The Sicilian's Bride (12 page)

“Welcome to the winegrowers of Sicily,” they chorused, lifting their glasses in a spontaneous toast.

Isabel felt a rush of gratitude. They barely knew her and yet they’d welcomed her with so much warmth she swallowed over a lump in her throat.

“I didn’t know how you’d feel about my inheriting the land that used to be yours. I didn’t know what to expect. I’m an outsider. My uncle didn’t do much for the place. You have every reason to resent my barging in like this…”

“Is that what Dario told you?” Lucia said, her hands on her hips, a frown on her face.

“Well…”

“We sold the land to your uncle, and it’s yours now,” Francesca said. “You have every right to it. Dario may have a different opinion…”

“Because of what happened,” Maria said. “He lost his heart to that…horrible woman…! Then she…”

“Don’t even speak of her,” Francesca interrupted, her mouth curved down in disgust. “She is dead to us. Dario lost his heart yes, and the land as well. What of it? It’s over. No one blames him. He’s Sicilian, after all. We are emotional people. We fall in love and give our all and if we make a mistake, so be it! He’ll get over it. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but some day.”

Lucia turned to her sisters and announced, “Dario took Isabel to the Palazzo for lunch. It’s where he used to take Magdalena, remember? That’s a good sign he may be getting
over her. I thought he’d never go there again. And he brought you here tonight.” She looked around the room at her sisters and sisters-in-law. They nodded vigorously.

“I think that was your grandmother’s idea,” Isabel said.

“No matter. I believe you must be good for him,” Lucia said with a smile. “He needed a distraction. What about you? You’re not engaged to someone back in America, are you?”

Isabel was a little startled at their personal question. But flattered too, that they felt they could ask her.

“I was once, but…it didn’t work out.” It never works out when the person you’re engaged to is already married. “Just when I was at a low point and needed a change in my life, I got the letter from the lawyer about my inheritance.”

Lucia clapped her hands. “A miracle,” she exclaimed.

Isabel beamed. “Exactly.”

“Dario can help you with everything,” Francesca said. “He knows about making the Amarado wine.”

“He can give you Italian lessons,” Lucia added.

“He’s already helped me more than I expected,” she said. “Considering how he feels about the Azienda.”

“It’s not only losing the Azienda he suffers from,” Maria said. “It’s what Magdalena did to him.”

“He is the oldest son and he feels guilty for what happened,” Lucia added. “Too much. He’s supposed to look out for us all. But he takes his responsibility too seriously. Ever since, he hasn’t been himself. We’ve moved on. He hasn’t. Maybe you can help him forget…” She looked at Isabel with a hopeful smile.

Isabel didn’t have the heart to tell her
Maybe nothing.
She was in no position to help Dario forget anything. She was a foreigner alone in the world, still suffering from the fresh wounds of betrayal herself. She was the last person to help someone else recover.

She was going to say goodnight and thank them for a memorable evening when they mentioned the Blessing of the Grapes.

“Your first harvest at the Azienda. You must have one.”

“We’ll talk to Father Guiseppi. He’ll sprinkle the holy water over the grapes.”

“The holy water?” Isabel had thought maybe it was just a party, but it sounded like a serious religious ceremony.

“You should choose a date. And it must be soon so the blessing can take effect, and you’ll have a good harvest.”

Out on the terrace, Dario was talking to his brothers and brothers-in-law. They all stopped talking when she appeared and stood to either shake her hand or kiss her on the cheek and wish her well.

“Don’t forget to show Isabel Nonno’s paintings. They’re very realistic,” his sister said. “Even if she’s never seen the volcano, she’ll recognize it right away.”

Dario nodded, but Isabel didn’t want to presume on his improved attitude toward her any more. He’d already spent quite a lot of time with her today. He’d come here tonight as a favor to his grandmother and had seemed to have a good time with his family, but maybe he was just putting up a good act to make the evening a pleasant one for everyone, which he had, at least for her. Just seeing Dario in this setting made her evening one she wouldn’t forget. He was standing at the door, staring up at the starry sky as if he’d never seen it before.

“What did you think of them?” Dario asked when she got into the car. “They can be overwhelming.”

“They were nice. Very nice indeed. I didn’t know what to expect, but they’re wonderful. They couldn’t be more warm and friendly.”

“They liked you too,” Dario said. “They’re impressed with how you try to speak Italian, how friendly you are and of course they like the color of your hair. ‘Like the sunset,’ they say.”

She felt a flush color her cheeks. “That’s nice to hear.” She took a deep breath. She knew she shouldn’t spoil the mood, but she had to know. “I wonder if they like me so much because I’m not Magdalena.”

Dario pulled up in front of his house. The car jerked to a stop and he turned to look at her. She met his gaze reluctantly, sorry she’d said anything.

“It’s true they didn’t like her,” he said brusquely.

“They believe she hurt you.” Nervous, she turned and stared straight ahead.

“That’s not true,” he said after a long silence. “I was disappointed, not hurt. No one can hurt you unless you let them. Unless you let down your guard. In my case it was my fault, not hers. I was wrong. I should have known Magdalena wasn’t right for me. Everyone else knew. Not me, I was blind. I didn’t want an ordinary girl. And she was far from ordinary.” There was irony in his tone. Isabel could only guess at what he meant, knowing that she was a beauty queen and was treated like royalty. “I was greedy. Ordinary women weren’t good enough for me. I wanted someone different. I wanted her but she wanted more than I could give her. I don’t expect you to understand,” Dario said. “You’re from a different world.”

“But I do understand. I was even stupider than you. I fell in love with my boss. He was married with no intention of getting a divorce. I wasn’t the first woman he’d romanced while still married. Everyone else knew all about him, but not me.”

“Why didn’t they tell you?” Dario demanded.

“No one knew we were seeing each other. They had a rule at the company—no inter-office dating. So we had to sneak around, never going out in public, always meeting on the sly. It was exciting at first and I was flattered by his attention. I was a nobody, just one of many, a graphic artist in a big company. He was a big shot, in charge of the whole opera
tion, rich and powerful. I thought…I don’t know what I thought,” she said, stumbling over her words.

“You thought he loved you,” Dario said. This was something he understood. “Didn’t you?”

She nodded. “That’s what he said. And I believed him. Stupid, stupid me. What was wrong with me?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with you.” He reached for her hand and held it between his own. Her fingers were cold and stiff. He would like to meet this rich powerful guy who’d lied to her. He’d like to knock him across the field and show him he couldn’t treat people that way, no matter who he was. “You were too trusting, that’s all,” he assured her. “Sometimes it takes a shock to make a change in your life. You learn to deal with disappointment by moving on. You gain something knowing it can never happen again. You won’t ever let down your defenses again.”

“You’re right. I won’t,” she said. “Have you really recovered?”

“I’m fine,” he said flatly. He didn’t want her to think he was still suffering. Or that he’d ever suffered at all. He hoped his sisters hadn’t said anything like that. “I know one thing. I will never fall in love again. Not after what I’ve been through.”

She withdrew her hand. He got out of the car, came around and opened the door for her. When she got out he slammed the car door shut.

“Enough of the past,” he said as if he was slamming the door on it too. “It’s over. Come in. I want you to see the paintings.” Dario wanted to change the scene, change the subject and forget the past for a while. Both hers and his. He hadn’t meant to talk about Magdalena and he knew it was hard for her to talk about her boss. He could tell by the way her voice shook and how cold her fingers felt.

He seized on the opportunity to show her Nonno’s paint
ings to have something else to talk about. She’d made an effort to get along with his family and he appreciated that. Magdalena had sneered at his family for being bourgeois country people.

He wanted to see Isabel in a different atmosphere, in his house with no family around. No woman had been there since Magdalena, who’d thought it was “rustic,” and totally unlivable. If ever there was a woman who was the exact opposite of the pampered city girl he’d been engaged to, it was the down-to-earth American.

His family liked Isabel, but was it true they liked her because they’d like anyone who wasn’t Magdalena? They’d been polite and impressed by Magdalena’s title of Miss Sicily, but that was all. They thought she was cold and self-centered and definitely not good enough for him. Funny, because Magdalena thought she was too good for him.

Tonight he wanted to see what Isabel thought of his house. She had the most expressive face he’d ever seen. If she thought it was rustic he’d know. Right now she was taking it all in from the desk piled high with bills and paperwork to the overstuffed chairs and the sturdy coffee table with industry magazines stacked there.

Isabel stood on the hand-woven carpet with the geometric design and looked around. The room was spacious and snug at the same time, with the scent of leather and wood in the air.

Dario switched on the lights and opened the windows. A cool evening breeze wafted into the room. Isabel drew in a quick breath. There was music playing from somewhere. A woman was singing a plaintive song. Even though she couldn’t understand the words, she understood the feeling, so familiar, so touching.

“Opera?” she asked.

“Puccini. Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful. But it sounds sad.”

“It is sad. Her lover has left her.”

No wonder Isabel could identify with the song. “I’m beginning to see it’s true that Italians are very emotional people,” she said.

“We’re also proud and loud and impulsive and passionate.” He had an intense look in his eyes that told her he was all of those things, perhaps the reason he’d fallen so hard for Miss Sicily. She, on the other hand, was trying to be sensible. Passion and runaway emotions were what had got her in trouble. She too had learned a hard lesson.

She bit her lower lip and looked away. Too many impressions were all crowding in on her. There was way too much to take in—the kids and Dario, Dario and his family, Dario and his past. She’d seen a different side of him tonight, a softer, caring side he hid from the world. He’d finally opened up about his affair. Just enough for her to guess he’d been hurt, no matter how much he denied it.

A rush of mixed emotions left her feeling shaky and confused. Who was he? What did he want besides making wine, winning wine contests and moving ahead with his life? He’d been a different person tonight. He hadn’t mentioned wine or her land at all. Maybe she was different too.

“What a wonderful house you have,” she said, tearing her gaze away from him to look up at the rough-hewn timbers on the ceiling and the wide-planked wood floors.

“It’s better in daylight when you can see the fields and the hills from the front windows.”

“It’s nice at night too,” she said, admiring the huge picture window and the stone fireplace, picturing a fire blazing there in the winter. Did he and Magdalena spend any time here or were they always on the go?

“I haven’t done much to it since I moved in two years ago. Just moved a few walls to make it seem bigger.”

The room, with the colorful rugs on the floor and leather ottomans, reflected his personality and his country. She’d never seen him relax, but she could imagine him reclining in one of those big chairs gazing at the view or at a fire on the hearth.

She was uneasy being so close to him, his masculine aura so much a part of him he was oblivious to it, but she wasn’t. She was only too aware of the way he towered over her five-foot-ten-inch height, the strength of his grip on her arm, the warmth of his hand when he held hers, his strong features and his equally strong will. She walked across the room to look at some photographs in frames on a high table. They were pictures of a vineyard and people all holding wineglasses with a priest in the center wearing his clerical robe.

“Could that be a Blessing of the Grapes?” she asked.

“From a few years ago, yes.”

“I suppose I’ll go ahead and have one at the Azienda. I want to do what’s expected.”

“What’s expected is a party for everyone in the village. The priest blesses the grapes, everyone sits down to a large feast and they toast you and the harvest.”

She sighed. “It sounds overwhelming. Along with picking grapes and remodeling the house, I’m not sure I could manage a party.”

“If you don’t, you risk a bad harvest,” he said. “It’s not that complicated. I’ll help you set it up.”

“You’d do that for me?” She stared at him for a long moment then turned to look at the paintings. After all, it
was
the paintings she’d come to see. Instead she was getting a different look at a side of Dario that she’d never seen before, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It was an eye-opening experience to see where he lived and find out so much more about
him. What she learned made him more intriguing than ever. It would be better for her equilibrium if it made him look less attractive, less interesting. But it was just her luck he was probably the most attractive and unavailable man in Sicily.

“Your grandfather’s very good,” she said, walking up for a closer look at the towering volcano and its purple shadow in the picture. “Does he still paint?”

“No. It’s too bad. Maybe he’ll get back to it when he recovers. He hasn’t been the same since he had a stroke.”