The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(57)

“But it is real, Emilia.” He’s turned to me now, his face so close that I can see a tiny scar on his jaw. “That feeling is primal, as if instinctually, we are born knowing of this mother’s love. And when it is absent, it leaves us with a thirst that can never be quenched.”

He lowers his eyes and shakes his head. “I am sorry. I did not mean to get philosophical.”

“No,” I say, touching his arm. “It’s fine. It’s good. You’ve articulated so beautifully what I’ve felt my entire life.”

His gaze falls on mine, refusing to budge. His dark eyes are shadowed, and I have to resist the urge to run my hand over the dark stubble on his beautiful cheek.

“Need any help?”

I leap from my stool, my heart thundering. Lucy stands at the kitchen entrance, dressed in black jeans and red heels, wearing the most curious look on her face, as if she’s stumbled onto a mystifying experiment and she’s hypothesizing about the smoking electrical current she’s witnessing.



* * *





A jazz ballad floats on the warm evening air. Lucy and I prepare a table in the courtyard beneath a pergola of twisted wisteria vines. We set out the first course, antipasto. Cured meats and fresh cheeses, artichoke hearts and Leccino olives dress the table. Poppy comes out just as Gabe opens a bottle of Chianti.

“Lovely,” she says, but her voice is strained. And she’s moving so slowly, even after her nap.

My phone chimes. It’s Daria again. I’d missed an earlier call, too, when my phone was dead.

Lucy holds out her glass. “Cheers to you, Gabriele,” she says, in her most seductive voice.

I send Dar a quick text before turning off my phone. Call u tomorrow. xo

“Salute,” Gabe says. When he clinks his glass to mine, my hand trembles. He winks.

“No need to be nervous, Emilia.”

I turn away, clutching my glass with both hands.

“Where is Sofia?” Poppy asks, looking around. “She is here tonight, yes? And the boys?”

My heart skids to a halt. Sofia? Kids?

“Sì,” Gabe says. “You will see her tomorrow. She insists we dine in peace tonight.”

My face flames, and I’m grateful for evening’s cover. I was flirting with him. How could I not have known?

“Nonsense!” Poppy says. “Go get them. Remind her that age trumps beauty.”

Gabe shakes his head and laughs. “You are as stubborn as ever, Poppy.” He rises and travels down a flagstone path to a tiny cottage.

A moment later he returns, his arm draped around a twenty-something woman with a short, funky haircut, wearing high-waisted jeans and a sleeveless blouse. Two curly-haired boys let go of her hand, and the oldest runs to Poppy.

Poppy grabs the boy in a hug.

“Franco! Look how you’ve grown.”

“I am four and a half,” Franco says.

“A boy who is almost five deserves a lucky coin.” A shiny penny seems to appear from out of nowhere. Poppy tucks it into Franco’s pocket.

“Dante is only two,” he says. “He has to wait for his coin, right, Mamma?”

“Sì, Franco,” his mother says, rubbing the little one’s head.

Poppy opens her arms. “My beautiful Sofia!” She kisses both the woman’s cheeks, then looks down at the younger boy, who’s clutching his mother’s leg, his thumb in his mouth.

“Hello, my friend.” She goes to lift him, but can’t get him off the ground. She’s too weak. My heart breaks. I look away, hoping to spare Poppy her dignity.

“Meet Sofia,” Gabe says.

Lucy reaches out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Sofie, I mean Sofia.”

Sofia laughs. “I like this name, Sofie. You may use it, if you like.”

“Cool.” Lucy leans in to examine Sofia’s bare upper arm, where a wreath of roses forms the feminist symbol of Venus. “Nice tat.”

“Grazie,” Sofia says and lightly touches the symbol. “A reminder that females are strong and capable, something women in America accept naturally.”

“Not all of us, I’m afraid.” Lucy’s introspection surprises me. Then she jabs me in the ribs. “Meet my cousin Emmie, a perfect example of a timid American woman.”

“Thanks, Luce,” I say, and roll my eyes. I take Sofia’s hand in mine, my head still trying to come to terms with my silly heart. Of course Gabriele is married. Of course his wife’s a natural beauty, with big dark eyes and a pretty smile. And she’s young. And nice. Damn her. “It’s lovely to meet you. Your inn is beautiful.”

She smiles. “My brother’s inn. But thank you.”

“Brother?” The word charges from my mouth before I have time to censor it. Over Sofia’s shoulder, I see Gabe’s eyes twinkle with humor. I turn to Sofia. “So you—you’re Gabe’s sister?”

She nods.

“Shall we eat?” Gabe says and winks at me again.

My heart grows three sizes. Whatever made me think winks were creepy?

Gabe lights a fire in the stone pit and the night becomes golden. The seven of us gather at the long wooden table for our antipasto. Lucy sits between Franco and Dante, teasing them by stealing their noses. They squeal each time she displays their nose—her thumb caught between her fingers.