The Sicilian's Bride (11 page)

She reminded herself this was the brother who’d been at the Azienda the other day.

“It’s held up well,” she said. “I’m no wine expert. But I know what I like. Your family’s wines are superb. You must be very proud of them.”

When she looked up Dario was looking at her. His blue eyes were deep and unfathomable like the Mediterranean. If he was trying to send her a message, she had no idea what it might be. Maybe it was that she’d said the right thing or maybe the wrong thing. She only knew that his intense gaze sent a tingling up and down her arms and a strange feeling in her head as if her brain was on vacation. She wasn’t thinking clearly. It was hard to concentrate. She was glad the adults all spoke English, because it was all she could do to concentrate on saying the right thing in her own language.

His sister Lucia who was at the end of the table with her two children, said, “We’ve been doing this so long, sometimes we take our wine for granted. That’s why the
concorso
is so important.”

“The competition. I’ve heard about it. You’re sure to win.”

Dario changed the subject. “Isabel is an artist,” he said. “And she’s volunteered to design a new label for Montessori wines.”

“An artist?” Lucia said. “Then she’s come to the right place. There are some beautiful scenes to paint here. You must show her Nonno’s paintings. The ones you hung on your wall. She’ll appreciate them.”

“I’d love to see them.” Isabel looked around the table at the smiling faces. She’d never felt so welcome before. As a child she’d been used to being shunned by the other kids in her foster
families, who were afraid she would siphon off scarce supplies of food and affection. What a contrast to the warm-hearted Sicilians. This new experience made her feel warm all over.

The next course was a crisp grilled snapper served with small new potatoes and fresh-picked asparagus garnished with toasted prosciutto. The children got restless as the meal stretched on and dusk fell over the patio and the gardens. The crush was on, this was a critical time in the vineyards, but this wine family was sitting around enjoying dinner as if they didn’t have a care in the world, just as Dario had said they would. But he didn’t look as if he was wasting time and wanted to leave. Maybe tonight he’d let himself slip back into the Sicilian way—work hard but enjoy life too. And if by some chance you’re not enjoying life, act as though you are.

Maybe some day she’d be able to adopt this lifestyle and have a leisurely dinner every night with friends. Now that she had a functioning stove and ice in the icebox, she was getting closer. If only she didn’t have to worry about making wine and making a living. Not to mention the Blessing of the Grapes ceremony she was supposed to host.

When the children got up and pulled Dario up from his seat, he said, “The kids want to play tennis on the new court to try out the night lights.” He turned to Isabel. “Do you play?”

“Not very well,” she said.

“Then we’ll give you a lesson,” he said. “Come with us.”

Leaving the rest of the family behind, they trooped down a limestone path through the garden, past a grove of olive trees, past a turquoise swimming pool with underground lights, to the illuminated tennis court. It was a beautiful location, surrounded by towering cypress trees and paved with red clay.

One of the nephews handed Isabel a racket and told her to take off her shoes.

“He wants to be your partner,” Dario explained. “They all do.”

“You’d better tell them I’m not very good.”

Dario sent the kids to practice volleying back and forth across the net. “They don’t care. My nephew thinks you’re pretty. I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”

She hoped he couldn’t see her blush in the gathering darkness. “More often I’m told I’m stubborn.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Is that why you’ve never married?”

“No,” she said, bouncing the ball against the clay surface. “I believe we’ve already had this discussion. Maybe I prefer to be single, just like you. For your information, I was engaged once, but it fell through. Why are you so interested in my personal life?”

“Most Sicilian women your age are married. That’s all I’m saying.”

“In America women marry late and sometimes not at all. Women can be whatever they want. They can live alone or with a partner. Marriage isn’t essential for happiness.”
If I really believe that, then why did I make such a terrible mistake by rushing into an engagement?
“Maybe you have a more traditional idea of marriage and family.”

“Not me. I know things don’t always work out. As you see, my sisters are all happily married with children, and no doubt my brother Cosmo will also settle down one day. That leaves me.”

“You mean you’ve given up on marriage?” she asked.

“Marriage is not in the cards for me. Tonight you saw family life at its best. No arguments, no disputes. Everyone was relaxed and having a good time. We’re good hosts and you’re a good guest. We tried to show how wonderful family life in Sicily can be. And it can. Make no mistake about that.

“Now they’re sitting around the table talking about the crush, the fermentation, the bottling and the advertising campaign. There’s rehashing of past harvests, going back one
hundred years or more. It can get very tedious. It’s worse when the conversation turns personal. ‘Don’t give up, Dario,’ they’ll say. ‘There’s the Benvolio girl who’s looking for a husband. What about Maria Del Popolo? Or Angelina Spano or…’ All I mean is we live in a small world here where everyone’s involved in everyone else’s life whether they want them to be or not.”

“As someone who has no family, it doesn’t sound so bad,” she said. In fact, she’d be willing to accept a little interference in her personal life in exchange for a group of relatives and a small world.

She was relieved when they stopped talking about marriage and family and started a game of tennis. But first there was a dispute about who was playing on whose side, and Dario repeated that all the kids wanted to play with her.

“I thought you were their favorite uncle.”

“I am, but you’re the new girl in town. How can I compete with that?” he asked, a half smile on his face.

She didn’t know what to say to that. Just the hint of his smile had her feeling as though she’d just had the rug pulled out from under her, if they had rugs on tennis courts. It was so unexpected. Is that what the kids did to him? Made him relax and feel young again, even though he said he didn’t want to spend time with his family?

Though she hadn’t played for a long time, she managed to get in a few good shots that went past Dario. The children clapped and he looked mildly surprised each time she did it, but the next time he hit back with such force she didn’t have a chance to return it. If she’d doubted his competitive nature before tonight, she had no more doubts. Perhaps he had the same impression of her. She didn’t like to lose, on the court or in the vineyard.

When they pronounced the game a draw, Isabel and Dario
walked back to the house behind the children who ran on ahead. “You’re not bad. Where did you learn to play?” he asked.

“In high school. I took a tennis class. First time I’d ever been on a court. It was fun. It came sort of naturally. The teacher loaned me a racket and taught me a lot. She said I had a good stroke.”

“I’ll second that.”

“She encouraged me to try out for the school team, but then I had to move. My new school didn’t have a tennis team. And I didn’t have any equipment.”

“Did you move often?”

“All the time. I had to go wherever a family was available to take me in.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“Not really,” she said. “It was interesting meeting the different families, attending different schools, making new friends.” That last part was a lie. It was so difficult making new friends every school year, she had finally stopped trying and spent her free time studying and her lunch hours in the library because she knew she’d have to win a scholarship if she wanted to go to college. “I suppose you’ve lived here all your life.”

“I spent some summers away playing sports, even a summer at tennis camp, though you wouldn’t know it from my game tonight. Then I went to university in Milan and studied finance. But I knew I could never live there. This is my home.”

“Your sister said they haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” he said shortly. “It doesn’t mean I don’t care about them. I thought they understood that.”

“Family ties are important in America too, it’s just that I didn’t have any. Which makes it easier for me to move across the ocean and make my home here.” It didn’t mean she wasn’t envious of him. Who wouldn’t be? Still, she owned a house and a vineyard, and he wouldn’t hear her complain.

When they returned to the house, lights were glowing from every room. Framed in the windows were various family members. Isabel felt a wave of homesickness wash over her as if she had a home to be homesick for.

She missed being a part of a home and a family, no matter how happy she was to have a house at last. She blinked back a sudden tear, grateful for the darkness falling. She couldn’t let Dario see even a hint of sadness or envy. She’d been called a crybaby too many times until she learned to control her emotions. No matter how bad the insults or the abuse she’d suffered, she’d learned never to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“I promised to say goodnight to the kids,” he said. “Then I must leave. Come with me if you like.”

She couldn’t help being touched at this gesture to include her. She was also touched and surprised by his relationship with his nieces and nephews. They obviously liked him tremendously, and he seemed to have fun with them. It was a whole different side to him, one that caught her off guard. Maybe she’d judged him too hastily.

At first she’d thought he was a hard-hearted, greedy landowner who’d do anything to get rid of her and get his hands on her property, but then he’d stayed for dinner in her room, confided in her and brought her lunch when he didn’t need to. He’d ordered ice for her instead of letting her food spoil. And now here he was playing with dogs and kids. What next?

The children were gathered in the large bedroom on the second floor for a sleep-over, cousins and brothers and sisters, some perched on their beds, others on a thick carpet on the floor where they’d made room for Dario to sit. The scene was straight out of one of Isabel’s fantasies. She wondered if they knew how lucky they were to be a part of this family. Probably
not. Most children took for granted being loved and well cared for. She hadn’t.

They cheered loudly when Dario came in. He grinned at them. She couldn’t believe this was the same man who had glared at her only a short time ago. He took his place while she sat on the edge of a bed as he told them their favorite story which he translated into English for her as he went along.

“The history of our island goes back to thirteen thousand BC,” he said. “That’s when this land was inhabited by a group of powerful giants who were descended from the god Zeus.

“The giants thought they were smarter and more powerful than the gods. The gods were so angry they banished the giants and sent them to the underworld below the volcanoes to make weapons for them, like thunderbolts. Are the giants still there?” he asked.

“Yes,” the children chorused.

“How do you know?” Dario asked.

“We hear them when the volcanoes erupt.”

“They’re struggling, trying to get back to earth, but the mountains are too heavy.”

Just then Caterina came to the door and told the children it was bedtime.

“But he didn’t tell the part about how Sicily got its name,” her son protested.

“Or how it got to be the bread basket of Europe.”

“Another time,” Dario said. Maybe he’d finally had enough family time.

The kids moaned and groaned, but before they turned out the lights, one of the children, a little girl named Ana-Maria kissed Isabel good-night. One hundred painful memories knifed through her, of missed hugs and kisses, of bedtimes without anyone to say goodnight to her.

Isabel stood at the door for one last look inside the bed
room. She’d never seen such an idyllic scene. Lamps turned low, children sleepy-eyed and tired from a summer day of play in the sun. She caught her breath and longed for her camera or her sketchpad. Maybe she didn’t need it. It was a scene she wouldn’t soon forget.

She wondered if Dario ever longed for kids of his own. She’d given up on that dream. It sounded as though he had too.

She went to find his grandmother to say good-bye and thank her. She was in the kitchen sitting in a rocking chair and talking with a woman who must be the cook. Isabel told her in her best halting Italian how delicious the dinner was and how beautiful her house was and how she admired her gardens. The old lady hugged Isabel and said something that might have been “Come again,” or “I hope my grandson treated you well,” or something entirely different. But the smile on her small round face was unmistakably warm and friendly.

Isabel looked around at the huge restaurant-size oven, the open shelves stacked with old plates and the well-worn chopping block in the middle of the room and she longed for a kitchen exactly like that, laden with memories, handed down from generation to generation.

She wanted to have bread rising on the stone counter, and smell the yeasty fragrance. She would do it. She would make the kitchen at the Azienda such a place. Smaller of course, and without any family mementos, but it would be all hers.

When his sisters came into the kitchen carrying coffee cups, she thanked them for their hospitality. Impressed by their friendliness, Isabel took a seat on a stool at the counter.

“I’ve had a wonderful time tonight,” she said. “I hope next time I can invite you to the Azienda.”

“You mean you’re going to stay there?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Alone?”

Isabel nodded. She hoped she wouldn’t get another lecture on the dangers of wild animals. “I’ve been alone since I was eighteen. So it’s nothing new. Except that now I have a house of my own. I know it’s in bad shape, but I plan to fix it up. I have a lot of work to do,” she said. “First comes the harvest of course.”