Chasing Terpsichore (Muses Across Time) Read online

  By the light of a few strategically placed candles, Gia now stood with another cup of red wine in her hand, her head tilted to the side, contemplating what she was going to do with this daunting slab of rock. She drained the drink and set it down with a trembling hand.

  Gia circled the stone, unable to touch it yet. She observed the few inconsistencies of colour on the surface, wondering if the variations continued all the way through. As she imagined the centre, a face flashed before her eyes. Large, grey eyes fringed with long, dark lashes. The vision was so quick that the rest of his face seemed to have been a blur. However, his eyes—despite them being the colour of storm clouds—had been warm and inviting.

  Where had she seen the young man before—at the market? Was he a friend of Signora Fontana? Had she met him at church?

  No, it couldn’t have been church—her attendance was too infrequent. One might have thought that guilt would drive her to go, but Gia had accepted the fact that she was a bad Catholic even before her father had died. She was always happy to visit the cathedrals, though, to study the art and architecture, lighting a candle for her soul now and again when no one was looking.

  Still. Where had she seen those eyes?

  Putting the thought out of her mind for now, she fetched her new tools and took them to a work table near her newest medium. Using various combinations of tools and strokes, she gently tapped at a corner of the stone, observing the effect each had on the surface. Becoming bolder, she struck a bit harder, knocking off a chunk about the size of her palm. As she heard the piece of rock hit the ground next to her, the man’s face once again floated before her. He was smiling at her and, by Venus, he was handsome.

  Gia set the tools on the table and went for a third cup of wine, if only to refresh herself.

  Later, the wine was gone. Never in her life had she finished an entire bottle of wine. She sat in an over-stuffed red chair Signora Fontana had given her, across from what was to be her latest work. With her head tilted back and resting on a pillow to help take the edge off the spinning, she sat entirely still. The big velvet chair was her favourite—it was the chair in which she often sat to call forth her muse.

  Pietro had said that the vision would come to her. So was this to be a huge face of a man? Somehow, she doubted it.

  It was late. She could not even think after consuming so much wine, so her masterpiece would have to wait until morning. Teetering back and forth across the room, she blew out the candles that had burnt low during the evening, then stepped out of her shoes.

  Gia pulled her new curtains aside, then closed them behind her. She unlaced her bodice and allowed it to fall to the ground along with her skirts. She untied the kerchief at the back of her neck and she tossed it onto the pile of clothes. Dizzy from the wine, she decided that she’d pick them up after sleeping off the effects of the drink.

  The hem of her white cotton chemise brushed her knees as she crawled under the coverlet and heaved a great sigh. After only a few moments of enduring the tilt of the earth from her pillow, she began drifting off to sleep. Uncomfortable on her back, she rolled over, draping her arm over something warm. She disregarded the sensation and snuggled further under the covers.

  A strong arm snaked around her waist and pulled her body closer to the source of heat. Gia’s lips curved into a soft grin as she hovered on the brink of a dream that promised to be a good one.

  Her mind drifted to a serene, sun-lit cliff side, where the ruins of an ancient temple stood overlooking the sea. Gia took in the lovely scene. The location felt comfortable, as if she had been there many times before. Somehow, she knew that nearby there lay a house where she would be welcomed. She was turning to find it, when she noticed a man leaning against a large, zinc-white stone. He seemed as familiar to her as the landscape itself…

  He tilted his head, topped with dark, curly hair, towards her in greeting. Gia glanced around. Was he attempting to communicate with her?

  He smiled at her with the most perfect lips she’d ever seen. He was enchanting. Her gaze followed his hair, which was cut to just above the neckline of his loose, cream-hued tunic, to the well-built shoulders over which the fabric draped and tapered until it tucked into his belt. His strong-looking arms were bare, as were his legs from mid-thigh down, his feet shod in thin-strapped sandals.

  Realising she was inspecting the man as if he were a piece of art, she decided she should, at the very least, greet him. “I—”

  “No. Do not speak. Be still and let me look at you.”

  He had cut her off, but there had been no rudeness laced through his words. In fact, it seemed as if he were complimenting her. She raised her eyebrows in anticipation of his next move.

  The man seemed entirely at ease as he lifted a hand and twirled a finger in the air, wordlessly ordering that she turn in a full circle before him.

  Gia’s eyes widened, but she did as he bade, regardless. How could she not? He simply glowed with confidence. She faced him again and spoke. “Signore, do we know each other?”

  He smiled again. “Yes—and no.”

  “Wha—?”

  “If you will allow me, I will give you the details slowly, over time.”

  What an odd thing to say.

  “And if I refuse?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “For you, I will wait. I have nothing but time.”

  Placing a hand on her hip, she gently contradicted him, “I am sorry, but you only have the span of my dream in which to enlighten me.”

  He grinned crookedly. “Are we dreaming, then?”

  “We? No, Signore.” She shook her head and indicated herself by touching her fingers to her chest. “I am dreaming.”

  “Then you have nothing to fear.” He started towards her.

  “Signore, you are talking in riddles.” She waved at the air to disguise her shaking hands, though she secretly agreed with him.

  He was before her, standing so close that if she were simply to raise a hand it would brush against his chest. Noticing her heart pounding faster than before, she swallowed.

  “Your eyes hold moonbeams in their violet depths. Is it a trick of the gods?” He murmured his question.

  Gia would have sighed at his words, but his arms were suddenly about her waist, pulling her to him.

  “Dreams are funny things, are they not? Made from the mist and yet so real,” he whispered, and buried his face in the hair. He took a breath and growled the exhale. “I have waited for so long.” His words were barely audible.

  Gia shivered at the sensation this dream lover caused in her. Despite the tingling that travelled over her entire being, she insisted, ever so gently, that he give her his name.

  He pulled away just enough to look her in the eyes. “You don’t remember?” He pouted.

  To Gia, his lower lip looked an awful lot like an over-ripe plum. Unable to take her eyes from what was surely the sweetest fruit on earth, she shook her head.

  “Then let me remind you.”

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  About the Author

  Maggie Mitchell lives in her dream place by the sea. Of course, sometimes she even gets the dreams written down in a story. Lucky for her she has a musician for a husband who understands the creative spirit. In her other life she teaches undergraduate university nursing students and designs eLearning courses for health organisations. Most days you’ll find her out on her balcony enjoying a glass of Moscato or a cappuccino made on her beloved espresso machine.

  Email: [email protected]

  Maggie loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

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