APRIL IN ROME
Chapter Two

For the next few weeks, Rose DiStefano disappointedly saw her April in Rome as if she’d already lived it. An endless parade of parties, cotillions, yachts, and polo matches. Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. If only Fabri was still here…if only she was back home in Texas! She’d take these high society old world Italians to a REAL party! She could just see their faces! Keg parties, barn dancing, skinny dipping, and rodeos. Now THAT was a recipe for an all out fun party! Whew…

And just when Rose thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Donna DiStefano knocked on her bedchamber door and strolled in. Draped across her forearm was a beaded white evening dress. Of course, Rose had been pettily pouting for she was experiencing actual boredom for the first time in her young life.

"What’s this?" Rose solemnly asked while gingerly caressing the embellished gown. It was a breathtaking designer gown of timeless elegance. Strapless and form fitting, it was covered in tiny white seed pearls, opalescent sequins, and crystal beads. It must have been very expensive, yet was much too delicate to actually wear, Rose surmised.

"It was your mother’s, mia…you’ll need it tonight for the opera," Aunt Donna stated rather matter-of-factly.

"The opera? Why can’t we just go to a dinner theater, a picture show, or an art gallery or something? Even a ballet would be preferable to a disgusting opera!" Rose hotly challenged.

Donna DiStefano was getting increasingly irritated with her constantly belligerent American niece. No, she was nothing like her mother, she inwardly reflected. Taken aback, she accused, "Why are you being so selfish, Rose? Have you ever been to an opera?" At that Rose shook her head from side to side and Donna continued on, "Rose, your grandparents are getting quite old and feeble. Do you want to see them hurt in any way? Do you want them to remember you, their only granddaughter, as a selfish spoiled brat? Is that what you want?" she exasperatedly implored.

Gradually Rose relented, surrendering to her aunt’s request and accepting her fate. She determinedly held out her delicate hand and lightly said, "Give me the dress; it looks just about the right size or pretty close at least…Aunt Donna, will you help me?"

At last, Donna smiled and let out her breath. Thank goodness, there wasn’t going to be another incident after all.

The creation fit Rose to perfection, showcasing every trim, shapely curve, except for the bodice. There just didn’t seem to be enough gown. It was already cut daringly low, and the tops of Rose’s ample bosom were dangerously exposed. She self-consciously tugged on the fabric, attempting to pull it upward. In the mirror, she ruefully smiled and inquired, "Do you have a shawl or something I can borrow?"

"Of course, mia, perhaps an ivory lace wrap?" her aunt offered. Rose was honestly smiling for once. The first real smile in the past few weeks. Donna was enchanted by it and she excitedly set her troublesome niece down at the antique vanity and carefully began to arrange her hair. The long, curly, auburn locks were swept up into a simple French twist. The becoming coiffure was adorned with an elegant pearl-encrusted tiara that made Rose look like a member of royalty. Donna added matching pearl teardrop earrings and a pair of ivory satin elbow length gloves.

At last Donna stepped back and said, "All right, Rosa mia, I sincerely hope you have a pair of silk stockings and some ivory high-heel shoes." As she glanced down at Rose’s tiny feet she added, "Because there is no way, Cinderella, that any of mine will fit those feet! Good gracious, whatever size are they?"

Rose laughingly held up her delicate bare feet and wiggled her finely manicured toes.

"Size 5!" she giggled. At that she heard her aunt swearing in a good humor something about the holy mother. They both continued chuckling like giddy young girls at an overnight slumber party.

Finally, Aunt Donna excused herself to find a suitable wrap and for Rose to finish with her toiletries. When she returned, she was carrying an off-white stole and a black velvet jewelry case.

As she opened the lid she purred, "One more thing, mia, I thought tonight you’d like to wear this!"

It was easily the most hideous, gaudy piece that Rose had ever seen. It resembled a chandelier and she guessed as heavy…a dreadful, awful thing. Tactfully, Rose stared and stammered, "It’s overwhelming, but…ahem..." Clearing her throat, she declined. "I’d really prefer wearing my mother’s St. Mary’s necklace. Actually, she gave it to me as a gift for my first Holy Communion." Although petite, it was of exquisite taste and fine quality and nestled just above the valley of Rose’s breasts.

Sincerely, Rose implored, "I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Aunt Donna, but it holds tremendous sentimental value for me." And to disarm her she added quite coyly, "Besides, St. Mary is my guardian protector—she watches over my precious virtue!"

"Then keep it ON, by all means, mia!" Donna laughingly responded. She pecked Rose on the cheek and met her emerald eyes in the mirror. "You shine up like a new penny, if only your Mama could see you now!" For once, Rose’s eyes began to actually mist.

LATER THAT EVENING

The Grand Opera House in Rome was architecturally magnificent, legendary, and majestic. Centuries of operas had been performed there. It was a marvel, and Rose was visibly impressed. She was absolutely radiant this night, and Uncle Vic was pleasantly puzzled by his niece’s sudden change. She smiled engagingly during the countless introductions, exhibiting charm and wit. And if Vic didn’t know better, he would swear she was a genteel Texas princess!

He escorted his wife and niece into their private box and Rose perched on the edge of her gold velvet chair. The tight-fitting gown disallowed much movement and the longer she sat, the deeper the beads were embedding themselves into her bottom! On top of that, if she didn’t sit absolutely erect, her breasts were threatening to spill over the top of her bodice. The wrap lent little cover but moreover, the rough lining of the dress was chafing her tender breasts! Tonight was going to be a long, uncomfortable, interesting night.

Finally, the gold curtains were drawn, the lights were dimmed, the audience quieted and the opera began. Almost immediately Rose lost interest and for some inexplicable reason, she began to feel like the spotlight was on her. Of course, it wasn’t but she eerily sensed she was being keenly watched. She compared it to an animal stalking its prey, just before it pounces and devours its helpless, unwary victim. Rose chilled and visibly shuddered. Trying to locate the object of her discomfort, her observant, emerald eyes intensely began to skim the audience.

Suddenly they stopped and clashed with a pair of bold azure eyes looking right through her! Behind the turquoise eyes was a young, scruffy-looking man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. Rose erroneously believed she had been "caught" rudely staring and hastily averted her gaze.

Nevertheless, the odd feeling persisted. Slowly she came to realize that those same lustful, gleaming eyes never looked at the stage but were riveted on her chest! So, she was on display after all. She quickly glanced down, assuring herself that her nipples weren’t falling over the top of her gown. The man was setting her frazzled nerves on edge. Her composure was crumbling. His continued flirtatious perusal made her extremely uneasy and she began to fidget nervously. Inwardly, she began to fume and muttered, "This is horseshit. I’d like to slap the presumptuous S.O.B. in that leering unscrupulous face!"

Rose’s flashing jade eyes forcefully locked with his. She flicked insultingly down his tall masculine frame. She tried to detect some obvious flaw to ridicule. However, the more she looked, the more she returned the mutual assessing inspection. Biting her lip, Rose’s pale green orbs glittered and slowly moved up his body to his handsome face. Their gazes locked and held a second time. Realizing he wore a cocky sardonic grin on this countenance, Rose instantly aimed to wipe it off. Her brow arched questioningly and simultaneously shot him a contemptuous glare.

Undaunted, the suave, impeccably dressed man raised his crystal champagne flute in a wordless toast, all the while undressing Rose with his eyes. Her eyes narrowed and she mutely muttered, "The arrogant gutter rat. He doesn’t know me. How dare he rudely and uncouthly insult me with his lustful overture?"

He made her feel naked, exposed and was practically raping her with his penetrating stare! "He must think I’m some weak-kneed, pining whore, eager to sate his repugnant sexual desires." She coyly blushed at the carnal thought and became cross with herself.

But, she’d teach him to dally with her! Rose DiStefano would not be underestimated by no one—nobody!

*****

Jack Dawson had been casually perusing the centuries old opera house when his curious eyes settled and were held captive by a stunning ethereal vision in radiant candle white. Seated directly across the theater in a private box, Jack was held spellbound by the most rare and natural beauty he had ever laid eyes on. And he had seen and had plenty of the most beautiful women in the world in his twenty-six years. He had pursued and played with countless starlets and supermodels in the States and abroad. But after a short time, he had always become bored and lost interest in their various charms. There were too many fish in the sea for him to settle down with just one. However, not one of those girls could even come close to this sultry siren. Her exquisite loveliness was unchallenged, unparalleled.

He realized finally he had been caught staring when his companion and current movie director, Martin Stefano, nudged him. Martin was waving his hand before his face and in an imitative Irish brogue he warned, "Oh forget it, boyo, it’s like angels flying out of your arse to get next to that!"

They chuckled slightly, and Martin slapped Jack good-naturedly on the back and turned back to the performance. However, Jack’s eyes kept wondering of their own volition across the room. Holding up his opera glasses, he took a closer look at the sparkling treasure sitting regally across from him. Silky copper hair and so natural…no artificial, silicone-injected fake. Her lips were like sensual rosebuds, beckoning to be ravaged. His eyes raked her from head to toe; he was mesmerized and was memorizing every minute detail.

Although he couldn’t detect her exact height, he knew she was of petite stature. She would make a man feel like a man. He could visualize her tilting her head back offering her lips to him to be thoroughly and properly kissed. He wouldn’t have to look up at her or even be at eye level with this girl, mentally comparing her with the overly tall women he had been associated with in the past and present. Flawless, light golden complexion—this girl definitely didn’t live on a tanning bed! Velvety soft skin that begged to be touched. Jack’s nostrils flared unconsciously and his breathing began to come in spurts. Her cheeks were blushing now a light peachy tone, but it was the eyes—those peridot jewels that sparkled and shone with some unfathomable mystery. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it now, but…

Jack’s eyes lowered to a small, perfectly pert nose that fit her face to perfection. Lowering his eyes further, he feasted on a generously endowed enticing decolletage, which instantly set a fire in his loins. She had an extremely tiny waist, which was nipped in to such a degree he envisioned both his hands spanning it to pull her against his body. Ooh-la-la!

It was like being inside a dream or something…truth but no logic…damn, he breathed, she was everything he needed and wanted in a lover. He suspected she might hold his interest for quite some time. Temptingly alluring, yet she had a royal aura about her. Perhaps a countess. Now that would be different and interesting fodder for the tabloids. Pursue, capture, and ravish a Royal Highness. He wickedly grinned at his carnal musings.

Exhaling his ragged breath, Jack became aware that slightly narrowed emerald green eyes were intently studying him. There was that inscrutable look again that he just couldn’t quite comprehend. That aristocratic bearing she exhibited didn’t quite congeal with her inner spirit. Of course, he didn’t presume to know the lady, but something just didn’t quite jell.

Raising his glass he silently breathed and sighed, "Here’s to…carpe diem!" and winked her direction.

Suddenly Jack winced. He couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed! He shook his head to clear it. Surely his eyes were playing tricks on him. He blinked and raised the opera glasses again just to verify his outrageous suspicions. His seductive grin faded and his sapphire eyes widened slightly. Surely not…gorgeous, sophisticated, first-class girls just did not give someone the international sign of contempt. Regal lady—hardly!

She had actually "shot him the finger" with all the tact, or lack thereof, of a lowbred street tramp! Realizing he was strangely amused, the sardonic grin returned and widened. His heart was racing and his loins were embarrassingly stimulated to the point that his breeches became tighter and downright uncomfortable! His chest began to rumble lowly and he tossed down the remaining contents of his drink. Upon further reflecting, Jack mistakenly assumed that her gutsy, reckless, and vulgar action had to preclude to a vastly knowledgeable sin-loving creature.

Ah...so that’s the piece of the puzzle that had eluded him before! Smiling inwardly, he made a solemn promise to seek the "lady" out! Whew, he had been dealt a lucky hand this night, a very lucky hand. This could lead to a quite promising April night in Rome, he mused.

*****

In the next instant, applause erupted, the curtain was raised, and the lights came on for intermission. Rose coquettishly smoothed her gloves, making a great show of the intricate finger play. As everyone stood, she yawned, whirled around, and recklessly stole a quick haughty glance at him over her shoulder.

She felt his leering, glinting eyes scalding her back but ignorantly didn’t realize that Jack’s desirous visage was resting wantonly and admirably on her finely shaped derriere!

A short time later, out of the corner of his eye, Jack espied a flutter of white entering the ladies power room. Impulsively, after excusing himself from his companions, he purposefully and swiftly covered the short distance. After waiting a sufficient amount of time, he grew impatient and boldly opened the door to swagger inside. He stopped short, seeing the object of his inquiry primly sitting on the pink marbled restroom vanity. Ankles crossed, feet dangling back and forth, hands clutching the countertop holding herself erect as if to keep herself from falling forward, Rose was coolly blowing smoke rings in his direction.

The lil’ hussy. Jack chuckled inside and waited for some surprised, shocked, or outraged reaction at his audacious intrusion. He got none.

For some unknown reason, Rose was not surprised to see him there. She noticed for the first time that he was not dressed in traditional evening attire. While he sported tails, dress shirt, and tie, his pants were tight black jeans topped off by black roper boots. A Texas tuxedo, now that was quite interesting, she observed. She realized she had been ogling him and raised a questioning brow.

To break the ice, and trying to catch her off guard, Jack smugly began, "Pardon me, Miss, but didn’t I see a sign outside strictly prohibiting smoking?"

In a bored monotone Rose drawled, "Yeah? Well, I don’t read Italian too good," and blew more smoke his way. She disarmed him thoroughly, however, when she held out a cigarette and offered him one. Slowly yet gratefully, Jack accepted and joined her.

Still trying to rattle her steel composure he continued, "Why is it I get the distinct impression that you don’t give a damn about rules and improprieties, Miss…" Jack trailed off, expecting an introduction of some sort.

However, he was to be disappointed again. Crossing her arms where her breasts were pushed up even further, Rose evenly and finally responded, "That’s what everybody says, but with all due respect, Mister, I’m not the one in the wrong facility! You must not be bilingual either, because last time I checked, these restrooms were not co-ed!" She continued to astonish him, and Jack chuckled, thoroughly amused.

"Touche!" he conceded, and slightly bowed his dark blond head.

A short silence ensued.

Giving his words back to him, Rose finally said, "So, we’ve shared a smoke, discussed breaking the rules and improprieties, but why is it I get the distinct impression that you’re not here to shoot the breeze?"

"That’s not entirely true," he said as he slowly crept closer.

Rose had to tilt her head back to meet his haunting eyes. He lowered his gaze and reached out to lift her gold St. Mary’s medallion, grazing her smooth warm breasts with his knuckles.

The touch was magnetic, electrifying for them both. Hoping to be met with no resistance, Jack seductively smiled and whispered, "You know, there’s nothing I couldn’t give you; there’s nothing I’d deny you; if you wouldn’t deny me!"

Rose swallowed hard and invisible hands seemed to hold her rooted to the spot. She was entranced, enchanted and being drawn to this man like a moth to a flame. She couldn’t look away, she couldn’t talk, she couldn’t move. Finally, some inane impulse guided Rose’s delicate fingers to Jack’s overly long, shaggy dark blond hair. She threaded them through the mass and pulled his head down to touch her lips with his. Although Rose had kissed boys back home in the past, nothing prepared her for the sizzling, experienced kiss that was to come.

Jack’s hands came around her shoulders, griping her like two vises. She yielded to the forceful pressure of his lips and let his tongue delve deep inside her mouth. She had never experienced the burning sensation that was building in her most private region. The only thing she could compare it to was like riding a roller coaster. So, this must be what passion feels like—like a million butterflies were fluttering in her belly. The voracious kiss intensified and plunged ahead. Each was powerless to stop it.

In the next instant, the door opening and a loud nervous throat clearing thrust them apart. A middle-aged opera patron was stiffly standing inside the door with her mouth gaping open. Jack had the good sense to guiltily jerk back as if he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His breathing was noticeably labored and he swallowed convulsively trying to catch his panting breath.

However, Rose lithely hopped down off the vanity and calmly walked over to the intruder. Leaning to her ear, she confidentially smiled and whispered in fluent Italian, "Amore is not logical, no?" and quickly walked out the door.

Nevertheless, Rose’s heart was still pounding as she entered their private box. Uncle Victor and Aunt Donna raised questioning expectant glances and it was all she could do but lamely smile and shrug. Leaning over to inquire about her tardiness, Victor abruptly stopped and loudly sniffed her person.

"Rose, is that cigarette smoke I smell?" he suspiciously asked.

"Yes," was all Rose offered in response.

"You know I don’t like that, Rose," he stiffly accused.

"Yes, I know," she calmly answered. Slyly she added to try to smooth his ruffled feathers, "There were two ridiculous fools in the ladies’ room, sucking on Marlboros like there was no tomorrow! Just disgusting. All that huffing and puffing simply took my breath away!" She secretly grinned.

"Oh, I see." Victor paused a moment and shot Rose a skeptical, hard look.

For the rest of the performance, Rose carefully averted her gaze and kept it glued to the stage. Yet all the while, her mind was grappling with her first introduction to outright passion. She was pleasantly stunned. Of course, her best friend, Molly, had confided in her once and enlightened her as to what came next. But strangely, she had never been as curious as she was right now. Disappointedly, she admitted that she might never know.

Jack was trying desperately to try and cool his aroused ardor. If that kiss was any indication to what lay beneath…he visibly trembled at the forbidden pleasures that had been offered up to him on a silver platter. She had ignited such a fever of need in him that he found he was ridiculously nervous. Finding his seat, he sat down, closed his feverish eyes and attempted to stifle the urgent carnal cravings of his body. He felt like a thousand knives all over were stabbing him. He felt actual pain; like some poor soul being stretched and tortured on a medieval rack. He clasped his hands in front of his face and became lost in deep thought for the remainder of the opera, modestly tugging at his overly tight pants.

Rose was somewhat relieved when the opera finally ended. As they started to exit, her Uncle Victor stopped short and exclaimed, "Martin! Martin Stefano! I can’t believe it’s you! It’s been years."

Rose looked around, expecting to have to mull over some more of her aunt and uncle’s boring acquaintances. She froze when she unexpectedly came face to face with her newfound foe. Her heart accelerated and she tried to suppress it quickly. She was like fire and ice alternating back and forth from denial to desire. Her aunt and uncle were warmly embracing the older gentleman and saying something about their knowledge that he was in Rome filming a new movie or something of that sort. Rose just couldn’t seem to properly concentrate. Her mind was reeling, spinning out of control. Cursing her luck, she heard her name mentioned and tried to pay attention to her uncle’s words.

"Martin, surely you remember Rose, our dear Laurel’s daughter?"

"Of course. Last time I saw you, Rose, we were all at Rosedale and you kicked the living daylights out of my shin!" he laughingly revealed. "She’s her mother’s mirror image, but with striking Irish features and feisty disposition. Delighted to see you again." Martin courteously took her extended hand and placed a light chaste kiss on her knuckles before releasing it.

Victor spoke up at that point and chided her, "I, for one, am not surprised. Rose hasn’t changed much over the years. She can be somewhat remiss in making her apologies."

Rose slightly blushed at that comment but was somewhat perplexed. She honestly didn’t remember the man or the incident but prettily offered, "I do belatedly apologize, Mr. Stefano. I’ve been told, by some, I was quite a pistol as a child and quite hard to handle."

Victor choked and coughed at her rather insincere apology. Jack, on the other hand, was smothering her with his penetrating stare. Martin didn’t seem to take notice. The youthful, beautiful, vivacious woman that his distant cousin had become enchanted him. He responded, "No apologies are needed, my dear. The time was rather upsetting for all of us, especially you!"

At that revelation, Rose instantly recollected the man, the incident, and the time—her mother’s rosary and burial at Rosedale. She remembered thinking then that Martin had been lying to her about being her cousin. His Americanized name confused her as a child and the only cousin that she knew of was Fabrizio. At the thought of him, jealousy lifted its green head and Rose became like an ice queen again.

Jack had been following the amusing exchanges, hands folded behind his back. Yes, she was everything he desired in a mistress: hot blooded, witty and very clever with her words. Splendid indeed!

Martin turned everyone’s attention to Jack and said, "Victor, Donna, Rose DiStefano, I’d like to introduce Jack Dawson, one of the most talented and sought after actors in the world. He is in Rome shooting "Gangs of Yesterday" and is my lead actor and doing a hell of a job of it, too!"

The others were gracious and curious about the man. However, Rose was not impressed by his celebrity power and position in the least. As a matter of fact, Rose regarded him as a dangerous insect which must be squashed and quickly. While Aunt Donna and Uncle Vic simultaneously made their ludicrous "honored" to meet yous and extending their hands in greeting, Rose stood aloof and unmoved.

Jack responded in kind and gentlemanly bowed. "It’s a pleasure to make all of your acquaintances," he purred, and pointedly looked at Rose, prompting her to respond.

Everyone then looked at Rose expectantly. She reluctantly uncrossed her arms and extended her hand while Jack pressed it to his lips. Blandly, stabbing him with her glittering eyes, she icily responded, "Charmed, I’m sure, Mr. Dawson."

"Jack, call me Jack. Miss DiStefano…" he started, but was unexpectedly cut off.

"Rose, call me Rose." At his cocky grin, she added, "There’s too many DiStefano’s around Rome. You may turn all their heads for sure if you use only DiStefano." The insinuation was clear to Jack. But he wasn’t buying it in the least. She was interested in him. A kiss like they had just experienced did not lie! She might try but that kiss told it all! Yes, she was a pistol all right; smoking and deadly with her surreptitiously disguised barbs.

Undaunted, Jack began where he left off, pressing her hand for attention, "How did you like the opera, Rose?"

Rose slowly retrieved her hand and answered evenly yet disarmingly, "It started out rather slow, but by intermission, things started to heat up a bit." Inwardly beaming, she returned his cloaked inquisition, "And you, Mr. Dawson?"

"Best I’ve seen, Ma'am. I hardly have adequate words to describe the passion I felt here tonight," he demurely responded.

Amused, Rose began to warm to this clever game of words and slightly smiled. The effect on Jack was astonishing and complete. Her radiance caused an ethereal glowing effect and Jack was mesmerized.

The others finally joined into the conversation, but Jack and Rose were oblivious to the chatter. His desire for her was quite obvious even to her naive mind. Rose felt her heartbeat quicken in her throat. His eyes never seemed to leave her face, concentrating on her sensual lips, remembering their incredible taste. Fantasizing, Jack longed for those lips to cry out in passion with the intensity of a raging storm. The sexual tension stretched taut between them. The very air seemed to hold its breath.

From the edge of consciousness, Rose heard a muffled reference or inquiry directed at her.

"Oh, pardon me, my mind was somewhere else, I’m afraid…" she embarrassingly replied as she shifted her gaze back to the others.

"Rose, your aunt and uncle have given their permission for you to visit the set at Cincietta Studios tomorrow to observe the making of our epic," Martin repeated. "Care to join us?"

Apprehensive and suddenly mistrusting her own free will, yet intrigued with the prospect of seeing Jack again, she eagerly yet calmly responded, "Sure, count me in!"

Chapter Three
Stories