Liquid Balance

By Viktor A. King

**Title:** Liquid Balance

**Author:** Viktor A. King

**Genre:** Romance

**Description:**

*Liquid Balance* is a captivating tale that transcends social boundaries and defies expectations. Set against the picturesque backdrop of the Italian countryside and the glamorous world of Formula 1 racing, this novel explores an unlikely love story between a common Italian woman with two daughters and an aristocratic Austrian millionaire who races in the F1 circuit.

**Plot Summary:**

In the heart of the charming Italian countryside resides a resilient and compassionate woman. As a single mother, she has overcome life's challenges and now manages a quaint family-owned vineyard in Tuscany. Her world is filled with love and warmth for her two daughters.

One day, fate intervenes, leading to an unexpected encounter with a charismatic Austrian millionaire. He is not just any millionaire but a renowned Formula 1 driver who lives life in the fast lane.

Their worlds couldn't be more different. She cherishes the serenity of her vineyard, while he is accustomed to the roar of engines and the glitz of the Formula 1 circuit. However, a chance meeting sparks a whirlwind romance that neither of them anticipated.

Their love story is one of contrasts and challenges as they navigate the complexities of their different worlds and the judgments of those around them. Can their love withstand the obstacles that society and their own doubts place in their path?

**Unpredictable Epilogue:**

As the story unfolds, readers are in for a surprise with an epilogue that defies expectations and leaves a lasting impression. Viktor A. King masterfully crafts an ending that you won't see coming, ensuring that *Liquid Balance* is a romance novel like no other.

Prepare to be swept away by the passion, the drama, and the unexpected twists and turns of this extraordinary love story. Will their love find a way to bridge the gap between their worlds, or will it crumble under the weight of societal expectations?

This novel is a testament to the power of love, the resilience of the human spirit, and the idea that sometimes, the most extraordinary love stories emerge from the most unlikely places.

"Liquid Balance" is a captivating romance novel that will have you on the edge of your seat, rooting for the characters, and ultimately, believing in the magic of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Viktor A. King
• Release date: Sep 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223239048

Book preview

COPYRIGHT 2023

Viktor A. King ©

Editions GRUPPO A.V. ITALIA S.r.l.

Vat number 03624001206

Life of STARS ®

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On July 17, 2023

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This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, and events are either figments of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to real places or events or people who really exist or have existed is unintentional and purely coincidental.

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Start 03624001206

LIQUID BALANCE

Viktor A. King

Acknowledgements

to my daughters,

Infinite love

CHAPTER ONE

Elizabeth clutched the goblet with long fingers enameled in a deep rouge copied from the Dior collection, ring finger, middle finger and thumb stubbornly clinging to a crystal stem, fingertips white and flattened in an effort to protect her entire figure behind a delicious flûte of Italian sparkling wine.

He casually held the chalice at chest level, his left hand containing his hip, in an intimate caress of affection and support.

He dared to slowly bring the flûte to his lips, slowly a sparkling, fresh and lively sip of sparkling wine crossed his palate. Bitter and fruity at the same time, light and dancing, it seemed to suggest a merry twirl. He tightened his lips, thought about his lipstick, red, a survivor of the occasion, a veteran of make-up, enjoying his moment of victory and emphasis in the sparkling glitter of the nineteenth-century chandeliers of Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo.

He sensed her puffy, impossibly pouty lips, an impalpable glossy gloss competing for sparkle with sequins, feathers and tulle.

Without jewelry, just herself, she rhythmically brought the flûte back to her lips, the same starched gesture, clutching her hip more wearily.

One woman laughed.

A skirt rustled.

Two piano notes.

They offered her a salmon tartlet delicately kept in a small gold oval.

Elizabeth sighed, no thanks, a slight nod of denial with her head.

A smile, and inside an embarrassing thought, I wish it were me serving, invisible, tender canapés.

Instead, she was tactically positioned in the semi-darkness of the gothic hall of the Contarini Palace, wearing an old-fashioned dress, an old-fashioned hairstyle of intentions, and pumps as tight as the knowledge that she didn't fit in.

Yet Mike had believed in her.

He had given her a great opportunity.

And she had done her job with freshness, ease and speed.

A miracle had decided to manifest itself therefore to give her the opportunity, the Lady of Opportunities. Procuring high-end cars for magnificent investors.

Bentley, Lamborghini, Ferrari, Mercedes.

She would become like those bizarre little birds that feed on the larvae of the great, mammoth hippos of the Serengeti. A handyman bag holder, watches, cars, investments, wherever the egos of the powerful could be satisfied.

Obviously, this service was worthily paid.

Mike, prestigious Financial Investor, held the strings of this ceiling from his villa in Antibes, if nonchalance could have had a human representative, it would have been him with his powerful laugh, whether it was a gold Rolls or a Lamborghini Aventador studded with rough diamonds, nothing was sufficiently embarrassing for him. And Elizabeth was the action, the one who lightly parked the luxurious and bizarre vehicles in the garages of the summer residences.

She saw him in the center of the room, peacock exposed, surrounded by Amazonian butterflies.

He scanned her, greeted her with a wave of his hand. A wider smile.

Mike for an inexplicable reason, loved her.

He was affectionate.

He heard the rebuke from afar, like an echo, Why is Elizabeth, so beautiful and cultured, holed up in a dark corner?

The hall packed. The music swirled in an arpeggio of C. Sparkling wine exploded in the flûtes.

And the lights. Incredible to watch in the half-light the crystal lights. If everyone had fallen silent and every sound had died away, the roar of the Venetian waters would have danced with the lights of the gothic chandeliers, which enormously towered over the diners.

But no, no one wanted to delight in silence.

Just Elizabeth, to disappear.

She looked at the black patent leather pumps, 12 centimeters of thin heel that ambitiously supported 49 kilograms and 1 meter 68 centimeters of perplexity.

Mike wanted to get closer to her, she could see him from afar smiling a few bejeweled hands, boldly advancing in her direction.

He wanted to introduce her.

In Elisabetta's mind, giant thoughts exploded, her pupils dilated, her nostrils quivered.

Good evening Elizabeth, are we working?

Yes of course, I'm ready. What should I do? Cursed.

You look very elegant this evening, I wish to introduce you to the master of the house.

Elizabeth I imagine Archangels Michael & C plummeting into a scorching chasm of flame.

I believe, Mike, I pause and sigh, that the landlord is busy tonight.

Hopeful.

For me you know, they always have time. I am one of the most important and divers men in the world. If I wish to introduce you to the Count, he will have time to get to know you. He speaks 8 languages, including a fluent Italian. However, you can also express yourself in English or French, if you wish.

I want to pass out.

"Mike I do not see the necessity now of disturbing the Hammerschild family, and then you know that I always unwillingly accept the pleasantries of this class of society. " it seemed a lament, a supplication, a sweet burlesque in which the match girl was the object of study of her pygmalion.

Elisabetta, this chastened dress that wearing anyone else would seem outdated and ancient, on you looks paradoxically sexy. You look very beautiful this evening, a trained, elegant and refined woman. I can not imagine if it is the result of a divine miracle or some tutorial seen by chance on fabrics and makeup, but the result is good and satisfactory. So stop whining and follow me.

Follow me was a hyperbole for I drag you, and in fact this was happening: dragged into the middle of the room, with the flûte poised tightly with the entire hand on the puny stem, intending that it would still serve as a shield rather than breaking on the floor, of the frothy liquid a few drops on the beautiful Persian carpet of the Great Hall.

The Grand Duke Hammerschild descendant of the richest Austro-Hungarian family of Jewish origin of the early century, heritage estimated at around 2 billion euros, owner of numerous petrochemical and pharmaceutical companies in Austria, Switzerland and Germany as well as in northern Italy, the venerable age of 83 years, was accompanied and supported by his eldest son Hans Adolf Hammerschild von Sonnenberg Archduke of Alsace.

You could glimpse the loud, respectfully spaced hat of some elegant businessman in a tuxedo, approached by the soft laughter of finely dressed women, graceful in clouds of golden silk. Two bodyguards, stood on either side of the group, as if they were the obtuse corners of a regular parallelepiped.

How had it been possible for a woman like her, who not even a year before was struggling with the expenses of the daily caravan, a simple 1997 graduate, with no Master's degree, no pedigree, with a small company that barely escaped the black, to support the taxes of the Italian government. A woman who couldn't afford vices, who regularly at vacations, eroded her year's savings. A woman who did not know a continuous economic well-being but who always struggled at the water's edge not to be dragged down by the costs, increasing year by year the revenues but still suffering and hoping for the real opportunity.

This woman was now in one of the most gothic nineteenth-century Venetian Palazzi, invited to a private party, with the cream of European billionaires and from there in 4 minutes, with a slight approximation, she would have met one of the most important and capitalized families of Northern Europe.

Of course all this was the result of a miracle, of a desire thought and hoped and prayed for every day, every minute, the incessant and true desire for catharsis, for the real possibility of living well, of possessing the money to cover expenses and satisfy vices, of the dignified need to be a free, capitalized, successful woman. The need to not live in need.

It wasn't a foregone conclusion that the gentlemen in question would become her clients, but the tantalizing thought of becoming their scavenger bird gave her the courage she needed to think up an elegant introduction in English.

We are all the fruit of something, Elizabeth was the fruit of famine and vicissitudes. Too young a mother, a very beautiful woman, with an elegant beauty that suggested to observe her better. Better to discover her contradictions.

A woman fierce in business, but delicate and loving in her affections.

A woman beautiful in features but unbearably unkempt as if not wanting to strut her appearance that was not what she wanted to dwell on.

A woman who should have for simple education remained silent but who did not accept the fact of being a woman, of being a mother, of being beautiful and in a sort of conscious timid rebellion wriggled from time to time of honorable self-love.

Mike literally pushed her right into the middle of the circle of people, obscuring the gold of the other Dame's dress, a Von for sure, and the perfect bow tie of her companion.

And he stood by her side, after all, he was her champion or pygmalion or simple friend.

And for this Elizabeth was deeply grateful.

Familie Hammerschild Ich freue mich über die angenehme Einladung, ich hoffe, Sie sind in guter Verfassung und genießen wie ich den ausgezeichneten Champagner. Ich möchte Ihnen meine Mitarbeiterin in der Automobilindustrie, Dr. Elisabetta Grandolfi, vorstellen... Mike's German was fluent.

Elisabeth looked up from the flûte and lived one of those rare moments of temporal suspension, in which a minute, an hour or 5 hours have the same meaning. A suspension of time, acoustics in which her hearing registered only the frantic tumbling of her heart, in which her sight registered only two other eyes staring back at her and to those she was chained without seeing anything else around. Only two blue eyes. Like the blue Danube, someone would have sung.

CHAPTER TWO

Hans found himself staring at a pirouetting silhouette of shiny black silk, which with a snap of slammed jaws materialized before him about a meter away, erect, shoulders straight, torso rigid, in a waiting pose worthy of the best underling.

Tall to her chin, wrapped in a black silk dress with a shy round neckline of a schoolgirl and short sleeves to free two sculpted arms of slender muscles, thin wrists, hands with long fingers, like a pianist, red on the tip as if they were the stylized decorations of an impressionist author.

The prosperous breasts, entirely wrapped in the black dress would have been daring, but on her it assumed the contours of a contained, refined beauty, that of the Goddess who does not dare to manifest herself to the profane or to the vulgar, but who cannot entirely contain the sublime beauty. The flat belly exalted by a narrow belt, turned into a soft curve and then turned again opening to the hips to then descend in an ecstatic dip along the thighs winking in a long slit to the ankles.

Filly ankles, with the small bones protruding at the instep and the visible ribs encased in a black decolletage that mockingly hid the probably delicate toes. Would she have worn polish in her toenails, always vermillion red?

She retraced the winding road in reverse, to grapple with the curves of her long, haughty neck and the delicious dimple of her jugular, where she would gladly place any woman a small diamond with faceted trails of light, but which she adorned with herself and the compactness of her milky complexion.

It was the face that struck him, as the shill the horse.

The body was that of an athletic yet soft woman, delicate yet firm.

The face was that of a diva.

Big eyes, of an intense and rare green, exceptional even in the tenuous light of the festival, like the Carezza lake and the color of the pines that refract on it, and that like long black lashes encircle its placid shores.

Pronounced cheekbones were the scaffolding of a straight, thin, austere nose, the springboard for full, red lips, but they would have been velvety even in apricot or peach or in their shy pink.

Those eyes were steady, unyielding, tiny golden straws swam within them in a sea of motionless green.

A thin brown curl in the pirouette slipped across her forehead.

The girl sighed, one of her delicate little hands went up to catch it and put it back together with the others gathered on the top of the head, in a tight, constricting hairdo as if to say that no one would have to escape as long as their mistress was forced into such a pantomime herself.

They looked thick and long and brown enough to protect her from everything and everyone, from any assault by any knight who might have wanted to admire her. Yet they were locked inside three ivory combs and a few hairpins. Maybe she didn't need to be hidden from any knight, maybe she was her own guard and consent and that hairdo, chastising for its beauty, seemed to suggest that she knew how to defend herself.

He had wandered with his own eyes, now he wished to catch the glow of hers. He paused there, within her eyes as green as Lake Carezza, caressing them as his hand the still waters of spring.

Nice to meet you. I don't speak German. I hope you don't mind too much.

The English that came out of his beautiful lips was marked with the classic Italian accent, as all Italians learn it on their school benches, never really speaking it with English gentlemen. But the voice was deep, warm, of a baritone tone, dark in tone and intense in volume, and though he had whispered perhaps aware of the poor accent, it was heard with attention by all. Like the sirens of Ulysses who seduced him to lead him to death, they whispered but were well heard by the ears of the soul.

Here is the dichotomy evident in her, what seemed to escape, beautiful without jewels or artifice, a woman of heart and soul who simply manifested herself.

Humble because not aware.

As she spoke, she returned my gaze, only me. She was proud, I had been very persistent in my observation, she had obviously noticed but did not wish to back down.

Good evening Miss Grandolfi, we are pleased with your presence, hoping that the amusements meet your taste, we thank you for the work done, suggesting in the coming days to refine, in first person, our choices on the latest cars we prefer. Needless to chat in English, I took care to free her from the burden of Anglo-Saxon communication.

I thank you for speaking Italian, thank you. he smiled.

As delightful as a little girl finding out she's not being sent back to second grade.

My eyes exploded with flashes, perhaps I had taken an emerald between my fingers raising it to the rays of the sun?

I broke away from her eyes to look for Mike's, I felt cold and it seemed for a moment that the desert enveloped me. Did I already need her?

Mike, you are always the best friend to me, to us, to our family. Please authorize Mrs. Grandolfi to speak with me directly.

Hans, what you desire, she will be able to suggest the best choice, then you know that you can always turn to me. Herzog, Sie sehen wie ein junger Mann aus. Wenn Sie mich auf den Golfplatz einladen, hoffe ich, dass Sie mich nicht wieder schlagen werden. addressing my father and his passion for golf.

We all turned to the patriarch, an emblem of tough Austrian stubbornness.

Mike, Sie gehören jetzt zur Familie, und die junge Dame wird, wenn sie Ihnen vorgestellt wird, als Freundin begrüßt werden.The landlord recited in a soft, trembling voice, holding onto the wooden staff with a diamond ring set in pure gold depicting the noble family's coat of arms on either side, smiling at teeth yellowed by time, teeth that had bitten the bullet of World War II, and the recession and debt that sunk Austria along with Germany after the war. Teeth that evidently for Jewish teeth, had survived the depredation and still bit the pockets of many European banks.

Wir verabschieden uns, in den nächsten Tagen werden wir jedes Geschäft abschließen, dieser Abend ist zum Tanzen und Trinken gemacht ! Mike wished to take his leave, did he want to seclude himself with her? Was he her lover? It would be peculiar, if the girl was one of his co-workers, Mike was very strict at work. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring, but the little wrinkles whispered that it would be more appropriate to address her as Signora instead of Signorina. But Signorina he hoped it would be.

He searched for his oasis, the desert was hot and arid with loneliness.

She was watching me. I didn't want to shiver. But I did.

I was naked.

Miss Grandolfi would like to give me her time now.

I saw her cheekbones puff up, I didn't think women in the twentieth century still blushed, she was the first woman I discovered to blush.

He lowered his gaze lightning fast, tightened his lips imperceptibly.

I could hear two beats of his heart.

Two sharp thuds in my mind, like two round, rough stones thrown into Lake Carezza and slight ripples all around forming concentric circles.

Mike touched her elbow.

She gave a quick nod of assent, no longer looking at anyone, perhaps at the paint spikes on her décolletage, perhaps at the empty flûte.

I took the flûte from her, brushed the skin of her little hand. It was icy. Like blood had decided it was best to retreat to comfort courage.

Please Miss, may I suggest a better vintage champagne?

I took her wrist, looking for her gaze, I needed it too now, a slight pulse. Her eyes always fixed on the ground.

Do not be afraid beautiful Elizabeth.

A woman who was a woman. Shy, introverted, humble.

Adieu Mes Amis

I brushed her elbow, leading her down a path among the revelers, the crowd opening up. I was the Archduke.

I deliberately stroked the protruding bones of her elbow with my thumb in a small round gesture, she seemed to gasp.

I moved the bodyguard away with a gesture, without leaving that elbow, already mine.

Did you intuit?

I caressed without touching the straight back, the impossibly slim hips as if contained by a fifteenth-century bust, with a vague flavor of lace and powders and crinolines and handkerchiefs laid in gardens like pawns.

I wanted to lead her to the Tower of the Contarini Gothic Palace, the Tower with its long spiral staircase on rounded arches opened onto an enchanted courtyard and the view of Venice and its still waters was incredibly impressive.

Expertly metered soft lights created long shadows.

She trembled a little, a little shiver.

Yet surrenderingly he allowed himself to be led.

I would like to show you the famous Tower, may I call you Elizabeth?

She'll love it.

Had he heard me?

Again just the nod. I wanted his voice! His delightfully baritone voice. With his beautiful Italian language, as they speak it in the north, without accents and inflections. Maybe my Italian wasn't good? It couldn't be, I was fluent in many languages, I had seen the world. The world was a rich platform of business and trade, of compromises and promiscuous decisions. What was right was always debatable, objectives took priority. Money was always and solely the winner. These paradoxes were real.

We arrived at the top, on the domed belvedere, the city opened up before us, the music of the piano gentle to our hearing.

Do you like it, Elizabeth?

CHAPTER THREE

Elisabetta thought that she would never see Venice so beautiful again. The view was incredibly intense, the tributaries that bathed the banks ran placidly, a faint illumination from the street lamps, the small, rhomboid squares, like a spider's web. Silvery threads like water wove and alternated with the city. Silver lights on the black water. Small diamonds on the water, and the deserted streets, a few lonely benches, small houses after Palazzi and the colors, red, pink, white and marble. The moon was absent, the stars covered by the clouds, the sky was asleep, just him. Everything instead in the deserted city whispered to the beauty the eternity of that small moment and spectator opened his short theater to the tower De Bovolo, under its arches.

Her heart beat lightly, a faint, reassuring fear told her she was alive.

She was alive but surprised.

She decided to remain politely reserved, strategically it was much wiser for the Archduke to expose himself, expressing his desires and intentions. She had learned to keep quiet. It was the most tactically seductive weapon a businesswoman could possess.

Keeping silent, listening, and interpreting the unspoken.

Then possibly respond, exposing yourself the minimum allowed.

Or a diplomatic yes will be done, would have closed the arguments and satisfied the customers.

They didn't expect her to think. Only to execute.

Not because of any idiosyncrasy towards women but simply because they possessed a lot of money. On the contrary they were naturally better disposed towards a woman, who did not activate in them any fighting hormone. It had been scientifically tested that these powerful people possessed a high level of testosterone, they would not have liked in fact a masculine woman, but welcoming, empathetic, rounded in the exception of non-androgynous. Better if voluptuous, their eye would have commanded the brain that there was no danger, therefore to trust. And she had so far interpreted their desire for command, complying.