He crossed his arms, holding her eye while she sputtered to a halt. His brown eyes narrowed. “And what does my soil say to you?”
Ciana shifted from foot to foot, realizing he was serious. She brought the clump to her nose, sniffed. “Rich in iron.” She squeezed the dirt in her palm into a clump. “Clay too. I have clay on my farm. Heavy, solid stuff. Thicker than this.”
He was nodding. “Perfect soil for growing wine grapes.”
“I grow vegetables, no grapes.” She let the soil drop back to the ground, then dusted her hand on the seat of her jeans. She held out her hand and blasted a smile at him. “Ciana Beauchamp.”
He took her hand and held on to it. “Enzo Bertinalli. My family has owned these vineyards for many generations.” He did not release her hand. “Beauchamp—French. They have always envied our vineyards.”
Just my luck. She had to meet the owner, not some worker bee. She backed off on her smile. “I’m not a thief. My ancestors raised cotton and soybeans.”
His brown eyes had lost their hostility, and he seemed amused by her obvious discomfort. “That is good. Stealing grapevines from Italy is worthy of prison.”
Her heart bumped. “Dirt too?”
A wry smile broke across his face. “That is free.” He tucked her arm through his and began to walk toward the winery with her in tow. “Perhaps we should return to your tour. Tell me, why are you in Italy?”
“I have two friends with me. We came because … well … because it’s Italy.” She saw that the tour had gathered back on the loggia and a man was behind a wooden bar pouring tastes of wine for the group. “There they are,” she said, relieved to see Arie and Eden in a line at the bar.
When Ciana walked to her friends on the arm of the man, both simply stared. She introduced her escort. Enzo offered each a courtly nod. “Are you farmers also?”
Arie and Eden shook their heads. “Just friends,” Arie said while Eden mouthed, “What did you do?” when Enzo wasn’t looking.
Totally embarrassed, Ciana ignored her.
Eden said brightly, “Glad to meet you. You have an amazing place. Gee, Ciana, you got a man. All I got today was this wineglass.” She twirled it by its stem.
Enzo laughed heartily. Ciana shot daggers at Eden.
“Come, bella Ciana, and her friends. I will let you taste some of the best wines my vineyard has to offer.”
“Oh, but we shouldn’t,” Ciana said, begging off his offer. “I’ve already imposed—”
“Speak for yourself,” Eden said, and smiled flirtatiously at Enzo.
“Come to my private cellar.” He led the girls inside the modern building behind the loggia designed for commerce. Crates of wine bottles stood along the walls, and in the center of the room were tables attractively arranged with Italian pottery, dishes, and seemingly every wine accoutrement known. “I will offer you some of my best vintages.”
Ciana balked. He smiled, showing his straight white teeth. Hard to resist him. He led them down a staircase and into a large chilly room lined with wooden stacks reaching the ceiling. Inside every cubbyhole, a bottle of wine rested on its side. He pulled out chairs for each around a circular wood table, all the while talking about the history of his vineyard.
He pulled out bottles, examined labels, and placed some on the table or returned others to their slots. “You know not every year is perfect for the grapes. So much depends on the benevolence of Mother Nature. Too much rain, not so good. Too little, not so good.”
Ciana understood what he was saying. It was the same on her farm.
Enzo had a collection on the table, which he uncorked and poured gently into bowl-shaped glasses. “We let it breathe.” He picked up a phone receiver on the wall and said something in Italian. In less than fifteen minutes, a man appeared with a tray of bread and an assortment of cheeses. “To complement the wines and cleanse the palate.”
The four of them spent the afternoon savoring red wines, and Enzo talked of the Bertinallis’ storied past, of how the Greeks came through Tuscany after the Trojan War and how one general fell in love with the area. By the time they had sipped from every bottle, each attached to a story, all of them were laughing and giddy. When Enzo led them back upstairs, Ciana was surprised to see the sun was sinking behind a rise of distant hills.
“You must have dinner with me,” Enzo said. “I cannot send my lovely guests away without good food too. You are excellent company and a lovely surprise.”
They stayed, treated to his gracious hospitality and a dinner upstairs in his private apartment. They ate fish, pasta, salad, and fresh crusty bread, each course accompanied with a special wine, served by a woman and the man who’d brought the cheese platter to the wine cellar. The meal took several hours and ended with espresso and gelato, rich Italian ice cream. When Enzo walked them to their car in the moonlight, he held Ciana back slightly and said, “I would like to see you again, bella Ciana.”
She was grateful for his hospitality and that he hadn’t called the Italian police for her trespassing, so she told him how to reach her at the villa. He kissed both her cheeks. “Until the next time. Ciao, bella.”
She slipped into the backseat, and Eden drove away with Arie humming some Americanized Italian song lyric. Ciana glanced through the back window and saw the tall, slim Enzo standing in the moonlight. With a heart-wrenching jolt, she suddenly had a vision of another man watching her leave. Jon Mercer. She took a deep breath. The wonderful afternoon at the winery faded. The memory of Jon had followed her across an ocean, all the way to Italy. She wondered if she would ever break free—or would she always be haunted by a man she could not have?
Arie liked coming into Cortona to write her emails to her family while Eden and Ciana languished in the sun at the villa. The coffee café had Internet access, and Garret always had a cheery word for her. Her chatty emails helped relieve some of her terrible guilt over not having been honest with them about her failed remission and true condition. Perhaps if they read how happy she was in Italy, they’d forgive her when it came time to confess.
Truth was, she felt good. Whatever the tumor was busy doing inside her, it wasn’t affecting her daily life so far. A blessing. As long as she felt fine, she pushed her health out of her mind. If only she could put it out of her body as easily.
The other reason she came was to contemplate the town’s various art treasures. She loved staring at Fra Angelico’s seminal work, The Annunciation, one of the most revered paintings in Italy. She never tired of touring the small museum with its Etruscan treasures or visiting the church of Santa Margherita, built in the fourteenth century to hold the tomb of Margaret of Cortona, the city’s patron saint.
She sat in the warm sunlight, chuckling as she read her mother’s latest email, filled with gossipy tidbits. It ended with Don’t faint, but Eric popped the question and Abbie said yes. We’re looking toward the spring for them to get married, so don’t you be having such a good time in Italy that you decide to stay. We miss you! Love, Mom and Dad.
She missed home too. And she missed Jon Mercer. She’d grown accustomed to seeing him every day while they worked on training her horse. She missed the sight of him, the sound of his voice, his nearness as he whispered directions on how to get Caramel to execute a certain move. Arie had written him two chatty postcards in the month they’d been in Italy but lacked the courage to pour out her heart to him in a letter.
“Some tea?” Garret interrupted Arie’s thoughts.
She smiled up at him and nodded, and he placed a small pot of tea on the table. “Thanks.”
“You’re smiling. Good news?”
“My brother’s getting married next spring.”
“Love makes the world go round.” He lingered, then asked, “Mind if I sit with you a bit? No customers at the moment.”
“I’d love the company.”
He pulled out a chair. “Where are your mates?”
Sensing his disappointment over not seeing Eden, Arie said, “Don’t worry. We
’ll all be here tonight.”
Garret’s grin was quick. “I’m obvious, right?”
“In a cute way.”
“Can I ask you a few things?” She agreed and he said, “What can you tell me about Eden?”
“She’s a great person.”
“We’re in agreement there, but what else? Why is she so”—he searched for a word—“skittish? She’s friendly and talkative, likes to party and dance and have fun, but she won’t talk much about herself. I want to know more about her.”
Arie scooped her hand through her too-long bangs. She thought about all of Eden’s baggage, so she chose her words carefully. “Garret, you’ll need to dig answers out of her.”
His brow furrowed. “I’ve tried, but she turns questions away.” The shops around the perimeter of the square began their locking up routine. Garret drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Will you answer yes or no to a few questions? Maybe it can give me some hope. I don’t want to tumble and then get shot down.”
Arie figured he’d already tumbled but felt sorry for him. She knew what it felt like to be nuts about someone and not have the feeling returned. She wanted Eden to be happy, because Tony had burned her badly. “Try a question out on me. I’ll see if it’s answerable without me blabbing too much.”
“Does she have a bloke back home?” The question leaped from his mouth.
Easy one. “No.”
His face brightened. “That’s good. It’s what I was hoping.”
“Next question.”
“Does she have a fear of falling? You know … falling in love. Some girls do.”
Harder. “Maybe.”
“Did some bloke break her heart?”
His question was too complex for a simple yes or no. Tony had used Eden, turned whatever feelings she had for him into fear. Arie reached out and placed her hand on Garret’s. “You’ve wandered into quicksand. You have to keep pressing her for answers. She’ll need to trust you first. Please understand.”
He smiled, his blue eyes shot through with understanding. “You answered the most important question. She’s unattached. I’ll just keep pouring on my Aussie charm until I break her down.”
Arie laughed and squeezed his arm. “She hasn’t a chance against genuine Aussie charm.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “That’s what I was thinking.”
Still laughing, Arie scooped up the laptop. “See you all tonight.”
Eden looked forward to the time she spent with Garret and his friends in the town square. Each evening after a late supper, they all settled around the fountain, talking, laughing, playing guitars, and dancing. No one drifted away until after midnight, in spite of having early job check-ins. She listened avidly to spirited debates between the kids from different countries and cultures. They spoke about politics, about hunger in Africa, about jobs a few had taken with world relief organizations. They talked about home and friends and music and about where they wanted to go on their walkabout and their plans for the future.
She was beginning to grasp how big and diverse the world was, and how small her world had been back home. Hearing of the magnitude of world problems, hers seemed like a soap opera with a shallow plot. Ciana spoke of farming, and its difficulties, costs, rules, and regulations. Arie talked about medical issues and drug research, and discussed pros and cons with two kids who’d grown up under socialized medicine. Arie never divulged a thing about her own cancer battles, but her knowledge about medicine astounded Eden. What had she to share except stories of the sordid underbelly of drugs and addiction? So she said little, unwilling to confess to her past, ashamed of it and how she hadn’t followed any world issues, only her own small life.
She often felt Garret’s eyes on her, watching her. She was attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be? He was likable, funny, cute—all the things Tony had never been. And yet she’d been drawn to Tony at sixteen and had become addicted to him, even though now, under the Tuscan stars, she couldn’t remember why. Even with an ocean between them, she was afraid of Tony. An email to her mother was never answered. She wasn’t surprised, certain that Gwen had fled home the minute Eden was gone. She hoped Tony hadn’t hurt her mom. She realized he’d probably tried to scare her and she fled. The safety of Italy would evaporate in two months, and Eden would have to return home and face him. She kept pushing it out of her mind, focusing instead on the here and now.
The first time Ciana and Arie wanted to head back to the villa early, Eden protested. “I’m a night owl,” she said.
“Not me,” Ciana said, yawning.
“Ditto,” said Arie.
“But you’ve got the car. If you both leave, I’ll have to go with you.”
“Sorry,” Ciana said, fetching the keys from her jeans pocket.
“I can run you, Eden,” Garret said. “That is, if you don’t mind doubling on my scooter.”
Eden was hesitant. She’d love the scooter ride, but being too close to Garret made her nervous. She really didn’t want to become involved again, and it would be too easy with a guy like Garret.
“It’s settled,” Arie chirped. “We’re off.”
Eden watched her friends desert the square.
“I won’t bite,” Garret said. “And I won’t run out of petrol like in the movies.”
Seeing that she had no choice unless she chased after Ciana and Eden, she agreed. When the evening broke up, she walked with Garret to the parking area outside the city wall and to a lone scooter under the light of the moon. He handed her his helmet. “Take this.”
“What will you wear?”
“The wind in my hair.”
She suppressed a smile. “What if we crash and you fall on your head?”
“It’s only a ride up the road. I think I can dodge disaster for a few clicks this late at night.”
So she threw her leg over the scooter behind him and tentatively embraced him.
Over his shoulder, he said, “You’ll have to hold on tighter than that. Think of me as a last bit of toothpaste in a tube and squeeze.”
She chuckled and squeezed him tightly.
The moon turned the road into a silver ribbon on the ride to the villa in the cool October night. When Garret approached the villa, he cut the motor and coasted into the driveway. “Don’t want to wake your mates.”
“Impossible,” Eden said, slipping off the helmet and resting it on the scooter’s seat. “They sleep like rocks.”
“Nice place,” he said, looking upward at the villa.
“Ciana chose it. Arie and I love it.” She pulled back from further explanation, realizing her only contribution to the Italy trip had been desperation.
“What’s around back?” Garret asked as he began to move along the side of the house.
“Patio,” she said, jogging after him, torn between wanting him to stay and wanting him to go.
On the patio, he settled on a lounge chair, put up his feet, and lay back, turning his face toward the moon. “This is the life. Now, don’t let me get burned.”
Cautiously she sat on the edge of the chair, just out of arm’s reach. “I think you’re safe.”
“Seems I’m safe from getting a good-night thank-you kiss too.”
Her heart lurched as she recalled nights with Tony. She recoiled. “I … I didn’t know the ride had strings.”
He leaned forward, his expression serious. “Hey, hey. Don’t panic. There are never any strings with me, Eden. I was teasing.”
Her heartbeat slowed and she felt foolish. Impulsively she dipped forward, kissed him lightly on the mouth, pulled away. “Thank you.”
His grin was as bright as the moonlight. “I like bringing you home. Maybe we can do it again.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Now go away. I need my sleep.”
He stood, still with the silly smile on his face. He backed to the edge of the patio, saluted her, and said, “G’night, Eden.”
She heard him whistling as he started up his scooter. She remained on the patio, listening un
til the sound of the motor faded into the night. She turned her face skyward and lifted her arms, offering herself to the moon, letting it wash over her, as if to cleanse her mind and heart from a past that she couldn’t change and that still frightened her.
“I’ve got the dish on the Bertinalli clan.” Eden looked up from the laptop as she spoke.
Ciana sat in front of her makeup mirror, smoothing on mascara. “I hate mascara. I look like a raccoon after a couple of hours.”
Arie, lying on her belly across Ciana’s bed, was leafing through a travel book about the art treasures in Rome and offered, “My lashes are the color of sand—when I have eyelashes.”
“Are you listening to me?” Eden snapped. “I’ve done some major research and Web hunting on Enzo and his family.”
“Did I ask you to research him?” Ciana was uptight about the upcoming date but refused to let her friends know. This was a new avenue for her, dating a man like Enzo, a native Italian, who looked as if he belonged on the cover of GQ magazine. He was way out of her comfort zone. As if she had one when it came to men. Except for one man, the one she couldn’t have. But it was time to move on, and why not here in Italy?
“Listen, missy, we’re not sending you out on a date with him without knowing more about him than what he told us last week. Maybe he’s a liar.”
Ciana turned to Eden, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the dressing table. “I’m going out with him in broad daylight. I think I can handle it.”
“Humor me.”
“Yeah, humor her,” Arie echoed.
Ciana returned to her makeup mirror chores. “Is he a liar?”
“No. But you need to know some things. Stuff he didn’t tell us. He’s twenty-nine, the youngest sibling of three. Kind of old, don’t you think?”
“Ten years. That’s not so much of a gap.” She’d had a birthday in late July.