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He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

But not so long ago the memory didn’t bother him. “Did she say something bad?” Was that why he continued to avoid her eyes?

“Actually she was surprisingly diplomatic. But then, Floriana was—is—a very good person.”

If she was so good, why then why was she an ex? Louisa tried to picture the kind of woman Nico would propose to. Someone beautiful, no doubt. And smart. She would have to be smart to keep up with him. More questions came to mind, like what had kept them from the altar? From the shadows filling his expression, the decision hadn’t been his, at least not completely.

Her annoyance from before all but forgotten, she reached out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry if it dredged up a lot of bad memories.”

At last, he shifted his gaze, turning from the grapes to where her fingers rested on his forearm. As always happened, when his eyes fell on her, the attention made her body tingle. “Not everyone is made to get married.”

True or not, his answer, with its lonely, resigned tone, hurt her to hear. Louisa found it hard to think of Nico as ever being lonely—the concepts
Nico
and
alone
seemed like polar opposites. But lines had suddenly appeared around his mouth and eyes as he spoke, lines that could only be etched from sadness.

“Sometimes we just pick the wrong person the first time around, is all,” she said, thinking of her own mistake.

“Sometimes. I should check the Brix content on these vines.” Pulling away from her touch, he reached for his satchel.

He didn’t want to talk about it. Fine. If anyone understood the need to bury past mistakes, she did, and if changing topics took the sadness away from his eyes, all the better.

Nico wasn’t the only one who hated to see another person sad.

“Are they ready for harvest?” she asked.

“You tell me.” Picking a grape, he pressed it to her lips. Louisa could taste the sweetness the moment she bit down. Once she moved past the feel of his fingers on her lips, that is. “Mmm, delicious.”

“If the sugar content matches up, I’ll tell the foreman to have his team start working this field tomorrow. By the time we finish, the other fields, yours, should be ready.”

“You mean they aren’t all ready at the same time?” She stole another grape. The fruit was still sweet, but it didn’t make her lips respond like the one he fed her had.

“Grapes on the northern side of the vineyard always ripen sooner. They’re on a slope angled to get the most sun throughout the day. Carlos used to call Northern grapes
favorito della Natura
because they got the most sunshine.”

“Nature’s favorites?”

“He had names for all the fields. The ones in the southern field he called
scontroso—
grumpy—because they were often slow to ripen.”

“Wouldn’t you be grumpy, too, if the other field was the favorite?”

“That’s what I used to tell him.”

Louisa smiled, imagining the two men walking the rows, nicknaming the plants. “Carlos sounds like a character.”

“He was a very wise man. A born winemaker.”

Whose fields would be ruined, but for Nico’s care. Guilt kicked at her conscience. If only she could have claimed her inheritance sooner. “I had no idea any of the Bertonellis ever existed,” she said. “My mother never talked about my father’s family.” Never talked about her father, period, actually. Geoffrey Harrison was a smooth-talking liar best left unmentioned.

“Don’t feel bad. I never knew he had relatives in America.”

“Tight family bonds, huh?” she said. The sarcasm came out more bitter than she meant.

“Trust me, family bonds aren’t always so wonderful. They can get in the way, too. Like baby sisters deciding you need to entertain them when they are pregnant and bored.”

Who did he think he was kidding? He’d loved Marianna’s visit yesterday and they both knew it.

“I would have killed for a brother or sister,” she said. “Most of my life, it was just my mom and me. We used to joke it was us against the world.”

“Must be upsetting for her to see her daughter being lambasted in the press. Have you talked to her?”

“No. She...um...” It was her turn to study the grape vines. How did she explain that she’d screwed up the one good relationship in her life? She’d love to blame Steven again, but this time she had only herself to blame. “I don’t want to bother her.”

Just as she recognized his evasion tactics, Nico recognized hers. “You don’t think your mother’s aware of what’s going on?” he asked.

“I’m sure she is, but...” But Louisa was too embarrassed to call and talk about it. “The two of us were estranged for a while. I don’t want to spoil things by bringing up bad news right as we’re getting on better footing.”

This wasn’t the direction she planned for their conversation to take. Seemed as though whenever the two of them talked lately, she found herself sharing some facet of her past she’d sworn to keep secret. Frightening, how easily she exposed herself to him, more frightening than her desire to lean on his shoulder, and yet at the same time, the words tumbled out without pause.

Perhaps it was because Nico accepted what she said without pushing for more. Like now, he simply nodded and, hands in his back pockets, began sauntering down the row. Made her feel, in spite of how easily the information came out, that she was in control of the information she chose to share.

Mimicking his posture, Louisa headed after him, and the two of them walked in silence for several feet.

“Carlos taught me to appreciate the art of winemaking,” he said after a moment, returning to their earlier conversation. Again, Louisa silently thanked him for not pushing. “He never let me forget that ours is a centuries-old craft, and as such we have an obligation to make the best wine possible.”

“And your father? He was a vintner, too, was he not?” Strange that Nico’s allegiance would be to his neighbor and not the man who raised him. “Did Carlos teach him, as well?”

“My father made wine, but not like Carlos. He was, shall we say, too distracted by other things.”

Distracted how? Dying to know, Louisa had to bite her tongue to keep from asking. After all, she owed Nico the same courtesy he showed her when it came to privacy.

He answered anyway. “My mother, for one thing. Women who weren’t my mother, for another. Don’t worry,” he added before she could offer sympathy. “Mama gives as good as she gets.”

“They’re still together?” She didn’t know why that surprised her, but it did.

“They have what you would call a fiery relationship,” Nico replied. “They’ve separated and reunited more times than I can count, swearing to God every time that they cannot live without each other, and they can’t, for about a year or so. Then the plates begin to fly again.” The early-morning sun caught his eyes as he cocked his head. Even when sad, he was beautiful. “You could practically hear the clock ticking between breakups.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything.”

No, but she felt as though she needed to say
something
. She knew that feeling of heavy expectancy all too well, the horrible sense of foreboding as you waited—and waited—for some undefined disaster to strike. “Is that how you ended up at the palazzo?”

“The palazzo vineyards were my escape. No chaos, no drama. Just peace and quiet.” He took a long, deep breath, making Louisa wonder if he wasn’t trying to internalize those very same qualities now. “At first I just went and watched the workers. Then one day Carlos came by—I think the workers told him about me—and he understood.

“My parents’ reputations were well-known,” he added with a smile. “Anyway, after that, he said if I was going to spend time in the vineyards, I was going to learn about them.”

“You’re very lucky,” Louisa said. How often had she wished she had an ally like Carlos, only to end up hating herself because her isolation was no one’s fault but her own?

“I know.”

It dawned on her that Carlos Bertonelli had rescued them both, albeit in different ways. Shame rolled through her as she thought about how long it had taken her to claim her inheritance. She’d nearly let her sanctuary fall to pieces because she’d foolishly let herself be convinced there was no escaping her marriage.

“I’m sorry I never got to meet him,” she said.

“Me, too.” His lips curled into a smile. “He would have liked you a lot, you know,” he told her. “The old man always had a soft spot for beautiful women. Right up to the end.”

Louisa blushed at the compliment. “He must have loved Marianna, then.”

“Of course he did. After his wife died, he would ask her to play the role of harvest queen. He used to tell people it was easier than choosing someone different each year, but everyone knew it was because he had a soft spot for her.”

“There’s a festival queen?”

“No one told you?”

“No.” Although she could certainly picture the beautiful Marianna being selected as queen no matter her age.

“Oh yes, it’s a tradition for the local nobility to lead the festivities.” Nico told her. “If the nobleman wasn’t married, then he would select a maiden from the village to act as his queen for the day. Although in those cases, I suspect there were a few other duties involved, as well.” He grinned. “You seriously did not know?”

Louisa shook her head. The thing about Monte Calanetti’s traditions running so deep was that everyone assumed they were common knowledge. “It’s not something that normally comes up in conversation,” she said. “Who took over as the festival king after Carlos died?” The sunburn on Nico’s cheeks grew a little darker. “Why am I not surprised?” She could only imagine the crowd clamoring to play his queen.

“Someone had to,” he said. “Of course, now that you’re here I will gladly abdicate the title.”

She laughed. “Oh sure. People would love to see me lead the harvest parade. I can see the headlines now—Luscious Louisa Reigns from on High.”

Why wasn’t Nico laughing? Granted, it wasn’t the funniest joke but he could at least smile at her attempt to make light of her problems. “Actually...” he began.

“You’re joking.” He was joking, right? “You’re suggesting I play the role of harvest queen?”

“It’s not a suggestion,” he replied.

“Good.”

“It’s what’s expected.”

“Excuse me?” Did he say
expected
? The word ran down her back. She didn’t do
expected
anymore.

“It’s tradition,” Nico continued. “As owner of Palazzo di Comparino,
you
are the local nobility. Therefore, people will expect you to take Carlos’s place.”

“No, they won’t.” Nico was the town nobility, she was merely notoriety.

“Yes, they will,” he quickly retorted. “It’s tradition.”

Again with tradition. As if that justified everything. Who cared if it was tradition or not? Had he forgotten about the paparazzi, the whole reason she was hiding out at the vineyard? “I’m trying to avoid having my picture taken, remember? Not encourage the papers by parading down the middle of the street.”

“You won’t be encouraging anything. The festival isn’t for another week. By that time, the scandal will have gone away,” he said.

Says you.
“Scandals never go away,” she shot back. They were like weeds, going dormant only to crop up during another season. “People have long memories. Just because the headlines fade, doesn’t mean they will have forgotten who I am. The people here aren’t going to want to expose Monte Calanetti to ridicule.”

An aggravated growl vibrated deep in Nico’s throat.
“Madonna mia,”
he said, gesturing toward the heavens, “I thought we were past this. You have got to have faith in the people you live with.”

“Oh sure, because the world has been so supportive up until now.” She couldn’t go through another round of sneers and whispers. She
wouldn’t.

“Monte Calanetti is not Boston.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she said. That didn’t matter. “What’s the big deal anyway? So I don’t lead the parade. Traditions can change, you know. There’s no law that says everything needs to stay exactly the same.”

“I know,” he spat.

Then why were they even having this foolish argument? He knew she wanted to stay under the radar. “Look, it’s not just the risk of gossip,” she told him. Why she was bothering to add to her argument, she didn’t know, but she was. “Even if you’re right, and people don’t care about the headlines, I’m not living that kind of life again.”

“What do you mean, ‘that kind of life’?”

“The whole socialite thing. I played that role long enough when I was with Steven.” She was done with plastic smiles and faking happiness. With being told when and where and how.

He frowned. “So you don’t care that when Carlos passed on the palazzo, he passed along the responsibilities that came with it?”

“No, I don’t.” She’d come to Italy to live
her
life and no one was going to make her do anything different.

“I see,” Nico said, nodding. “Now I understand.”

“Do you?”

“
Si.
Comparino is merely a piece of property to you. No wonder you ignored its existence for so long.”

Ignored?
Ignored?
Oh, did he just say the wrong thing. Louisa’s vision flashed red. “Don’t you dare,” she snarled. “I didn’t ignore anything. From the moment I opened the lawyer’s letter, I wanted to be here.” He had no idea how badly. How many nights she’d lain awake wishing she could board a plane and escape.

“Of course you did. Your desire to be here was obvious from all those months you left the place to ruin.”

“I was testifying against my husband!”

Her shout sounded across the vineyard. If the field workers didn’t know her business before, they certainly knew it now. Let them. By this point, the damn trial was public knowledge anyway. What was another mention? Taking a deep breath, she added in a lower voice. “I couldn’t leave the country for an entire year.”

The explanation might have been enough for some, but not Nico. Crossing his arms, he positioned himself in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking the path. “You ignored us for over
two
years, Louisa, not one,” he reminded her. “Or did the authorities refuse to let you leave the country before the arrest, as well?”