These Tangled Vines(45)

The idea of him thinking of her at all caused a strange stirring in her. “That’s very generous. I accept your invitation.”

Thunder rumbled, soft and low, in the distance.

“Do you have an umbrella?” he asked. “You might need one to walk to the villa later.” Without waiting for her to reply, he waved at her to follow him into the gift shop and through the back door into the administrative offices. “Take this one,” he said, retrieving a sturdy black umbrella from a large terra-cotta urn full of them. “You can keep it. As you can see, we have plenty of them, all monogrammed with the Maurizio logo. I had them made up specially for the employees.”

“Genius,” she replied, looking it over. “Why aren’t we selling these in the gift shop?”

He turned to the accounting clerk, who was busy at his desk. “Paolo, why didn’t we think of that?”

The clerk raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. I’m just a bean counter.”

Anton returned his attention to Lillian. “You, my dear, have a very good head for business.”

They smiled at each other in earnest, and she felt a rush of excitement, then had to look away.

“I should get back to work,” she said, sensing a sudden awkwardness. “I’ll see you later.”

Outside, the wind had picked up, and the clouds were shifting wildly as they moved across the sky. A fresh fragrance with the promise of rain filled the air. As Lillian inhaled deeply, her body seemed to vibrate with exhilaration. Was it just Tuscany that thrilled her? Or was it something else inside her that had changed since she’d arrived? She felt as if she had been splayed wide open, and it felt good, because she wanted, for the first time, without fear, to let down her guard and experience everything life had to offer. At the same time, that openness came with a noticeably daunting awareness of her own vulnerability.



The rain came, just as Anton said it would. Lillian walked briskly with the big black umbrella, her feet skipping over puddles, up the hill to the villa. She was drenched because of the wind when she arrived, and Francesco made a fuss over her. “My poor signorina! You should have called. I would have picked you up in the car.”

“I’ll remember that for next time,” Lillian replied with laughter, feeling joyful as she removed her jacket, shook away the raindrops, and hung it on the coat-tree.

“Come, come. Follow me.” Francesco led her into a large reception room with a hot fire blazing in the hearth, cozy lamplight throughout, and ancient family portraits on the walls. Domenico and Anton were standing in front of the fire, engaged in a conversation, Domenico gesturing with his hands as he spoke.

As soon as Lillian walked in, Anton’s eyes met hers, and he smiled. From clear across the room, she felt strangely disembodied, yet connected to him somehow—as if they shared a secret no one else knew.

“You made it,” he said as she approached. “I was afraid you might change your mind, for fear of drowning.”

She laughed. “I almost did. It was coming down in buckets. It was refreshing, though.”

“Come, my dear,” Francesco said, taking hold of her arm. “Move closer to the fire. We’ll dry you out.”

“Thank you.” The warmth was like a balm to her senses, heating her blood.

The men talked about the vineyards and how the rain would affect plans for the next day, because a crew was coming to remove suckers and trim the vines.

“It’ll be muddy,” Domenico said, “but the shoots will be dry as soon as the sun comes over the mountain.”

“What are suckers?” Lillian asked.

Anton explained that they were smaller shoots that robbed nutrients from the larger ones where the grape clusters hung. “It’s enjoyable work,” he said. “They snap off easily, so it’s a good day in the fields.”

She thought about that. “Where will you be at eleven o’clock? Because the tour guests love to see the actual work happening. It makes them feel like they’re getting a peek behind the curtain.”

Anton turned to Domenico. “Where will we be late morning?”

“With the Syrah,” he replied and described the location of the field.

Caterina walked in and greeted Lillian with kisses on both cheeks. “How wonderful that you came.”

They chatted briefly about the weather, then Caterina suggested it was time to eat.

They dined indoors with wax candles on the table and platters of antipasti to begin. Caterina brought hot tomato-and-basil soup, followed by squash-filled ravioli that melted in Lillian’s mouth.

A sizzling roasted peppercorn steak followed with fresh green beans, and finally, there was peach gelato with thin, buttery sugar cookies for dessert.

All this was accompanied by the perfect pairing of wine for each course.

Domenico raised his glass. “To my lovely wife, who brings a grown man to tears with her squash ravioli.”

“To Caterina,” Anton said, raising his glass as well, then leaning in his chair to kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you for another splendid dinner.”

At the end of the evening, Lillian helped in the kitchen, and Caterina shared her secret recipe for the squash ravioli, which wasn’t really a secret at all because Caterina loved sharing anything and everything when it came to food.

She rinsed a plate and handed it to Lillian to dry. “Tell me about your husband. Anton said he left for Paris this morning. Why does he leave you?”