The Sicilian's Bride (18 page)
Read The Sicilian's Bride Online
Authors: Carol Grace
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Fiction - Romance, #American Light Romantic Fiction, #Contemporary, #General, #Love stories, #Romance: Modern, #Romance - Contemporary, #Vineyards, #Sicily (Italy), #Vintners
“That’s not true,” she blurted. “The reason I’m leaving is that I need you too much.” Now was the time to tell him how she felt. Then she could leave knowing she’d done her best and been honest with him. She’d have no regrets. She took a
deep breath. “I…I…know we thought we were just having a good time, a summer fling, no strings, but somehow, even though I knew the rules, I couldn’t help myself. I fell in love with you, Dario. Please don’t say anything. I don’t expect you to love me. I know how you feel. I know how much you’ve been hurt.”
He reached across the table and took her hands in his. “I thought I’d never love again, you’re right. I’d made such a colossal mistake, I lost all confidence in my judgment. I had myself convinced it was my destiny to be a loner, the black sheep in the family, the favorite uncle with no kids of his own. Then you came along and you changed my mind and you changed my life.
“I’ll never forget that first day when you were determined to get to the Azienda in your ridiculous sandals and catch a ride back to town on a road that no one used. You just had to fix your own tires and grow your own grapes. I kept waiting for you to fail. But you always bounced back. I’d never met anyone like you. I didn’t believe you could make it on your own.”
“I can’t,” she said soberly.
“Yes, you can,” he said and squeezed her hand. “But you don’t have to. I want to be there for you whatever you want to do. I want to run the Azienda with you. I love you, Isabel. I want to marry you. I want to watch our children grow up together at the Azienda.”
Isabel tilted her head to one side as if to see better, because her hearing must be affected. She thought she’d just heard Dario say he loved her.
After a long silence he spoke again. “Of course, if you don’t feel the same…if you really want to get on that plane…” He stared at her as if willing her to tell him what he wanted to hear.
“No. No. I want to stay here with you. I came here to claim my inheritance and to find myself. A girl who’d never had a
family or a home of her own. I wasn’t sure I could manage by myself. Then you came along. You showed me how to scare off the wild boar, how to know when the grapes are ripe, how to change a tire and how to love again. You gave me the courage to do things I never thought I could. You introduced me to your family who I love as if they were my own. You challenged me and I hope you always will. I love you Dario. I loved you from the first moment I saw you picking grapes. I loved you even when you tried to talk me into buying another house. You wanted me to have an easier time.”
“I confess, I wanted the Azienda. But I have something better. I have you. I should have known you’d choose the hard way. My stubborn Isabel. My darling Isabel.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Don’t cry,” he said, with alarm as the tears gathered in her eyes. She’d tried so hard to be brave. She knew the penalty for crying. She’d learned early and learned well. But now the dam had burst she couldn’t stop. She sobbed so loudly that other passengers turned and looked at her with sympathy.
Dario handed her his handkerchief. “Don’t cry, Isabel. I love you. I can’t promise you an easy life, but I can promise you a life that will never be boring.” He stood and helped her out of her seat.
“Let’s go home,” he said, drawing her to him. “There are grapes to be picked, bells to ring and a wedding to plan.” She threw her arms around him and kissed him as a flight to America was being announced on the loud speaker. It was a flight she would not be taking. Not today. Not without Dario.
O
N A SUNNY
October day, the small stone church on the Villarmosa town square was full of friends and relatives for the wedding of Dario Montessori and his American bride, Isabel Morrison. No one who had ever seen them together in the weeks before their wedding could doubt they were meant for each other. They radiated happiness wherever they went, from the Azienda to his family home to the town of Agrigento where he bought her wedding ring and where they attended a performance of
The Marriage of Figaro
. The music made Isabel feel as romantic as any Sicilian in the audience. Everyone remarked that they made a perfect couple. Everyone seemed to have known they were meant for each other before the couple knew—especially the Montessori family.
He was rich, strong, tall and dazzlingly handsome in his black tuxedo and white shirt. She was beautiful, rich in spirit, and wore an ivory satin dress that set off her fiery auburn hair, the color of a Sicilian sunset.
They said their vows in English and Italian, then kissed while all the women watching dabbed the tears from their eyes and all the men smiled broadly. Dario Montessori had finally met his match. After the ceremony the bride showed off the
results of her Italian lessons by engaging Dario’s grandfather in conversation.
“
Sono cosi felice di fare parte della vostra famiglia,”
she said.
The old man beamed at her from his wheelchair.
Then it was off to the reception at the Azienda, now in the middle of reconstruction. Soon there would be a huge addition to the old house as well as a tasting room for visitors. Tables covered with white cloths and flowers were set up outside in the vineyard. A string quartet played Italian love songs. There were toasts in two languages. A temporary dance floor had been constructed with a view of the surrounding countryside.
After Dario toasted his bride, he took her aside and said, “Signora Montessori, I haven’t given you your wedding present yet.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a small black velvet box.
Inside was a small picture frame with a photo of a man with red hair. “Your uncle,” he said. “I found the photo in the newspaper office. I’m sure if he knew what you’ve done to his vineyard, he would be proud of you. No one could deserve it more. No one could have done more for it than you. And there’s no one I owe more to for bringing you to me.”
“Thank you,” she said, with a smile. “Now I know what he looked like. My only relative. I too thank him for bringing me here to Sicily and the Azienda.”
He lifted his champagne glass. “To Uncle Antonio.”
She tapped her glass against his.
“Your only relative until now. As of today you now have dozens.” He gave a wide gesture toward the family members, all part of the wedding party from the flower girls and the ring bearers to the bridesmaids and groomsmen.
“I found an account of how he arrived a few years ago from America to make his way to Sicily,” Dario said. He studied
the tendrils of red-gold hair that framed her face. “I think I see a family resemblance.”
“You mean the hair. I hope you’re prepared for red-haired children.”
“The more the better,” he said, holding her so close she felt his heart beating in time with hers. “This will be a wonderful place for them to grow up. By the way, isn’t it time to leave for our honeymoon?”
She looked around at the rows of vines, at the house with the new roof and the scaffolding and the framework for the addition. Her home.
Their
home. A wonderful place to live. A wonderful place for their children to grow up. A dream come true. When they returned from their honeymoon in Florence they’d move into his cottage until the remodeling was finished.
“I have a present for you too.” She reached into the embroidered lace bodice of her gown and handed him a small gold key. “The key to my heart,” she said.
He pressed the key to his lips, put it in his pocket and thanked whatever fates had sent him Isabel—his life and his love.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3575-9
THE SICILIAN’S BRIDE
Copyright © 2009 by Carol Culver.
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