Page 3 of Hello Goodbye Amore

“YOU WANTED to see me,” Antonello said in Italian as he entered his father’s office.

Even after all these years, it was hard not to stop to look at the intricately frescoed ceiling of the room where deals and intrigues had played out for centuries.

The history of his family filled the walls, portraits of everyone from long-distant Ludovico, who had done work for Cosimo de’ Medici, to his grandfather looking down on the current generation.

Antonello always wondered what they’d do if they knew the real him.

Now it was where his father worked when he didn’t go in to the factory, and once his father passed, as tradition dictated, Antonello would add his father’s picture to these hallowed walls.

If tradition had actual weight, it would be a half-ton barbell on his shoulders.

“Sit, sit, sit,” Luigi Glorioso said excitedly in English.

“I hung up with America. A Smithson Biomedical person, some American name that I forget. They want us to manufacture for them, and they sent someone here to Florence.” He seemed so pleased.

Antonello’s father was a small man, active, thin, and not particularly tall.

But he was a huge man in vision, personality, and expectations.

After four and a half centuries as Florentine goldsmiths and jewelers with a store on the Ponte Vecchio and other locations throughout the city, as well as Rome and Milan, it had been his father’s idea to diversify into boutique metallurgy, creating nonjewelry alloys and specialized products for very specific purposes.

They still made absolutely stunningly fine jewelry pieces, but the metallurgy business allowed the family to continue to grow and prosper.

“Papa, we can speak Italian,” he said gently. His father was getting up there in years but was every bit as strong and forceful as he always was.

“No. You must get used to English. I want you to work with this man.” He got up and prepared them each an Aperol spritz and handed Antonello a glass.

“He is their person here, and I want him to know that we take this business very seriously. That means that we will speak English to him.” He lifted his glass, and Antonello settled in the chair next to his father.

“He arrived at Amerigo Vespucci yesterday, and I make an appointment with him at the Hotel Hermitage in an hour. Okay?”

Antonello nodded, knowing his father’s harsh tone was just his use of English and not intentional. But he also knew that even though his father had asked, it wasn’t a request.

He checked the time and raised his eyebrows. “This late?” His father didn’t meet with people at this time of the day any longer. After his Aperol, he usually went on to a negroni, which traditionally signaled the start of his father’s evening.

“Si,” he answered. “I want to get this man started, and he has time adjustments. I think later is better for his time, and I want him to work well with us.” His father sipped his drink easily, happy as he relaxed toward the end of the day.

“Then you take him to eat, get to know him. Build a relationship the Italian way. This arrangement could be very good for us. Yes?”

Antonello nodded and checked the time once again before finishing his drink. “If we are to meet him, then we should leave soon.”

His father shook his head. “No, no,” he said, switching to Italian. “ You meet with him and show him a nice evening. You get to know this man and then you bring him to meet me and we will all talk.” Leave it to his father to make plans for him without saying anything.

“Si,” Antonello agreed, like he had a choice.

Tradition and family honor had been drilled into him almost from the time his mamma first directed one of the nannies to change his diapers.

He sighed and stifled a groan. This wasn’t how he had planned to spend his evening.

He had hoped to join some friends at an osteria for dinner, but nothing was definite.

“I’ll meet with him. Does he know I’m coming? ”

“I told him his contact would meet him in the hotel restaurant,” his father explained, which meant Antonello needed to go if he was to be on time.

He went upstairs to his suite and closed the door to his room as his phone chimed.

“Ciao, Paolo….”

“Are you coming out tonight?” Paolo asked in Italian, sounding excited.

“Business,” Antonello said, switching to English because he knew he needed to get the language in his head and because Paolo loved to “practice.” He loved “English” girls, which to him meant just about anyone who spoke English and had blond hair.

Paolo definitely had a type. “My father made an appointment for me this evening that I’m going to be late for. ”

“Blow them up and come out with us,” Paolo told him.

“Off, blow them off, and you know I can’t,” Antonello said with a smile.

Sometimes he swore Paolo messed up the sayings on purpose.

It never failed to make the ladies he was interested in laugh, and then they fell for his bedroom eyes and rugged, dark looks.

“This meeting is important, and I have to go.”

“Okay. I go to have all the fun for you. Ciao.” Paolo rang off. He really needed to remember to stick to Italian.

Antonello checked that he looked okay before leaving his family home and walking the few blocks through the center of the historic city.

The buzz of people as they strolled the cobbled streets, the scent of Florentine beef, pizza, and fresh pasta, all of it so familiar he could close his eyes and still make his way.

And yet there had been a time, years ago, when he was in college, that he had thought his happiness was elsewhere.

He’d known it then as surely as he knew the famous dome of Santa Maria del Fiore.

But that wasn’t to be. His family had needed him, and he returned because it had been his duty.

His father had needed help cleaning up Antonello’s cousin Lorenzo’s mess. Antonello shuddered as he thought of his cousin. Some men, like his father, turned what they touched to gold. Lorenzo’s touch turned gold into horse droppings, great big stinking piles of them.

The decision to return home had been a fast and agonizing one, but in the end, he had chosen his family responsibilities over his heart and the life he could have had.

Not that his parents would ever have accepted him being in love with an American.

His feelings had been so chaotic and twisted back then.

Antonello had been so confused, and he’d thought returning to the familiar world he’d always known would help clear things up, but it hadn’t.

He’d known how he should act, and almost seven years ago he’d done so, because that was what his family would expect.

Antonello had loved Elaine, and it had nearly killed him to leave the best friends he’d ever had.

But if he were honest with himself, his heart had been set in another direction, and his main regret in life was losing Chase.

Not that Chase or anyone had ever known or would ever know about any of it.

His father and mother would never accept a finocchio for a son.

Not that any of that mattered now. All of that was in the past, and he pushed those thoughts away. They did him no good. He had made his choice, and that was it. Still, when he was alone, he sometimes wondered what could have been if he had chosen differently.

Antonello arrived at the hotel and went inside. He followed the signs in the lobby to the hotel restaurant, where he spoke softly with the hostess. She led him to a table where a man stood, his mouth hanging open as Antonello approached. It took him a few seconds before he recognized Chase.

“They said they were sending someone to meet with me. I didn’t expect you.” Chase’s gaze grew hard as he sat back down.

Antonello had often wondered what he’d say to his old friend if he saw him again, but he honestly never expected to, and now here he was sitting in this restaurant.

Antonello was at a loss for words. He pulled out a chair and sat down so he didn’t make a scene.

“My father said I was to meet the Smithson Biomedical representative here.” God, he hoped there was some mistake and Chase just happened to be in town.

But the fates were stone-cold bitches, and there was no way he was going to be that lucky.

“That would be me,” Chase said stiffly, his entire posture rigid like he was ready to bolt out of the restaurant at any moment.

“Do they usually send the son of the owner to meet with company representatives? Maybe you could be good enough to let my main contact know that I’m here and I’ll work with them.

That would probably be best.” Chase drank some of his water, turning his gaze toward the exit.

Then his expression shifted slightly, as though he had made a decision.

“Please excuse me.” He set his napkin on the table and stood, nearly knocking over the table in the tight space.

The water almost ended up in Antonello’s lap.

“Chase,” Antonello said before he was out of earshot.

“Please sit back down.” Chase stood in place, looking toward the exit and then at the still-vibrating table before slowly returning.

“I am your contact here. My father feels this relationship with your company is important enough that he’s asked me to handle things from our end. ”