Amoremiobello

By Betta Stone

When her two traveling companions cancel their plans to visit India, Sofia Nejinskaya, a Russian American designer in her forties, still makes the trip from her home in Miami.

When Sofia meets the handsome Italian Alessandro Salvuccian opportunistic Italian journalist and successful businessman with a time-tested set of tools for seductionat the resorts yoga class, he seems in tune with her perfect match list for the ideal man.

Despite their differing geographical locations, they begin a committed relationship, exchanging numerous e-mails and text messages and visiting one another regularly. But Alessandros roving Italian eyes, thoughtlessness, and insecurities threaten their love. The relationship is also rocked by their spiritual differences: she is Christian, and he belongs to the Cult of White Brotherhood.

Nevertheless, surprised by all the mystical coincidences that show they have much in common, Sofia believes in their love and life together, hoping to overcome Alessandros spiritual delusions and fallacies about relationships with women. But their marriage is not yet the happily ever after ending she imagined.

www.amoremiobello.com.

Betta Stone demonstrates in her book Amoremiobello that when it comes to loveand fictionactions speak louder than beautiful Italian words. Amoremiobello, a password to the e-mail, means my amazing love, and Stone stays true to Alessandros character, incorporating Italian into the story and including Italian-to-English translations as footnotes.

Blueink Review

The novel is a suggestion of the karmic wheel on which vital questions of trust and fidelity revolve.

Kirkus Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475986358

Betta Stone

Betta Stone was born in Russia and earned two master’s degrees. After moving to the United States, she earned a multimedia from AIFL. She is a writer and entrepreneur. Stone has two children and currently works and lives in Miami. This is her debut novel.

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Copyright © 2013 Betta Stone.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-8634-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-8635-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013906844

iUniverse rev. date: 8/7/2013

Contents

Chapter 1   India, June 2005

Chapter 2   Rome

Chapter 3   Moscow

Chapter 4   Norman

Chapter 5   Italy—First Visit

Chapter 6   Giovanna

Chapter 7   Florence

Chapter 8   Two White Doves Found

Chapter 9   Project

Chapter 10   New York–Miami

Chapter 11   Fabrizio and Auntie Lucia

Chapter 12   Marianna, Federica, Mother Olga

Chapter 13   New Year 2006

Chapter 14   Miami Apartment

Chapter 15   Birthday

Chapter 16   Divorce

Chapter 17   Montebello

Chapter 18   Little Nest

Chapter 19   Marriage

Thank you to all my friends and family who added their time, love, and efforts to this book. To those who made me believe in myself and helped me carry project to the end: Gina Gorelik; Christin; Cecilia; Anna Volkova; Helena Ashton; my daughter, Masha, and my son, Misha; Olga Malinova; Cesare Cesarini; Gesene; Maurizio; Ciro; Ludmila Juravlieva and many others who helped me with their supportive words or even their existence …

A l’alta fantasia qui mancò possa;

ma già volgeva il mio disio e ‘l velle,

sì come rota ch’igualmente è mossa,

l’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle.¹

—Dante Alighieri, Divina Commedia

Chapter 1

India, June 2005

On her first morning in India, Sofia Nejinskaya woke up to birdsong and the hushed sound of surfbreaking not far from her bungalow. The small room was shadowy, but the sun through the mosquito netting cast a soft light across the foot of her bed. The scent of exotic flowers filled the room, and the whole atmosphere of the place and the moment felt like pure magic. At that moment she knew she had made the right decision to come to India. When her friends Nina and Sasha had canceled their trip at the last minute, Sofia felt that she needed this trip as much as she wanted it, and she went alone. She felt broken in the relationship with her second husband, David, the father of their son, Michael. Little things had started to draw a final line that divided their marriage more and more deeply. They had separated a few years ago and were living in different cities; she lived in Miami, he in New York. The only thing they had in common was their son. She knew that the damage to their relationship was permanent, but sometimes she blamed herself for not being altruistic enough to him and not always being ready for him when they were together. She felt intuitively that her time in India might give her a new foundation, perhaps even a new direction in life.

Last night, tired after the long trip, she had not had a chance to look around Somatheeram Resort. After the bellboy brought in her luggage, she had taken a quick shower and fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Relaxed and fresh, Sofia rose quickly, hoping to make it to the morning yoga class. She stepped outside. There were three sets of bungalows below, built one in front of the other, on different levels. They seemed well planned and thought out. Guests on one side didn’t see their neighbors on the other side but had complete privacy that allowed them not to be disturbed. The bungalow next to her belonged to a young Russian named Shamil, whom she had met yesterday on the connecting flight from Doha to Trivandrum. He had approached her when she was trying to get her heavy luggage. A tall, athletic guy, he pulled the suitcase easily from the moving belt with his strong hands. As they waited in the customs line, Sofia opened her passport to fill out the customs form. Just as she finished adding her number, his voice startled her.

How old are you? he asked in Russian. His handsome face was mostly smooth, but it sported a small goatee. His large blue eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement.

Excuse me? she said.

The young man’s grin widened. I couldn’t help but notice your date of birth. He shook his head in faux puzzlement. I’d have guessed thirty, max.

A bit of flattery tugged at Sofia’s ego, but she pushed it down. The guy was obviously a charmer. She smiled, searching for a polite way to extricate herself.

Next, a voice called from the head of the line.

While she was going to the car that was sent for her from the resort, they met again, and they shared a ride since Shamil was going to the same resort.

THE LOCK ON HER door was complicated, and Sofia spent some time trying to close it. When she finally succeeded, she turned to the steps for the long climb. Turning left, she almost ran into a man who was slowly coming up. He was dressed in loose blue silk pants and shirt, well suited for yoga. He had an interesting face: broad cheekbones, square chin, beard, and small, almond-shaped, deep-set eyes that twinkled mischievously. His gently smiling lips were very thin, but they did not detract from the harmony of his face. His hair, just starting to become gray at the temples, was cut fashionably and neatly combed. He was tanned and slim. If he hadn’t been walking like an old man, he would have looked as though he were in his forties.

Sofia smiled. Good morning. Going to yoga too?

Yes! Good morning! he replied, allowing her to pass. He glanced at her with the curiosity of a man who has just met a new woman.

MIRANDA, THE INSTRUCTOR, WAS a small vital-looking man in his seventies, a disciple of Swami Satchitananda, an Indian spiritual master who had gone to New York and became a spiritual guru to several major Hollywood actors and Western musicians. Miranda sat silently watching the class when the man Sofia had just met on the stairs entered the room and laid his mat to the right of hers as though they were old acquaintances.

Sofia felt that she was more advanced in her practice than others, but tried to go with everyone’s pace. The man on her right watched her appreciatively, sometimes too closely, lifting his eyebrow at times when she performed a particularly advanced asana. Some part of her liked his interest in her, and the other part felt uncomfortable and not aligned with the situation.

When the class was over, Miranda pointed to the two of them to stay. While chatting with Miranda, Sofia mentioned a Kalaripayattu studio she intended to visit. Alessandro—that was his name—expressed an interest in going with her since he claimed to have an interest in martial arts. They walked out together and went to the administration building of the resort to confirm her appointment and to arrange a car to the Kalaripayattu studio in Trivandrum. Chandra, the manager, a young, attentive woman with long, thick, jet-black hair, apologized for postponing the appointment until the next day, and suggested a trip to Kovalam Beach instead.

No, Chandra. I am sorry, but we need to go to Kalaripayattu today, Sofia said in a calm but firm tone that did not accept no for an answer.

Alessandro leaned on Chandra’s desk, watching Sofia’s negotiations with a smile. Chandra called the studio again, speaking in Hindi for a while, as she tried to convince someone on the other end of the line.

Gurukkal will be waiting for you in the studio in an hour, she said finally with a charming smile.

For the next forty minutes Sofia and Alessandro sat in the backseat of a taxi next to each other, going to Trivandrum. They rode through narrow, dirty streets, sometimes bumping shoulders during the sharp turns and jarring potholes of the Indian roads as the conversation flowed easily. They passed a small village and stopped at a light. Three girls in dirty clothing were standing by the side of the road, looking at them with curiosity.

My daughter is like that girl, Alessandro said, pulling his Razor phone out of his pocket.

Oh, I have the same phone, she said.

He handed her the phone to see a photo of his daughter. Sofia took out her reading glasses.

I have the same glasses. He smiled.

Really? She put on the glasses and took the phone. She saw a pretty girl with dark skin and curly hair arranged in a black ponytail smiling at the small bunny she had in her hands. She’s beautiful, Sofia said. What’s her name?

Michaella, he replied.

My son’s name is Michael!

Same name? He raised his eyebrow. Do you have other children?

Yes. I have a big family: my son, my daughter, three dogs, two cats.

I have three dogs and two cats! he exclaimed in surprise.

What color are your cats?

One is black, one is tiger striped.

No! Really? Mine too! One is black and one is tiger.

It seems we have a lot in common—children’s names, cats and dogs—quite a coincidence. The car made a turn and they bumped against each other again. How long have you been practicing martial arts? he asked.

I don’t really practice martial arts. I do yoga, but last year I met a master, Duncan Wong. He teaches a yoga and martial arts combination—he calls it Yogic Arts. It’s a new style for me, and I liked it! Now, since I am in India, I would like to try Kalaripayattu. And you?

I earned a black belt many years ago. I practiced GoJu, a Japanese style of karate. It means hard and soft. It is different from Kalaripayattu.

Maybe not so much. All martial arts came from southern India, changing style as they spread to the north of India, Tibet, China, and Japan.

"What does it mean, Kalaripayattu?"

A fight school, she continued. They use the system of marma points—how to hurt and how to heal.

Marma points? he asked.

Yes. It is an intersection of the vital life forces, or prana. The Chinese call it chi energy. If you press the point in a certain way, you can paralyze or even kill your opponent. The elephant riders use marma points to make them as obedient as puppies.

Interesting. I wish I was able to join you tomorrow for your lessons.

Why can’t you?

I am leaving today.

Oh, that is too bad. She suddenly felt sad that this handsome man, with his nice open smile, same phone, same glasses, same children’s names, and same dogs and cats, was going to leave so soon.

Time flew by, and when they arrived in Trivandrum, it seemed that the journey had taken only five minutes. The driver took them to a small building. The one big room for Kalaripayattu was on the ground floor, where the bright terra cotta pavement was densely trampled. The space for healing was separate, and on the second floor. There were also Gurukkal’s office, the pharmacy, and the waiting area, where many patients sat in anticipation of seeing him. The assistant was expecting them, and he brought them to Gurukkal’s office right away. He was known as one of the greatest masters of Kalaripayattu in South India. He seemed like a lovely wise man with soft manners in his late fifties, but his black hair and sharp eyes did not show any sign of age. He was wearing comfortable pants and a simple Indian shirt made of soft cotton. He asked Sofia about her physical conditioning and her level of training. She explained that she had been practicing yoga for more than fifteen years, had been teaching for several years, was in good health, and was ready to start training with him, if he would accept her.

He turned to Alessandro. And how old are you?

Oh, I am very old. I am not here for training, Alessandro replied. I am in India on an invitation of Mrs. Arya Desai—he mentioned the granddaughter of a spiritual leader who was known and loved by Indian people—and today I am going back to Delhi to meet her, he said, changing the subject to his advantage.

On the way back, they agreed to go swimming upon returning to the resort. The sun was getting very hot, and the only relief from the intense heat was the pool.

After a quick shower, Sofia changed into her bathing suit and put on some suntan lotion with a gold shimmer. On the way down to the pool, she picked a flower from a tree and put it behind her ear.

ALESSANDRO TOOK OFF HIS clothes, and she saw his sleek body with its nice, tan skin, evenly covered with sparse hair. He was slim with the exception of his backside, which appeared large and feminine.

The pool was warm. They plunged into the water, swimming around each other. The flower came loose and floated in the water.

What a beautiful flower, he said, trying to put the flower back to her ear. We are so lucky to be away from the everyday world! We can see, smell, touch, and feel the beauty around us, not on a TV screen.

Did you notice that there are no TVs in the rooms?

I am not a fan of TV anyway. You will not see me sitting in front of a TV set with a can of beer as many men do.

That’s great. Me either. And … do you smoke? she asked carefully.

No!

And … do you eat meat?

No. And you?

Of course not!

She laughed, because she recalled a conversation with her friend Irina just a few months earlier. Irina came from Chicago, where she lived, to visit Sofia in Miami. She was trying to get Sofia to go out for dinner and then to a nightclub with a group of friends.

I would rather stay home, Sofia said. I am tired. Besides, I do not eat that late.

You can’t meet anyone sitting on your couch alone, Irina said.

Sofia frowned. I’m not looking to meet just anyone.

Oh, right. Irina rolled her eyes. "The list."

There is nothing wrong with the list, Sofia replied.

Irina snorted. Where are you going to find a guy—she pantomimed unrolling a piece of paper—who does not like TV, doesn’t eat meat, doesn’t smoke, does Oriental martial arts, and what else?

Sofia pretended to grab for the invisible list. And is around my age, not younger and not more than seven years older, is single, and is a Scorpio. Irina pretended to snatch it away, laughing.

Besides, who can I meet in a Miami nightclub? A man interested in sex, wine, and rock and roll? Remember: ‘If you do not find your equal, it is better to travel alone,’ Buddha said.

Wow, I didn’t know that you are such a tiger in the sack that no guy is your equal, Irina said.

That’s not what I meant. Not because I am so demanding, but because my ‘equals’ are either married or are already too old for me even if they fit the list. But can anyone fit my list? I do not think so. So it is better for me to travel alone, she replied, smiling.

Okay. You travel alone and I’ll travel to South Beach with Harvey and his wife, Irina said, laughing while putting on the final touches of her makeup.

Sofia came out of the memory as Alessandro came closer and lifted her with his arms, supporting her on top of the water, and moved her slowly around, making circles with her weightless, relaxed body. She could not believe she was doing this with a guy she had just met, but she did not resist. Their interaction seemed pure and effortless. She put her hands around his neck to hold him.

When they came out of the pool, they found that the staff had left one big towel on the grass and two smaller ones next to each other. Alessandro took a towel, and tenderly, as if doing it for a baby, blotted Sofia’s skin as the tiny water droplets glistened in the sun.

I see a lot of coincidences in our meeting, he said, staring at her without smiling.

Me, too, she replied calmly. And then she asked curiously, And what is your astrological sign?

Scorpio.

Oh, no! she burst out. And you are free? This question asked itself. She just wanted to finish the items on her list.

Yes, he replied humbly.

She was laughing heartily now. I do not believe it! Where are you from?

Italy.

Italy? She looked surprised again.

Yes. Why are you surprised? he asked.

Well, I used to study Italian at the university.

Why?

I do not know why. Many people would ask me the same question. I never really had a reason to learn it. I just liked the Italian language. At first I thought you were German.

Me? German? Why?

I’m not sure. Maybe because you have a beard. Many Germans have beards.

I am not German! Suddenly his tone changed to tenderness. And you, do you know who you are? He added after a pause, Angelo d’Oro! Your skin is made of gold, your hair is made of gold, and your soul is made of gold. He gently touched her hand, and then the skin of her back. Her skin was soft and smooth.

Angelo d’Oro, he whispered again, slowly. Their heads moved closer. Looking into her eyes, he felt her breath, and their lips merged in a long kiss. He felt a great passion welling up inside him.

The smell of your body is like mine, so familiar, so natural to my senses. He gently touched her shoulder with his fingers, looking straight into her eyes. Their lips found each other in a tender touch again and again.

The magical moment was interrupted suddenly. The pool attendant came and said bashfully, clearing his throat, Excuse me, Mr. Salvucci. There is a phone call for you.

Alessandro came back a few minutes later in a great mood. I am staying until tomorrow!

How nice! Sofia exclaimed, clapping her hands. That’s wonderful! How come?

Mrs. Desai’s secretary, Anita, booked a flight, and I return to Delhi tomorrow instead of going by car today. By the way Arya gave me my spiritual name, Satyam. He added after a while, Satyam means truthfulness. She said to me, ‘You never lie; you are open and truthful like a child.’

Is it true? she asked, smiling.

Yes, I always speak the truth, he said humbly.

But how did you get here from Delhi? By car? She changed the subject.

"Yes. It was raining, the road was terrible, and the car was very old. I was bouncing in the seat on every rock in the road. We were moving slowly under the heavy rain. I didn’t know where I would end up. I was upset with Anita, who scheduled this trip, and thought, Why do I have to go that far? I asked her to book a nice, relaxing place for three days. I never expect to go that far for three days only. Now I understand why I came here—for you. I owe Anita. He laughed and then asked, Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

Of course, she replied.

AFTER THE POOL THEY went to their rooms. Alessandro quickly unpacked his luggage, took out the clothes he wanted to wear that evening, and put them on the chair. He was very moved by the encounter with Sofia and felt that he had been waiting for such a woman for a long time. He paced back and forth in his room, and then sat at the desk and opened his journal, which he called My India. He had written in it everything that had happened since he first arrived in India a week ago. He read his notes from the day before and smiled at what he had written the previous day. There were no other thoughts except for those of Sofia in his mind—was that why he was in India?

Tomorrow, a day of relaxation. I have to pamper old Alessandro, Om Satyam. Yesterday I met a group of people at my table—two girls and two guys. One of the girls, Monica, originally from Hungary, is a hairdresser for VIP. She is very sensitive. I see a shadow of sadness in her. She has blond hair, which I find very fair even though it is short. It still makes her look feminine. I do not know if the four of them are couples or not, but I am not in India to find out this kind of thing.

TREES CAUGHT THE LAST rays of the sun, but soon the sky darkened, enveloping the small village. With evening, the birds sang more loudly. The air was filled with the dense aroma of night flowers. Indian women went through the gardens, lighting fires in the special vases scattered among the plants and flowers. Some live music was being played softly in the distance. Sofia came out of her bungalow, ready to go meet Alessandro. She was dressed in a beautiful skirt with large, bright red flowers, and a simple sleeveless top. Shamil was outside, lying in a hammock waiting for her, trying to read. The book in his lap was upside down.

Do you want to lie down? he asked, leaping from the hammock and offering her his place.

No, Shamil, thank you. I’m going to dinner.

Wait for me, I’ll go with you, he said.

I’m going down there. She pointed in the direction of Alessandro’s bungalow.

Ah. To the Italian? he asked sadly.

Yes. How do you know he is Italian? And why such a sad voice? Are you jealous? she joked.

Yes, a little bit, he said seriously. I met two women who live in front of the Italian. They are Russians too, but from Sweden, he continued. I told them that you are my wife and that you practice your Italian with him. Now they will watch you!

Why did you do that? she asked, surprised.

He shrugged. Just to make a joke.

It is so crazy! she said and went down the hill to Alessandro’s bungalow, skipping through each second step. She felt that she was caught in love’s net and had no strength to resist. Suddenly, the man she hadn’t known this morning had turned out to be a significant person in her life! She did not understand when and how it had happened, but she felt that she had known him all her life.

ALESSANDRO WAS SITTING AT the table outside his bungalow. He was dressed in a white silk shirt that he’d had made in a local store. His hands were on the table, and his body was silent and content. He felt very attracted to Sofia. When she arrived, he stood up, lifting an eyebrow in appreciation.

You are so beautiful, he said in a low, soft voice, offering her the chair. Thank you for accepting my invitation, he added, looking straight into her eyes.

Thank you for inviting me, she replied.

He struck a match to light a candle that he had prepared in advance.

The door of the next bungalow opened, and two Russian ladies stepped out, ready for dinner. One, in a simple blue dress, was quite tall, a blonde in her late forties with big blue eyes and plump lips, looking a little shy. The other woman, in a red shirt and white pants, was a brunette, shorter, slightly chubby, with unruly curly hair and a bold, shifty glance.

Sofia waved to them. Good evening.

Good evening. Alessandro did the same.

Good evening, they replied tersely. They looked over at Alessandro and Sofia and quickly headed to the stairs for dinner.

When they left, Sofia burst out laughing.

What happened? he asked.

Sofia told him about Shamil’s joke.

Why did he do it? He did not like the joke.

How do I know? He is just a funny guy, I guess.

The waiter came down the stairs to the bungalow, carrying a big tray.

He put down a thali, a round tray made of metal with small bowls of different kinds of food on it.

After putting water with cardamom seeds in a clay pot, the waiter asked if they needed anything else.

We will call you if we do, Alessandro said.

The waiter bowed and left, leaving them with a great deal of food in front of them. When they had finished eating, Sofia tried paan for the first time, a betel-nut leaf wrapped around an areca nut with a peppery taste.

Once I thought of moving to India, Alessandro said, looking at Sofia’s lips. They were colored a sensual red from the paan, and it fired his desire.

Me too, she said. I thought perhaps one day I could live here, run my own retreat and teach yoga.

The moon was glowing. As the darkness deepened, the mosquitoes became more aggressive, and soon sitting outside was no longer possible. They entered his bungalow. Alessandro lighted a few candles, and the room filled with a soft fluid light. The scent from night-blooming cereus, or Princess of the Night, which blooms at night only at full moon, filled the room. Alessandro looked at himself in the mirror, quickly adjusting his hair, and turned to her. His eyes were shining and reflected the light of the candle and the full moon. Embracing her tenderly, he asked, Do you want to stay?

Yes, she replied quietly.

He gently stroked her hair, face, neck, and shoulders. Slowly, with a sense of tasting good wine, he took off her top. He felt a shimmering sensation that he had not felt for a long time.