I just got back from teaching at Peter's Valley -wait till I tell you about that incredible experience- so Rebecca and Marco have been in a holding pattern.....bummer, but they are back in full passion.
I want to thank all of you for your involvement with Rebecca and Marco.
Hal Tweedy, http://www.dreambiggercoaching.com/, and I continued the story, most came from him with my womanly input.
We still need your help by filling in the blanks to complete these chapters. Enjoy...LK
"Kisses on the Beach"
Rebecca was finally on her own. She stood all of 5’2” in her bare feet. Over her shoulder she had strung several bulging camera bags. Their added weight only made her trek more fatiguing as she came to rest in front of the Uffizi museum. She hadn’t planned to be in this part of Florence that day, but her assignment was to photograph interesting windows in the city. Somehow her heart was leading the way, while her feet followed obediently to where she now stood. Coming from her native France, she was overjoyed at being accepted into the Photography program at Florence’s most prestigious art school the ______________________.
Her 25th birthday was only a week away, and she promised herself that she would meet a special man by then. “Be careful what you wish for!” said a little voice inside her head.
Everywhere she went since arriving 4 days ago, she felt men watching her, taking in her graceful dancer’s body, wavy brunette hair and her dark and sultry eyes. She didn’t mind – this was Italy after all!
Italian men intrigued her. They were so different from the French men she had known. She found Italian males to be more (less) ___________________, ________________________, and ______________________ than her Parisian suitors.
Knowing this gave her the inner confidence that she would have a _________________ guy on her arm, on her birthday.
Little did she know how right she was or how much a new romance might cost her. In a few minutes, her life would change forever.
The Uffizi thrilled and frightened her at the same time. Built as city offices in the late 16th century, and supported by the Medicis, The Uffizi Gallery contains some of the world’s finest art treasures, but there were also many legends that surrounded the Uffizi, some that were magical and some that were dangerous. It’s said that certain works of art had the power to __________________________
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Another myth that intrigued and concerned her involved the powerful Medici Family. According to common knowledge, men in particular are most vulnerable. It is believed that when a man ______________________________________________________
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At the end of that long corridor that makes up the Piazzale degli Uffizi, Rebecca sat on a step looking up at the splendid bridge that connected the two wings of the building. It had three arched windows.
She caught a movement of light across the arched museum windows. “That’s it! That’s the shot I want.” she thought.
Pulling out her Canon5D from one of the bags, she knelt on the first stone stair and angled her camera upwards towards the statue in front of the center window. Click – the first trial picture. She move a bit to her left and followed the line of ancient stone along the arch to the stained glass. Click – the next picture. “Marvelous” she thought. Rebecca had instantly refocused on her greatest pleasure – photography – a passion that would soon bring her trouble.
Moving to the right, she watched as the sunlight bathed the tall windows, the light tripping and running down it’s surface, sparkling as though the stone were a waterfall. At the instant she touched the shutter for her third time, a dark shadow moved in front of her, startling her and causing her to look up into the deepest green eyes she had ever seen - the same limpid pools she swam in all the time, in her dreams.
She felt the ground beneath her start to give way. There was a rumble and a clatter around her, but still those eyes shone back at her.
“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to block your camera,” he said “and oh no, you’ve dropped your camera!” he said. “I am so sorry! I am so sorry! The light was in my eyes and I almost tripped over you” he said.
“Is it broken?” he asked.
Breaking her gaze for a moment she answered: “It will be alright I’m sure.” She picked up the pieces.
He introduced himself: “My name is Marco. I want to make this up to you.”
Regaining some composure, she said “Rebecca”, and accepted his help picking up pieces of the broken camera – a camera that had always been close to hear heart, in more ways than one.
Looking at Marco, you would think he had stepped right out of GQ magazine, the Italian version. Marco was impeccably dressed, but casual – black silk blazer, crisp white shirt open at the collar, tan pants and Italian loafers. He offered wide shoulders that could carry any burden and he had a slightly crooked smile. In his wavy black hair were a streak or two of premature gray. He looked 30 and very experienced. Two features stood out: his incredible green eyes and the dimple in his chin. When he spoke, his voice was calm and reassuring. She thought his voice was seductive.
Rebecca was instantly mesmerized by the cadence of his Italian accent. With little thought, she couldn’t help but imagine how he would make love to her – slow and confidently.
“May I make up for the trouble I’ve caused? Perhaps you will come with me for cappuccino across the piazza?” “Oui” she said. Not needing a second invitation, Rebecca slung her camera bags over her shoulder and they started to walk out of the Piazzale degli Uffizi.
Chapter 2
As they walked away the sky behind them was changing. Marco could be seen taking Rebecca’s camera bags and carrying them for her as they walked toward the “caffe” a block away. Thunder suddenly rumbled from the west and thickening grey clouds began to roll in.
“Do not worry.” Marco said, looking over his shoulder. “It is only a late summer shower. It will pass.”
But Marco was worried. That worry would have to wait though. For now he was totally captivated by his new accidental friend.
Through one of the Uffizi’s upper windows, in the Caravaggio Room, there stood a stunning woman in black, watching the couple leave the Piazzale. She was hiding her face from the rest of the people in the room. Just one single tear escaped her eyes.
“How appropriate” she thought. “I am in the Caravaggio Room.”
On the back wall is the young Bacchus, holding out a goblet of wine in welcome, with a basket of fruit set upon a frugal table. Facing and eloquently counterbalancing each other are the Sacrifice of Isaac, where the cruel gesture is miraculously interrupted, and the Medusa whose head, cut off by the hero Perseus, is painted on a round shield.
The woman in black suddenly laughed loudly, startling the others in the room. “Ha! The Caravaggio Room. I might have known it! she said.
Rebecca and Marco were seated at the caffe and placed their orders. The first thing she noticed about Marco was his hands. Long fingers and a broad palm caused her an involuntary shudder. She had always been attracted to a man’s hands. They told her so much. Right now they were telling her to use her imagination.
“What could he do with those hands,” she wondered. She felt a warm and tantalizing flush begin well below her naval and rise upwards toward her face. Yes, his hands were amazing and yes, his voice was beginning to seduce her, but Rebecca was also a strong and determined woman. She would not give in easily to the stirrings of her loins. Still, without realizing Marco had been talking to her, she allowed her fantasies to wash over her like the rain outside was beginning to wash the city clean of it’s old dirt. Those hands!
“ So, I can see I’ve bored you already. Your head is off in those storm clouds I think.” he chuckled. “Tell me something about yourself and your stay here.”
Rebecca refocused on the present and told him a little about herself: _______________________________
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In the Caravaggio Room the woman in black stood before the Medusa painting, planning her next moves: ______________________________________
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