The Perfect Someday (A standalone novel ~ Book three in The Mathews Family) (20 page)

Her body shifted, loosening the stiffness in her frame. One foot crossed over the other, slinking into a more feminine stance as if her hormones had a mind of their own.
No no no! No way in hell. Stop it! You vowed never again!
The man, who drove her crazy for days, now blindsided her with a deluge of magnetic charm. She’d only felt this drawn to a man once in her life and the uncanny resemblance to The Italian who shattered her heart, didn’t go undetected. It was difficult to classify all the feelings stealing over her, but one thing was certain. Desire hit her at full speed, trampling all of her will power.

“Thank you.”
Apparently her voice had learned to magically transform to silk with the slightest raise in endorphins.

“Di niente
. There is a pair of socks in the pocket.”

Her lashes fluttered and she fought
to keep from licking her lips flirtatiously or smashing her body to his. I must need a fucking intervention. Tall, dark and gorgeous is going to be the death of me. She shoved her hand in the pocket, retrieving a pair of heavy wool socks.

“Do you always carry a spare pair
?”

He snickered
, watching her pull the thick wool up to her knees. “I grabbed them when I put your shoes inside.”

“You just happen to have extra socks laying around your office?”
Peeking down at the long socks, her typically logical mind took a nosedive straight into the gutter. She strategically began comparing socks to feet, feet to hand size, hands to the size of his—

“
It is my office and my home. I live above the north building.”

“
Oh. Oh…” A ping of guilt crawled up her spine, hit with the realization she’d essentially gestured for him to fuck off right on his front doorstep. The same threshold he warned her never to cross again.

“I figured if you decided to calm down, or if your toes turned blue, I’d let you wear them.”

Tess and Lisa waved as they rode by, not bothering to stop.

“Me?”
The shallow screech ricocheted over the empty hillside. She smiled, following the echo dance between the valleys.

A boyish grin lurked in his chiseled features, he shrugged innocently.
“You see the mountain, the one furthest in the distance?”

She nodded.

“It is what makes our wine different, better. The mountain, she gives us shelter from storms that move in from the south.”

“The weather
is what sets you apart?”

“Si`. The mountain is key.” Vincent bent scooping up a handful of dirt, displaying
it in his hand. “The climate sets everything into motion, the soil, the rainfall, the life of the grape and how long it remains on the vine. It is exactly what sets us apart from other regions and vise versa.”

“I had no idea.”

“Our hills are the driest in Tuscany.” He tossed the dirt, brushing if from his hands. His eyes wandered slowly over her features sending a shot of electricity to every nerve ending she possessed. “On summer nights the lightening dances over the mountain peaks, but it never gets this far.”

Tracy couldn’t help but notice a change in Vincent from the moment he dug his hands in the dirt. He
spoke with a tremendous passion and enthusiasm highlighted his words. She didn’t realize she was gawking at Vincent until a small sheepish smile crinkled near his temples.

“The sky here is full of stars on this side of the mountain.”

Tracy thought she might have to rip some wool from her sock and shove it into her mouth to keep herself from talking about stars. A subject she used to be incredibly passionate about, now only brought her pain. Each bright light still reminded her of the passionate night in Greece with The Italian. She’d spent months cursing the long winter nights in Colorado, wishing she could flick each star from the sky. Colors of a fading sunset would no sooner bleed from the sky and darkness would consume her, torturing her with memories she wanted to rid from her cognizance.

Pulling herself from the dark memories, she focused on the tranquil
stillness surrounding them for miles. “It’s so rich in culture and history. Everything here breathes such a sense of Old World.”

“You say that negatively,” h
e stated more as a question than fact.

“
No, not at all. I love it here.”

“
Producing exceptional grapes allows us to focus on quality instead of quantity.”

“You’ve stayed true to your heritage, up until this point.”

The change in his body language turned rigid. “Up until this point,” he repeated coarsely. A shadow darkened his face as if his worst suspicions had been confirmed.

She knew she’d hit a nerve, the source of his animosity.

Tracy decided to continue, carefully. She instinctively scooped up a handful of the cold soil. Holding one hand above the other, she let the dirt sift out the bottom of her fist, collecting it with the other and then repeating.

“Most of
your neighbors are having success with super wines and exporting.” Tracy eased closer to him extending her fist.

He held
out his palm, catching the soil. Extending his fingers, Vincent spread the rich earth over the flat of his palm. “I am a fifth generation of winemaker producing wine from this soil. We’ve stayed true to the old ways while other wineries have dove deep into experimentation. They are creating new super wines and we remain unchanged. It is as my father, and his father, and his father before him wanted it to be. We are not searching for excellence. There is no need to look for what we have already found.”

“You don’t agree with the creation of new wine?”

“I agree with experimentations in the vineyard and in the cellars.
” He nodded in approval. “I enjoy some of the new wine. It has brought new life to this region over the last few decades.”

“What about exporting, Vincent?”

“I applaud my neighbors for exporting. They deliver a taste of Italy around the world, but I don’t agree that it is right for our winery. I believe there is enough diversity in marketing to go around.” He paused, throwing the dirt to the wind and sauntering toward the bike. “We just need to learn how to do it better.” 

Every discussion
she’d had with Antonio revolved around income and the bottom line. Changes they discussed would raise the bar, throwing Castlello Giovanni into an entirely new category of winemakers. However, Vincent was far more passionate about his family’s legacy. All of her research pointed in the direction of growing a super wine or exporting. Her thoughts were swimming in pool of uncertainties.

Vincent’s hands around her waist startled her, lifting her onto the bike seat.
His expression was unreadable. “My brother wants to grow and compete to meet the global demand, but that is not what my papa wanted. Making of wine was intensely personal for him. It is the same for me as well, but not Antonio.”

She
opted to remain discreetly quiet.

“That is the difference between us. You see, I am a winemaker.
Antonio does not have the same attachment to the land and the history. My brother, he sees the vineyard as merely a business. For me, it is my life. It is a part of me.”

The wind whipped
between them, giving a chill to the hovering silence.

“Antonio told you none of this?”

“No, Vincent. He did not,” Tracy replied. A cold ache settled in, fearing he was not going to be happy with her findings. “What about your mamma? What does she want?”

Turning to climb on the bike,
Vincent grumbled starkly, as if he’d been dealing with this all his life. “Antonio is my older brother, which means his opinion is respected a bit more than mine.”

“That doesn’t seem very fair.”

“It’s not about being fair. It is just her way. My mamma, she wants two things in life, my brother and I to get along together and for us to give her grandbabies.”

She
giggled, hearing him eject a long dreaded groan of honest humor.

Tess and Lisa
waited at a fork in the path. Vincent spoke with pride about handcrafted wines, barrel fermenting working in tandem with cooling tanks and gravity feed. His arms moved fluently as he told the stories of oak barrels selected for the tightest grains and toasted for an hour over a low flame to create a mellow flavor.

In Tracy’s mind, there was a fine line between arrogance and self-confidence. She found nothing sexier in a man than modest self-assurance
, and it clung to Vincent. By the time he got to alluvial soil being the ultimate composition for their high quality wine, she leaned closer, captivated by his language.

He continued, explaining the balance between calcium, lime and clay and how it provides excellent drainage, which in turn allows the ground to retain humidity from the air protecting the vine from drought. 

A seamless amount of pride glimmered in Vincent’s eyes when her mom acknowledged sincerely, “You sure do know your dirt.”

Immersed
in a sunny vision of him sweaty and covered in dirt, she expelled a soft sigh, conveying her agreement.

The sound of her exhalation drew a strange reaction from her mom and Lisa. Each raised their brows in surprise, blinking repeatedly
. A sly sultry grin stretched to the second set of Lisa’s dimples right before mouthing in mockery Oh, he is a complete unredeemable jerk.

Tracy
’s eyes widened. She glared at Lisa, aiming a precise target at her big mouth.

She cleared the
trepidation from her throat. “Does this path lead to that villa over there?” Tracy pointed to the overgrown trail veering left toward a hamlet nestled into the hillside.

“
Si`.”

“
I’ve been staring out my window at that place for days. Can we go see it?

He frowned, looking a
little put out.

“I’ll help pedal,” she prodded.

Lisa intervened of course. “Vincent, why don’t you take Tracy to see the hamlet. Tess and I can visit Mrs. Giovanni.”

Tracy wondered how any one woman could be blessed with s
uch sultry wits. Lisa Levi had a particular gift for getting just about anything she wanted by merely opening her mouth. It was almost unfair to the rest of the population.

****

The massive double doors recessed several feet into an enormous arch made of thick cut stone. Tracy etched her fingers over intricate scrolls of hand forged iron that decorated the thick wood, faded from years of sunlight.

Dropping her head
straight back, she guesstimated the height of the enormous door. “How tall is this, do you think? Twelve feet?”

“Si`. At least.”

“Is this place structurally sound?”

“Yes. Simply rundown and overgrown.”

“How long has this place been vacant?”

“It’s been uninhabited since I was a little boy.”

The ginormous iron ring, mounted at the height of her head, was too tempting not to try. Tracy gave it a little knock followed by a heavy knock knock knock. She heard a chuckle from behind as Vincent mulled around near the drive.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. You look like a little girl standing in front of that door. Your hands disappear into the jacket and my socks are pulled up to your knees.”

A smile flushed her cheeks, but she sulked playfully. “Little girl?” 

His voice carried next to her ear. “Si`.”

Tracy gripped
the enormous handle, the iron cold on her skin, pressing the fixed latch. It didn’t budge. Not one to give up easily, she gripped the handle tenaciously with two hands, pushing her shoulder into the door.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Unable to contain his amusement, he said, “Trust me, it doesn’t open.”

“Shit,” she muttered, giving it on
e last yank.

Intrigue sparked on all cylinders.
Tracy backed away slowly, taking in every detail of the rambling assemblage of tattered stucco once painted saffron yellow. The chipped and faded exterior bared the ancient brick and mortar underneath.

Vincent entwined his fingers, bending
to offer her a foothold, as if he were going to catapult her over the three story wall.

“
Ha ha very funny. I’m dying to see inside.” Envy hung on her every word. “There’s just something about this place. It’s so beautiful.”

“You can’t simply expect to walk right through the front door of a fortress,” Vincent hesitated for a long moment, as if weighing some unforeseen consequence. “You could, however use the backdoor.”

“Yes!” Tracy cheered,
clapping her hands together in three rapid pats. Shrugging her shoulders as if she were embracing a brand new puppy, she joyously wiggled with excitement.

They strolled
all the way around the sprawling villa. The gorgeous view of the valley and the hillside it cleaved to was simply intoxicating. Concrete banisters, standing the size of a toddler, lined the long rectangle garden occupying the center of the U shaped buildings. An ancient old oak tree set up residence in the center of the lawn, and masses of climbing plants cloaked the grandestate
.
Though the grounds were unkempt, the castle remained in great shape.