Page 114 of Marry Me Not
Cosimo’s heat enveloped me like the world’s coziest blanket. I’d fallen asleep with him wrapped around me, and we’d stayed in the same position the entire night.
Carefully, I turned in his arms, wanting to see his face. He was still asleep. His eyelashes fanned over his cheeks, his hair curlier than usual and tumbling over his forehead. I reached up and brushed it back, thinking about last night, thinking about what I’d finally admitted to him.
He might not have heard me, but the words had been said, and saying them out loud had made them real.
I didn’t want out of this marriage anymore.
And Cosimo… Well, reading him was difficult, but last night, he hadn’t behaved like we had an end date. He’d held me with gentle hands while uttering possessive words, the kind that made me believe this could work.
Thatwecould work.
Slowly, his eyes opened. Warmth unfurled inside them. It was intoxicating to have him look at me like that.
“Morning.”
I smiled. “Good morning. Should we get breakfast before we head out?”
He stared at me for a long moment, as if weighing something. Then, he smirked, tightened his hold around my waist, and dragged me on top of him.
We skipped breakfast.
We also skipped talking about the important things that we’d eventually need to discuss.
But as we got dressed, I told myself there’d be time for that later.
Today, we had a Santoro to track down.
Cosimoand I headed out to the ceramics quarter just after the shops opened. The plan was to visit as many workshops on my list as we could before they closed for the midday break.
The first was in a whitewashed building at the entrance of the quarter. A middle-aged shop owner and her daughter greeted us in Italian before the daughter switched to English.
“Do you sell work by different artists,” I asked, surveying the compact store, “or only your own?”
“We have our in-house collection, but we carry some other artists’ work as well,” the daughter said.
“We’re looking for pieces by Emilio Quaranta.”
The woman’s eyes lit with recognition. “Ah, yes. We have many designs inspired by Quaranta. He is very famous in this town. I can show them to you, if you’d like.”
“Actually, we’re looking for his originals.”
Her smile turned apologetic. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any. They’re very rare. Many were destroyed, and much of what remains has been bought by a few serious collectors.”
“Are there any collectors in town we might be able to speak to? Maybe someone willing to part with a piece?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can help you with that.”
“I guess we can’t expect to strike gold on our first attempt,” I said to Cosimo as we left the shop.
He hummed in agreement.
It was too early to be discouraged. There were still tons of other workshops left to visit.
As expected, the second shop owner was also familiar with Quaranta.
“Yes, the fire was devastating,” he said. “My father was still running this shop when it happened. I remember he was worried the fire would spread to us, but the winds managed to keepit away.” He smoothed his fingers over his thick mustache. “Quaranta’s pieces are very distinct. Quite beautiful, but you’re going to have a hard time finding any for sale.”
“Yes, we know they’re a rare find, but we’re quite determined,” I said with a laugh. “One of the other shops told us there are some people who’ve collected many of his pieces over the years. Do you happen to know any of them?”
