,” he pointed out. “Why are you alone?”
Her laughter washed over him again and she stopped walking to look up at him. “No one I’ve met has inspired the things I need to feel.” She shrugged. "I've been too honest with too many, and it scares them away."
For a moment he said nothing, weighing her surprising confession. “What do you need?”
“To be respected for who I am, what makes me unique.” She tilted her head to one side and held his level gaze. “I need to be given all the things I’m expected to provide, and that seems to be something quite beyond many men. Real men, who understand the value of a smart woman, also see that her beauty is in her wisdom, and her spirit.”
“And her ability to be all things without effort, because she is all things naturally,” he concluded, genuinely pleased at the startled flicker of surprise his words lit in her eyes. “We’re here,” he announced, indicating the building they’d reached.
She looked up, and her smile was radiant in the soft glow of the nearby streetlight. “La Galleria d'arte di Idillio,” she murmured. “I love this place.”
“It’s mine,” he told her as he dug out the key that would unlock the doors to the small gallery.
There was enough real shock in her voice to make him stop as he held the door for her to go inside. “Why does that surprise you so much?”
“I’ve come here a number of times, and I’ve never seen you,” she replied, once he’d locked the doors and turned on the lights.
“I’ve never seen you,” he noted. “Except at the caffè.”
“I’ve always felt this place was a tribute to love, and romance.”
“It is. My father began the collection for my mother.”
“Your father was a romantic?”
“My father was a gentleman, in the truest sense of that word,” Stefano said with a familiar sense of loneliness and pride combined. “He lived la dolce vita,” he smiled, “with the passion of a man who loved all life had to offer him, good and bad.”
A curt nod was all he could offer without revealing how deeply the loss still affected him. He set his coffee on the reception desk, hung his jacket on a rack then did the same with Bianca’s things. Then he took her arm and led her to a small area that had been his work for the past year.
“This is my latest addition to the collection.”
Bianca wandered the area, studying the beautiful collection of photographs. Each one was in a different area of
and the women smiling and lovely, but each one as unique as her surroundings.
“What do you see?”
“Beauty. Romance.” Bianca stared at the photographs for a few moments longer, considering them with serious thought, then turned to face him. “In every photograph, they are not looking at you, but at the camera. They’re seeing the opportunity, but not your reason for wanting them.”
Something fluttered against Stefano’s chest from the inside, an excitement he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He let his gaze drift, cataloguing the woman in front of him. Standing next to him the top her head was at his chin. She had long, waving hair, dark brown with a distinct tint that caught the glow from the lights and turned her thick mane into a mass of warm, burnished auburn. She had eyes that resembled Chinese jade, and a wide, full mouth that curved upward, as though a secret hid behind her smile. She was curvaceous and feminine, effortlessly graceful, and with minimal makeup, appeared very much without artifice of any kind.
“What is my reason for wanting them?” He forced his tone to calm and curious, sincerely interested in her reply, but also caught in the spell she was exerting. Part of his mind was still watching her, measuring the emotion and internal workings of her mind as she analyzed his photographs with real interest. Her teal-colored dress was simple in design, flared skirt unevenly cut at the hem, swirling around her shapely legs as she walked, pausing often to peer intently at the images on the walls. The upper half of the dress clung to luscious contours, and the silver crucifix, her only jewelry, drew his eyes to the shadow between her breasts. He wanted very much to touch her, and instead stuffed his hands into his pockets and went to join her as she stopped at one of the last photos, then looked at him over her shoulder.
“She loved you.”
“So she said.”
“You didn’t love her?”
“Not the way she thought I should.”
“You wanted love from every woman here, yet not one of them saw who you really are,” she observed softly, sadness evident in her tone.
His eyebrow rose. “Who do you think I am, bella?”
“How honest do you think I should be?”
“I admire honesty, Signorina,” he told her. “I respect the courage it takes to offer it to anyone.”
“But do you respect it if the object of discussion is you?”
“Now you’re beginning to worry me,” he teased with a smile. He was fascinated by her intelligence and her insight. She looked past his appearance and his presence to probe his secrets, and whatever she was seeing made her even more alluring to him.
Want to know more? The dance is only beginning for Bianca and Stefano, drop by Amazon and indulge the fantasy more… Leave a comment and on Monday I'll give away a couple of copies of this special book!
“Live the Romance, Become the Fantasy...”
** Predators & Editors Best Author 2012 **