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 the “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.
Exclusive excerpt:
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.
“Yours?”
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.”
“He’s gone?”
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 Italy ,
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 Eirelander Publishing and indulge the fantasy more…
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