Champagne Deception by Anisa Claire West Read Free Book Online Page A

merely kissed her on the forehead like a grandfather would do.  She struggled to hide her disappointment at the lackluster kiss.
    “I look forward to it too.  I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
    Instinctively, she pulled the blanket around her again as Lorenzo left her in the lonely chamber.  She lay in the bed for the next hour lost in her thoughts.
    Yearning for a hot shower, she rose from the bed to inspect the bathtub in the next room.  “Typical man,” she whispered, surveying the less than pristine condition of the tub.  Rather than bathe in the unappealing tub, she freshened up with a simple bar of soap and sink water.  Slipping into her blouse and buttoning it to her collarbone, she descended the staircase, screaming as one of the planks rattled beneath her.  Without a bannister to grip, Coretta righted her balance, standing as straight as a tightrope walker and avoiding a fall.  She inspected the shaky plank, which lifted right out of the staircase into her hands.
    Beneath the steep staircase was a dusty valley hundreds of feet above the hard studio floor.  Resolving to tell Lorenzo about the hazard when he returned from Umbria, she inserted the plank back into the staircase and cautiously tiptoed down the remainder of the stairs.  Sunlight beamed through the studio, casting curious shadows on Lorenzo’s sculptures.  She glanced at the potter’s wheel where they had shared a kiss.  Hastily, she looked away, not wanting to dwell any further on that one kiss, as delicious as it had been.  It was just one kiss.
    The studio was cold and empty without the luminous presence of its artist.  The large sculptures appeared haunting and lifeless without Lorenzo’s cheerful smile and sparkling green eyes.  Coretta shivered wondering how she was going to spend an entire night alone in this building.  She had no mode of transportation and essentially no idea where she was.  Coretta knew the studio was outside of Milan, but that was all she knew.  And, with a fresh shudder, she realized that she didn’t have Lorenzo’s cell phone number.
    At loose ends, Coretta strolled over to Lorenzo’s work bench and sat down.  Cupping her chin in her hand, she wondered how she would spend the long hours before nightfall.  And she was hungry, she realized.  Breakfast had been consumed hours ago and was nothing but a n unsatisfying carb fest.  She needed real sustenance if she was going to fall asleep tonight.  Spying a half-size refrigerator by the side door, she hurried over and opened it.
    Inside was a disappointing selection of soda, luncheon meats, and cold pizza.  Shutting the door distastefully, she sighed and returned to Lorenzo’s workbench.  His latest sculpture was incomplete and stood in unrecognizable form.  Would it become a statue?  A functional object?  Coretta had no idea where the artist was going with the piece.  She stroked the damp clay and imagined Lorenzo’s strong hands molding it.
    The front door to the studio swung open, as she pulled her hand back and sat paralyzed on the bench.  A towering shadow stood in the doorway.  Could Lorenzo have forgotten something and come back?  Secretly, Coretta hoped that he had come back for her .  She was too jumpy in this remote building that had become so foreboding since his departure.
    “Lorenzo?” She called hopefully.
    Coretta shrank back in fear as Angelo the janitor walked through the door.  Struggling to gain enough composure to address the unnerving man in Italian, she sat up rigidly and parted her lips.  No sound escaped as her breath constricted in her throat.  Trying again, she demanded shakily in Italian, “Wh-what are you doing back here?  Lorenzo told you to come on Monday.”
    Angelo scanned the room wordlessly before settling a heavy gaze on Coretta’s blouse.  His eyes roamed up and down as she trembled uncontrollably, fearing that he had returned to harm her.  She watched him from the periphery of her vision but