The Year of Luminous Love

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “His brother, Gino, is thirty-six and a real playboy. Sleeps with movie stars and models and other men’s wives. Had some party on his yacht last year and three people fell overboard and almost drowned.”

  “I’m not going out with his brother.”

  “And his sister just married some prince in Austria. She’s thirty-two, and this is her third marriage.”

  “And Enzo? What do the tabloids write about him?”

  Eden sniffed. “Actually, he appears to be the only heir who’s serious about the family wine business.”

  “Fascinating,” Ciana said drolly. “And after all that hard surfing work you did. Turns out he’s just what he says he is.”

  “Not so fast. He’s a serial dater. He’s with a different woman in every photo.”

  “So what?” But a glance at the computer screen told Ciana she wasn’t approaching the glamour level of Enzo’s typical arm candy. And yet when he’d called and asked her to spend the afternoon with him, she’d been flattered and had agreed. Now she was anxious.

  The sound of a car engine made all three girls jump. Arie made it to the bedroom window first and looked out at the front driveway. “Wow. He’s driving a Ferrari.”

  “Seriously?” Eden pushed Arie aside and looked down.

  A sleek jet-black convertible with red upholstery came to a stop directly below.

  “Eric had a poster of one on his bedroom wall when he was a kid.”

  Ciana craned her head over those of her friends. The car was impressive. She watched Enzo as he walked to the front door. Seconds later, the chime rang. Her palms were sweaty and she took deep breaths to slow her pulse.

  “Wait,” Arie called. “I’ll grab my camera. Eric will eat his heart out.”

  Ciana groaned. “Don’t embarrass me.”

  Arie and Eden exchanged mischievous glances. Arie turned to Ciana and with wide-eyed innocence said, “Please, we’re your friends. Are we going to embarrass her, Eden?”

  “Of course we are,” Eden said. “It’s our duty.”

  They clambered down the stairs, jockeying for position, jerked open the front door, and ran into the bright sunlight to pose with a laughing Enzo and his gorgeous F430 Spider.

  Enzo had asked Ciana to dress casually, and he took her to his family estate that adjoined the acreage of the rolling vineyards. The sprawling house was set back on a manicured lawn that stretched between flowering gardens and bubbling fountains. He drove past the house, took a winding road, and braked at an outbuilding, a pristine stable where horses poked heads over stall half-doors. In the courtyard, grooms were walking, washing, and brushing horses tethered to poles.

  Ciana was out of the car before it came to a complete halt. “Oh, Enzo! They’re beautiful.”

  He came quickly to her side, his expression pleased over her reaction. “You told me you owned horses. Come. I will show you mine.”

  She approached a horse in a stall and held out her hand, curling her fingers under so that the animal could sniff the back of her hand. Its warm, soft muzzle examined her, then turned toward Enzo, ears pricked forward. “You never said a word about owning horses when we were together, but you told us everything about the winery.”

  He scratched the horse behind its ears. “Wine is my business. Horses are my passion. A man does not discuss his passion with just anyone.”

  “How many do you own?”

  “Twelve here. I breed them for dressage competition. For the Olympics. But they also are fine for leisure riding.” He tipped his head toward her. “Would you care to ride?”

  “Would I ever!” Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she missed Firecracker and the feel of leather over the broad back of a horse.

  “Wait here,” Enzo said. He walked over to one of the grooms and spoke rapid Italian. In no time, the groom appeared, leading two horses, one a dark chestnut, the other a bay. Both horses were big, a few hands taller than either Firecracker or Sonata, both saddled with English saddles—no horn. She’d never ridden in this type of saddle before.

  “I usually ride Western,” she told Enzo, nibbling at her bottom lip.

  “Only minor adjustments to make. You will have no trouble.” Enzo led the horse to a mounting block, where Ciana stepped up and threw her leg over the big bay’s back. She was used to mounting from the ground, but she needed the extra height with this horse. “Her informal name is Venus because she is so beautiful,” Enzo said while making adjustments to Ciana’s stirrups. “Oh, and she only understands Italian.” He primed Ciana with necessary phrases to speak to the horse.

  The saddle felt odd at first, but as the horse cantered around the courtyard, Ciana got the hang of it. She communicated with the animal in her sketchy Italian and with her knees, heels, and reins, and the horse settled into a long, smooth gait. It reminded her of Olivia’s stories of Grandfather Charles’s famed Tennessee walking horse. The memory made Ciana smile.

  “See? What did I tell you?” Enzo said, bringing his horse up alongside hers. “You are a natural. And Venus clearly recognizes your authority.”

  They rode through a field on a simple dirt trail lined with tall browning grass. Cyprus trees flanked the field, acting as a natural fence. Ciana was in her element with the heat of the sun on her face and the power of the horse beneath her, yet twinges of homesickness nipped at her heart. By now the trees would be bright with fall colors. Pumpkins and winter squash and rhubarb would be selling in the farmer’s market, and bundled straw would be rolled up in fields and looking like giant sausages.

  “Where are you, bella Ciana?” Enzo asked.

  “Oh, sorry. Just thinking of home.”

  “Tell me.”

  She told him about Bellmeade and then about Olivia and their shared love for their land. She told of her grandfather’s and father’s sudden deaths and of how Olivia ran Bellmeade until she died, omitting the difficulties of Olivia’s final years.

  “Your nana sounds like a special woman.”

  “She was. I miss her and always will.”

  As they rode and talked, Ciana lost track of time. When Enzo wove a trail through the grass and a clump of whispering trees, she was surprised to see a lake as the tree wall thinned. “What’s this?” she asked as they emerged from the woods.

  “A place of beauty.” Soon they came upon a grassy area beneath shade trees near the water’s edge. A blanket had been spread and on it rested a large basket and a small cooler.

  “A picnic? For us? Did you do this?”

  “I thought we might enjoy some food and wine together. And the horses can use the rest.” He dismounted.

  Ciana’s surprise gave way to suspicion. She stayed seated on her horse.

  “A little surprise,” Enzo said, flashing his smile and offering up his hand to her. “I have pure motives—hunger and thirst.”

  She swung her leg over the horse’s withers, slid down, and found herself pressed between the solid side of the horse and Enzo’s hard, lean body. Gazing up into his dark eyes made her pulse race. He was devilishly handsome, but she shoved her back hard against the horse, making Venus move to one side.

  Enzo bowed graciously and motioned for her to move forward in front of him.

  She went to the blanket and sat cross-legged, recalling Eden’s warning about him being a serial dater and being way older than her. “So what’s for a snack?”

  “An Italian feast.” He opened the basket and removed china plates, polished silver utensils, linen napkins, and fragile wineglasses.

  “Elegant,” she said.

  He uncorked a wine and handed her a glassful. She drank a gulp, allowing it to relax her while he took out food. This reminded her of eating with Jon by candlelight in her stable. The memory unnerved her. Why couldn’t she wipe thoughts of that man from her brain? Why did he always surface when she least expected or wanted it?

  While the horses grazed, she and Enzo talked, him telling of arduous hours of training Olympic dressage champions. She was enthralled. H
e was easy to talk to; Olivia would have described him as charming. Ciana heard her grandmother’s voice: Be careful of the charming boys, child. Before you know what’s happening, they’ll talk you right out of your underpants.

  Enzo leaned on his elbow to clink his wineglass to Ciana’s. “To other long afternoons together.”

  “We leave for Rome in ten days.”

  “Ah, Roma, our eternal city. I would show you our city, but I have to oversee the harvest a while longer. How long will you be gone?”

  “A week.”

  “Only a week? This is not enough time to see Roma.”

  “I wish it could be longer.” Truthfully her money was going fast, much faster than she had anticipated when she’d planned the trip.

  “Where will you be staying?”

  She named the hotel. “Arie’s birthday is October twenty-fourth, and going to Rome, seeing the art treasures, has been a wish of hers for many years.”

  He raised his wineglass to her. “May you have the best of times. I will make a list of wonderful places to eat.” He kissed his fingertips. “Until you leave, I shall take you riding and beg you to spend as much time with me as the vineyard harvest permits.”

  Again, she was flattered that he wanted her company, and the chance to ride was a genuine gift.

  He stared out at the lake, at the sun sliding low on the horizon. “We must go,” he said with a regretful sigh.

  Together Ciana and Enzo packed the basket and rode the horses to the stables where a groom took them. It felt odd to Ciana not to groom the horse herself—she thought she owed it to the big bay. Still Enzo issued orders and ushered her to the car. The wind made it impossible to talk in the convertible as they returned to the villa. By the time they arrived, dark had fallen. The outside light was on, but Eden and Arie were gone.

  “We have friends in town,” she told Enzo. “We all meet most nights for late suppers.”

  “Shall I drive you to Cortona?” Enzo asked.

  “No, I think I’ll just crash.” At the doorstep, Ciana’s case of nerves attacked again. She wasn’t sure what he was expecting from her—a hug, a kiss, an invitation inside? The good feelings from the wine had worn off, and she reminded herself of her lack of sophistication, of their differences—over ten years and two cultures. “Thank you for a wonderful day. The horseback ride, the food, the scenery, and most of all, your company.”

  He smiled, more reserved than he’d been all afternoon. “I will call you.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her forehead.

  Her knees went a little weak. “Ciao,” she said. Ciana watched him drive away and unexpectedly felt a void when he was gone.

  A chirping sound kept nagging at Ciana. The sound was annoying. In a Herculean effort, she struggled to rise through darkness, finally opening her eyes and realizing that she had been sound asleep and the chirping noise was really the phone beside her bed. Groggily she fumbled to turn on a lamp and grope for the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Darling! How’s Italy?”

  Ciana sat up. “Mother?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  Alice Faye sounded so cheerful that Ciana hardly recognized her voice. “What time is it?”

  “Four in the afternoon. I’ve been waiting all day to call you.”

  Eleven o’clock in Italy. “Is everything all right?” She shook her head to clear the cobwebs and the vestiges of the wine from her picnic with Enzo.

  “Everything is wonderful,” her mother said with uncharacteristic liveliness. “I have the most wonderful news.”

  “I give up,” Ciana said tentatively.

  “Our money problems can be over forever.”

  “How so?”

  “An investor from Chicago named Gerald Hastings wants to buy Bellmeade. Isn’t that marvelous? All we have to do is agree to sell it to him.”

  Arie and Eden patiently watched Ciana pace the floor, listening to her rant about Alice Faye’s phone call.

  “Sell Bellmeade! Can you believe it? She wants me to sign off on paperwork to sell our land. Our heritage! What’s wrong with her?”

  “Calm down,” Eden said. Twice the two girls had tried to rein in Ciana and failed. “She can’t sell anything without your approval and signature. You told me that years ago.”

  “Did you ask any questions?” Arie ventured.

  Ciana stopped and turned toward her friends, seething with fury. “I hung up on her.” Ciana twisted around and started pacing again. “Maybe I should fly back home.”

  Arie shook her head and Eden stood up. “Do we need to throw cold water on you? Stop shouting and talking crazy and sit down.” She dragged a chair over and pushed Ciana into it.

  Ciana buried her face in her hands. “She’d never have suggested selling out if Olivia were alive.”

  Arie crouched by the chair. “Please don’t drop out on us, Ciana. I owe this trip to you and I want us to see Rome together. We can’t celebrate without you.”

  “Or wade barefoot in some fountain,” Eden added. “We’re tourists. I want to do all the tourist things we’ve read about—the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, Gucci, Prada, Fendi—”

  Arie shot Eden an impatient look and jumped in with, “St. Peter’s Basilica, the Sistine Chapel, the works of Michelangelo—”

  “Sure,” Eden said. “And all that old pretty stuff too.”

  Ciana sniffed, leaning her head against the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling and feeling like a deflated balloon. “I’m just mad. I won’t leave Italy without the two of you.”

  “That’s more like it,” Arie said, knowing how important Bellmeade was to Ciana. The land was sacred ground, despite hard work, bad weather, even crop failure.

  “Well, shame on her for dropping this bomb on you when you’re so far away,” Eden said. “She can’t make a move without you. Forget about her for now.”

  Ciana had grown up with a baffling relationship with her mother. She had sometimes felt like a chess piece, moved on an invisible board by Alice Faye and Olivia, her loyalties divided. When a checkmate occurred, she felt like taffy, pulled between their opposing wills. Her mother’s retreat into alcohol had made Ciana feel guilty for years. As if she lacked something, as if she sported some flaw that drove Alice Faye into a place governed by gin and sweet tea, where maternal love faded to black. Only Olivia’s love had saved Ciana from self-loathing. If Olivia loved her, then she must be all right. If Olivia considered her worthy to shepherd Bellmeade, then she was honor-bound to do so. Yet beyond honor was her pure, clear sense of purpose to hold on to her family’s land. She loved the land. It was part of her DNA. Perhaps that was why she got on so well with Enzo. They both found purpose in their land. She sighed, telling her friends, “All right, my tantrum’s over. Let’s go conquer Rome.”

  Arie cheered. “We’re the Three Musketeers.” And yet even as she said the words, Arie felt the weight of her secret—actually, her two secrets. The health disclosure would keep for a while longer; her other admission would have to come in a matter of days. She hoped they’d be as happy for her as she was for herself.

  Ciana and her friends were getting ready to go into Cortona for their meet-up with Garret and his fellow travelers when Ciana heard the front door chime. Now what?

  Eden called up to her, “Enzo to see you.”

  He hadn’t said he’d come the day before they left for Rome. She hurried downstairs to find him leaning against the front doorjamb, holding a bottle of wine and wearing a beguiling smile. “I apologize for not calling before coming. Is my popping up—how do you say—acceptable?”

  She felt flattered and a little off balance. “A nice surprise.”

  “I will not take much of your time. Can we sit on the patio to speak?”

  She walked with him to the patio where a cool breeze was sending fallen leaves dancing across the tiles. They pulled out chairs at the table, and he set down the wine bottle. “A gift,” he said. “One of our best reserve wines. For Arie’s birthday.”<
br />
  The way his voice flowed over the words in his sexy accent charmed her. “We’ll drink it on her birthday in Rome.”

  He removed a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “This is a list of all the best places to dine in Roma. Many are near your hotel. There’s no reason for you and your friends to eat with tourists. There is much fine food in Roma the tourists do not taste.”

  His thoughtfulness touched her. Of course, he had no way of knowing they wouldn’t be dining elegantly most evenings—too expensive. “You’re so sweet.”

  “Sweet?” His brow puckered. “Like candy?”

  She realized she’d used an idiom he probably didn’t grasp. “Kind and nice,” she clarified.

  He laughed. “You say funny things, Ciana.”

  She tucked the list he’d prepared into the pocket of her slacks. “Grazie for the recommendations.”

  He reached over, pulled her to her feet, and gazed at her, grinning. “I leave now. But one thing more. Yes?” His face grew serious. “An idea for you to think upon.”

  “All right.” Looking up into his dark eyes quickened her pulse.

  “When you return, I wish to take you to Portofino. This is a town on the sea where I own a villa and a boat. I would be pleased to have you spend a few days there with me.”

  His request struck her like an electric shock. A few days. This was no offer for a boat ride and dinner. No day picnic after which each of them went home to their own beds. And what would she tell her friends? Oh, by the way, Enzo and I will be going off for a little bump and tickle. Go do some sightseeing on your own. Ciana couldn’t imagine—but then, she could. Enzo was a gorgeous man. He had been considerate and kind to her. Except for Jon Mercer, she’d never felt the desire to give herself to someone. And that, she knew, was the problem. This decision to go off with Enzo was one of her head, not her heart. She cleared her throat. “I … I’m not sure—”

  “Say nothing now.” Enzo stopped her words with a knowing smile. “Think upon it. Give me an answer once you return from Roma. I am patient.” He squeezed her hands, pivoted. “Tipenso sempre, bella Ciana,” he said. “This means ‘I think of you always, pretty Ciana.’ ”