Authors: Barbara Wallace
He didn’t understand. Any photograph was one photograph too many. “Believe it or not,” she said, lifting her head, “there was a time when I liked having my picture taken.” She remembered her first public date with Steven and how the local press surrounded them. She’d felt like someone had dropped her on a Hollywood red carpet. “I thought being featured in the paper was the coolest thing ever.”
Letting out a long breath, she balanced her chin on the back of her hand. “After Steven was arrested, reporters started camping out in cars across the street. They’d call my name each time I left the house, and I would hear the cameras snapping. Click-click-click-click. It never stopped. After a while I stopped going out unless it was to go to court. I had my food delivered. I kept the curtains drawn. I swear Steven had more freedom in prison.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Nico’s gaze slide toward his windows and the green linen drapes blocking the view.
“Did you know, I couldn’t even take out my garbage, because they would go through the contents?” she asked. “I had to let it pile up in the basement until after the trial was over.” If she concentrated, she could smell the stench. The horrible sour smell that drifted up the stairs every time she opened the basement door. “I actually dreamt once that the bags overflowed and buried me alive.”
“Bella mia...”
He reached for her hand.
Louisa pulled back with a shake of her head. No more comforting touches. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel sorry for me.” Honestly, she didn’t know why she’d told him at all. The memory had simply popped out and it had been the first time she shared the secret with anyone. She supposed it was because the situation was repeating itself again now.
“Well, I promise no garbage here.”
How was it he knew the way to make her smile no matter how aggravated or sad she got? “Well, if there is,” she said, “you’re responsible for taking it out.”
“Agreed.” Nico smiled, and the warmth in his eyes was as reassuring as any embrace. For that moment, anyway, Louisa felt as if everything would be okay.
* * *
Seeing Louisa smile cheered him. It was strange how important seeing her smile was becoming to him. Nico tried to imagine what it must have been like for her during the trial, trapped inside her home while the wolves with their cameras gathered around in wait.
It made him doubly glad that he had lied about the photographs not bothering him. He would never tell Louisa, but seeing the pictures actually bothered him a great deal, although not for the reason she thought. It was his expression in the photographs, a dazed, trancelike appearance that upset him the most. He’d been photographed by the press dozens of times, but never could he remember seeing a shot where he could be seen looking so intently at his partner. Then again, he couldn’t remember ever sharing a dance as memorable as the one he shared with Louisa either. Looking at the photograph had brought every detail back into focus, from the softness of her silk gown to the floral scent of her hairspray as she curled into his neck.
Unfortunately, Louisa’s reaction was far different. Even though he expected her to get upset, he was surprised at the disappointment her response left in his stomach. Clearly, being the one who usually kept the emotional distance, Nico wasn’t used to a woman’s disinterest.
Sensing her attention about to return to the headlines, Nico gathered the newspaper and folded it in two. “No more gossip,” he said, slapping the paper on the countertop. “We move on to better topics. You need to finish your breakfast. Today is a workday. If you’re serious about earning your keep, then we need to get to the winery.”
“Are you always this bossy with your houseguests?” she asked, the smile staying in place.
“Only the Americans,” Nico countered. What would she say if she discovered she was the first woman to be one of his houseguests? Not even Floriana had been given such an honor. Since his parents had moved away, Nico had preferred the house to remain a place of peace and tranquility, something it had never been when he was a child.
And didn’t Louisa, with her damp hair and bare feet, look as if she belonged to the place. The novelty of having company, he decided. Other women would look equally at home, if he ever bothered to invite them.
But would other women engender such a strong desire to protect them? Last night, he’d literally found himself patrolling the house, and again first thing this morning. Frankly, he was surprised he hadn’t stood guard outside Louisa’s bedroom door to keep her safe.
Keep her safe or keep her from leaving?
The dread that gripped him when she mentioned going to Florence was no less today than it had been yesterday. He wished he understood why her leaving Monte Calanetti disturbed him so much.
He looked past her shoulder to the back door and the thin dark line scored in the wood just to the left of the doorknob. A reminder of the time his mother had thrown a carving knife at his father’s disappearing back. “Did you sleep well?” he heard himself ask.
“Okay,” she said. “It’s never easy sleeping the first night in a new place and all.”
“Perhaps, after a full day’s work, tonight will be better.” For both of them. Wiping his mouth, he tossed the napkin onto his empty plate and stood up. “Speaking of...we have a busy day. Get your shoes on and I’ll show you what you’ll be doing for me.”
* * *
Beyond the vineyards themselves, Amatucci Vineyards had two primary sections. There was a medieval stone villa that housed the store and wine-tasting rooms as well as a modern production facility. It was to the second building that Nico and Louisa headed, cutting through the rear garden and vines. Something else Louisa had been too stressed out to appreciate yesterday. Unlike the villa, which was stately and ripe with family heirlooms, Nico’s garden was a breathtaking display of natural beauty. The vines draping the pergola beams had minds of their own, their branches dipping and weaving into a unique overhead tapestry. Likewise, urns had been placed around the terracotta terrace, their roses and olive plants spiraling up cedar trellises with stunning wildness.
“I like to be reminded of how rugged the hills can be,” Nico said when she complimented him.
Rugged
was a good word and fit him perfectly, she thought, dodging a low-hanging branch. Nico was earthy and independent. Civilized, but not completely.
“Most of the employees are in the field at this time of day,” Nico told her as he unlocked the facility door. “I’ll set you up in one of the back offices so you’ll have maximum privacy. I also sent an email to the staff last night reminding them that I expect professionalism and discretion at all times, and that I won’t tolerate gossip.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”
Swooping in to take control...
A tightness found its way into her stomach, which she immediately pushed aside.
Not the same thing
, she silently snapped.
Stop comparing.
The door opened into a small receiving room dominated by filing cabinets and a cluttered metal desk at which a lanky young man too big for his chair sat reading. Behind him a glass window looked out over a warehouse-sized room full of gleaming stainless-steel processing machines.
He practically jumped to his feet when he heard Nico shut the door. “
Signor!
I was just—just—” Seeing Louisa, he stopped midsentence and simply stared. This morning’s newspaper lay open on the desk, the photo of her and Nico on display.
“Good morning, Mario. I’d like you to meet Louisa Harrison from Palazzo di Comparino. She’s offered to help us fulfill shipping orders so we can get ready for harvest.”
“Hello.”
“Mario is studying viticulture at the university. He wants to learn how to become a great vintner.”
Mario
was doing his best to look anywhere but at her. Still, if Nico could breeze in here and act as though there wasn’t a suggestive photo of them lying a foot away, then so could she. Mustering up some fake confidence, she flashed the young man a smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Mario,” she said holding out her hand.
“Um, yes. Likewise,” Mario muttered. Still avoiding her gaze, he hurriedly shook her hand before picking up a stack of paperwork. “I’d better finish getting these field readings recorded into the system,” he said. Clasping the papers to his chest, he rushed out of the office.
“Told you people would have problems with me,” she said once the young man disappeared.
Nico’s mouth was a thin tight line. “I will talk to him. Let him know that kind of behavior is unacceptable.”
“Don’t. It’s not his fault.”
“But of course it is. I won’t have my employees treating you poorly. He needs to know that.”
“Please.” She grabbed his hand as he headed toward the door. “I don’t want to make a scene.” Mario’s behavior was nothing compared to what she’d endured in Boston. What she didn’t want was to feel as though she was under an even bigger spotlight. “Just show me where I’m supposed to sit and let me get to work.”
“You’re going to stay, then? I don’t have to talk you out of leaving?”
“For now.” She was here. She might as well try to tough it out for a little while. After all, there was always the chance Mario was just shy or something, right?
The way Nico’s face brightened helped, too, as did his softly spoken “I’m glad.”
“But, before I bring you to your office,” he added, “I want to show you the facility. You should know your way around the building if I’m not here and you need to find something.”
The office exited into the main plant. Standing on the landing just outside the office door, Louisa was shocked to see the facilities empty.
“Where is everybody?” she asked.
“I always close right before harvest. Gives the employees time with their families and lets me make sure the equipment is in working order. Enjoy the silence while you can. Come next week this building will be so loud you won’t be able to hear yourself think.”
“I bet.” She didn’t have a clue what any of the machines did, but simply given the sheer number of machines she’d expect a lot of noise. “It all looks so modern,” she remarked. “Not quite how I expected wine to be made.”
“No doubt you pictured a dark cavern full of oak casks where a group of Italian gypsy women crush the grapes by foot?”
“Nothing that dramatic.”
“Are you sure? That’s what the tourists believe. Why do you think my store is in the oldest building on the property? To continue the myth.”
Meanwhile, their Old World wine was being produced in the finest of twenty-first-century stainless-steel and concrete surroundings. “So no grape stomping at all, then?” Louisa asked as she followed him down the stairs and onto the plant floor.
“Only at the harvest festival.”
Ahead, they caught the flash of a pale blue work shirt near one of the machines. “Vitale,” Nico called out. “Is that you?”
A silver head appeared. “Yes,
signor
. I was replacing the timer belt.” Just like Mario had, the man avoided looking in her direction. “You were right,
signor
,” he said. “It had worn thin. We shouldn’t have any more problems.”
“Good. Good. Vitale, I’d like you to meet Louisa.” Once again, Nico forced an introduction, and again Louisa was acknowledged with a nervous smile and a nod before Nico offered Vitale an excuse to leave.
“Give them time,” Nico told her when she started to comment. “They’ll warm up to you.”
Sure they will
, she thought with a sigh. “People are going to believe what they want to believe, Nico.” Sometimes even when the truth was right in front of them—the way she had with Steven. “And in this case, the headlines have had way too big a head start.”
“Headlines be damned. Once they get to know you, they’ll realize what is written in the papers is garbage. In a few weeks no one in Monte Calanetti will even care about Luscious Louisa.”
“From your lips...”
While they were talking, he’d moved closer, narrowing the space between them until he stood no more than a foot away. Close enough she could see the dark hair peering out from the open collar of his shirt and smell the spicy citrus of his aftershave. “Louisa,” he said, his gentle voice sounding as though he were stating the simplest of truths. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see the truth about a person.”
“Don’t be so sure. There’s an entire town back in Massachusetts that could prove you wrong.”
Nico chuckled. Despite the gap between them, his fingers had somehow found their way into her hair and were combing the strands away from her face. “You’re being dramatic,
bella mia
. I’m sure your true friends knew better.”
“They might have, if I’d had any.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” Distracted by his touch, she’d opened a door she hadn’t meant to open. “Like you said, I’m being dramatic.”
He didn’t believe her, but Louisa didn’t care. She’d revealed enough secrets for one day.
“I’m tired,” she said instead. “It’s making me say silly things.”
“You should get some rest, then.”
Easier said than done. True
rest
had eluded her for years. The last time she’d relaxed—truly relaxed—had been when? The first few months of her marriage? Such a long time ago.
Dear Lord, but she was tired of being on guard, and Nico’s touch felt so wonderfully comforting. With a soothing brush of his hand, her resistance slipped a little further. It felt so good having someone on her side. Nico’s shoulder was right there. Broad, capable, strong. Would it be so bad if she leaned on him for just a little bit? She was so very tired of being alone.
With a soft sigh escaping her lips, she curled into him.
“It’s all right,” she heard Nico whisper as his arms wrapped around her. “I’m here. I’ll take care of everything.”
* * *
This was a first for Nico. Taking a woman in his arms without any intention of making love to her. But as he drew her close, her sweet floral scent wrapping itself around him, his only thought was of reassurance. He knew why, of course. Louisa’s cool and distant mask had slipped, and the vulnerability he saw deepened the queer sense of protectiveness she’d awakened in him. Every time, the depth of what he was feeling shocked him. What was it about this blonde American that made him want to fly to America and strangle every reporter in the country personally for causing her such pain?