The Perfect Someday (A standalone novel ~ Book three in The Mathews Family) (17 page)

The stress of striv
ing for perfection was beginning to wear thin. Nights kept getting shorter, her mind too busy to rest. Even her morning workouts didn’t offer the relief she desperately needed from the mounting pressure she piled on her shoulders.
Failure
was not an option. Finding a perfect solution proved to be difficult at best. One thing she did know for certain, Castello Giovanni needed to be brought into the twenty-first century in more ways than one. Starting with a fresh look.

“Hey, Lisa. I could use a little bit of help.”

A snicker of delight smoldered in Tracy’s ear. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that please?”

Tracy laughed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you heard me correctly. I’m putting some numbers together for renovation and design.
”

“Ooo, do tell! I’ve been dying to get my hands on that place. I love the wine, but—“

“It’s a little too vintage. It reminds me of that kitschy chain restaurant. You know, the one with red and white checkered table clothes and plastic flowers.”

“It’s eclectic, sweetheart, that’s the term I use. And it’s not
that
bad. What do you have in mind?”

“It’s pretty bad.” Tracy acknowledged with
a raised brow, taking mental notes of the Levi’s neutral color scheme showered with pops of bold. “I want to make getting here easy and leaving hard. Guests will be invited in from the moment they see the
new sign
at the end of the drive! I want visitors to fall in love with the romance and seduction of the castle. As much as they need to export, we need to tap into the wine tours and make
this
the winery people go home and tell their friends about.”

Lisa gave a joyous sigh. “I knew you’d be the perfect problem solver.”

“Don’t get too excited, I’m speaking theoretically of course. Can I get the name of your designer?  I love the vibe of your place, that rustic casual chic ambiance.”

“Oh, yes. MJ Fryer is phenomenal! The best of the best. Rustic-historic meets mid-century-modern is her specialty.”

“Would you mind connecting me with her?”

“I might be able to persuade her to do me a favor. I’ll hook you up.” Lisa paused, before continuing the torment with a wicked laugh. “But, it’s going to cost you.”

“I was afraid you would say that. I’m assuming MJ won’t be in the Giovanni’s budget, but maybe she can point me in the direction of a designer who could get me an estimate.”

“I’ll take care of it, Tracy, but you’re going to owe me.”

Tracy gulped, choking on her own saliva. Being indebted to Lisa Levi could prove to be interesting. Wild thoughts ranged anywhere from babysitting her kids for a week to starring in a film she swore she’d be perfect for.

“Yes, that’s right,
” Lisa chided. “You’re going to owe me. And wipe that look off your face.”

“What look?”
Tracy chimed innocently.

“The one that says you’re about to sign on the dotted line with Hades.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

The savory aroma of garlic and herbs tingled her taste buds as soon as she walked into Mrs. Giovanni’s home in the south wing of the castle. Her tummy grumbled in anticipation of a home cooked Italian meal.

Tracy
had gladly accepted the dinner invitation Mrs. Giovanni extended earlier in the day when she stopped by her office. She’d been living off a multitude of her favorite cheeses, salads, and frozen leftovers from Lisa’s freezer since she arrived in Italy. And of course biscotti. The almond biscuits went perfect with her morning coffee.

“Drinka, drinka!” Mrs. Giovanni insisted, handing Tracy a clear drinking glass half full of red wine.

Mrs. Giovanni wore a vibrantly printed apron, her short grey hair was tucked behind her ears. Tracy observed in amazement as the woman tapped two eggs against each other, cracking them into a bowl made of flour.

“You make that look so easy,” Tracy said in awe,
standing beside Mrs. Giovanni watching her gently mix the eggs with her fingers and begin kneading the dough. “Are we having spaghetti?”

“
Si`, easy. No, this is for luncha tomorrow. I always maka my pasta the day before,” Mrs. Giovanni said in broken English. She scraped the sticky mixture from her hands and pointed a doughy finger at the sauce simmering on the stove, indicated that’s what they were having for dinner. “Tasta, tasta.”

Tracy
dipped the large spoon into the creamy herb sauce, inhaling a nose full of tantalizing goodness before tasting. “Umm, this is delicious.” 

“Come, come, show me your talents.” Mrs. Giovanni scooted to one side, wafting her hand towa
rd the half-formed ball of dough.

A lopsided pout
tugged at Tracy’s mouth. “I don’t have many talents in the kitchen.”

Ignoring her
self-doubt, Mrs. Giovanni insisted, handing her an apron. She showed Tracy how to work the dough, pushing it downward with the heel of her hand, folding it over and repeating until it was shaped in a perfect oblong ball.

Mrs. Giovanni reached her hand into a bowl
of flour and dusted the marble counter. She handed Tracy a long wooden rolling pin, nearly three feet in length. Swallowing her cooking insecurities, she attempted to flatten out the dough evenly. After a several uneven passes, Mrs. Giovanni sweetly confiscated the pin, rolling the dough out to perfection.

She gave the dough another dusting of flour, and folded it
into a long narrow strip. “Si`, now we cut.”

Tracy watched
the informal cooking lesson from the other side of the counter. With Mrs. Giovanni’s encouragement, she delicately fingered through the thin twines of fresh pasta so they wouldn’t stick.

Noticing several glass jars full of he
rbs lined up on the counter, Tracy asked, “Do you grow all your own herbs?”

“Si. My
Vincent, he tends a garden for me.” Her voice laced with prideful love as she spoke of her youngest son. She opened a jar of basil for Tracy to smell.

“Really?” Tracy couldn’t
imagine him being very thoughtful.

“Si`.
Anything to do with the growing and the planting. He is mucha lika his papa in that regard. Vincent, he isa better winemaker than his papa. One of the best in all this region.”

Though Tracy tried to conceal her
look of utter shock and confusion, she was unsuccessful. Mrs. Giovanni released a quiet sigh as if she could read Tracy’s mind. The prudent response full of understanding.

“
Ah, my Vincent, he is like the pasta.” She nodded toward the ravioli in the cream sauce. “A little rough around the edges. He makes me very, how you say
orgoglioso
?”

“Proud?”

“Si. Proud. He is a gooda man, an amazing winemaker, he justa needs a gooda woman.” A deep sadness lodged its way into Mrs. Giovanni’s smiling eyes. “Someday he will find a beautiful woman. One who will not break his heart. One who will give me molti nipoti.”

Many grandchildren? Maybe he should try acting nicer.
He’s never gonna find a woman acting like such a jerk!

“
Now, lets eata!” Mrs. Giovanni patted her full hips while her eyes took aim at Tracy’s curvy but petite figure. “Mangiare, mangiare. You need to eata!”

****

Tracy enjoyed Mrs. Giovanni’s visits and dramatic scoldings over the next few days. However, she preferred to stay hidden behind the thick walls of her office, keeping out of range of Antonio’s roving hands and Vincent’s disdainful attitude.

That proved to be
much easier said than done, considering the proximity of their doors. Antonio made his way into her office multiple times a day, lingering longer with each visit. The discussions started with exporting, super wines, and global markets, but quickly slipped into questions about her relationship status. After the third day he began to ramble off places he would love to take her. Blinded by arrogance, he ignored her snub reaction to his suave flirtations.

It was late in the day and Tracy
was deep into value comparisons when she heard the loud
bang
of the back door, nearly ejecting her from the chair. Heavy footsteps followed, thudding down the corridor, approaching her office. Her eyes darted toward her open doorway.

Antonio’s door opened and closed. Low angry voices turned into a heated argument, filtering into the corridor and straight into her office.
Tracy stood, creeping out from behind her desk inching toward the door, listening intently as she slowly started to shut the door.

Antonio’s door flew open, Vincent nearly ripping it from its hinges.
Startled by the abrupt movement, she let out a squeaky gasp. Standing a mere three feet from one another, Vincent glared at her with contempt, crimson burnished high on his cheeks.

A nervous ramble ensued, “I was just shutting my door. I wasn’t trying to listen. It’s hard not to hear…you’re kind of loud.”
Holding to the solid planking for support, she could feel the color draining from her face as her voice died out into an inaudible mumble. 

His eyes narrowed, piercing through her like a hot dagger.

Anger welled up inside, heating the blood pulsing through her veins to a boil. He had no reason to be such a prick to her. Tracy fought the urge to slam her door shut in his face, puffing her chest out, standing tall in defiance. Her mouth turned to cotton attempting to swallow her trepidations.

He moved closer as if he wanted tell her off, but something he saw in her eyes made him back off. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she sucked in a lungful of air.
The scent of heated male skin invaded her nostrils and traveled along every nerve ending she possessed. In spite of all his anger, something about the scent of Vincent drew her closer. 

His lips drew back in a silent snarl
, right before he slammed the door and marched down the corridor. His hostile demeanor left her trembling all over while wearing a stunned expression of
What the fuck is his problem?

****

Tracy tossed and turned all night long, thrashing in her covers, irritated with herself for not confronting Vincent. His constant nasty dismissals began to fester under her skin, pissing her off more than she cared to admit. She found herself stomping from room to room the next morning getting ready for work. By the time she got in the Rover, Tracy was ready to confront him…head on.

And it didn’t take long. Pulling into the parking lot, Tracy spotted his
tall lean figure in the distance, walking near the gardens.

Her fingers curled around the steering wheel with nail-digging determination.
Glimpsing into the rearview mirror for final inspection, she grumbled to herself, “If he even remotely acts like a prick to me today…I am gonna let him have it.” 

The pounding of her hea
rt kept stride with her feet. The closer she got to him, the harder her heels ground into the pathway. Vincent breezed right past not uttering a single word, just an old fashioned dose of the freezing cold shoulder. Sunglasses hid his haunting eyes, but she could feel his blazing fury straight through her core.

Throwing her hands to the curves of her hips, she shook her head in complete disbelief.
Fucking jerk! Asshole! Prick! Urgg!
Her face contorted tighter with each nasty description rolling through her vocabulary. 

“That’s it,” she spewed through clenched jaw.
Before she had the chance to talk herself into a rash retort, Tracy spun around, “Hey!”

Vincent refused to turn or acknowledge her
as he headed toward the north structure. She scurried after him in short quick steps, black pumps clicking on the stone sidewalk.

“Hey! Vincent, wait.” She caught up to him, evening her pace
in double steps to match his long digging strides. “What is your fucking problem?”

His head snapped at her vu
lgarity. Tracy cringed inwardly, scorching heat climbed up her neck.

“Mi scusi?”
His rigid profile teetered between shock and angry.

Tracy picked up her pace, nearly jogging to keep up with him. “Do you have a problem with me being here?

“You
are
as brilliant as my brother portrays you to be.” Cynicism coated his temper, biting through his thick accent. “Antonio can pull this bullshit with my mamma, but not with me.”

“What
bullshit
are you referring to?” Her state of confusion only heightened. “
And
your mamma hired me. Lisa Levi referred me to her.”

He stopped on
a dime outside his office door, clutching her firmly by the upper arm turning to face her. “I don’t give a damn who referred you. You have no business being here.”