Second-Best Wife

by Rebecca Winters

She’d fallen in love with a man whose life was dedicated to the church and it was killing her.

  Gaby had never known anyone who had become a priest. Now would be her opportunity to ask questions and find out what spiritual forces had driven him to choose a vocation that denied him a life with a wife and family.

  Had he never been in love? Didn’t he wonder what it would be like to bring a son or daughter into the world?

  Much as she wanted answers, she feared he would consider it an invasion of privacy. In fact, Giovanni had been so secretive with both her and Luke, it was possible Luke had no idea she knew he was about to take final vows.

  Not that it would make any difference either way. But since Luke hadn’t chosen to discuss anything of a personal nature with her, except where Giovanni was concerned, her instincts told her to say nothing.

  “If you can wait another forty-five minutes, we’ll come to a restaurant that serves a superb pasta dish called vincisgrassi, followed by fennel-stuffed rabbit that is out of this world.”

  “It sounds wonderful.” Every minute she could spend alone with him was something to cherish.

  “After we eat, we’ll drive to Arcevia. That will be the spot where Loretello’s civil and family group registries are located. We’ll search the records and see if we can’t come up with some information that will help you locate the plot of ground your great-grandparents once farmed.”

  “Why aren’t the records kept in Loretello?”

  “Like many Italian towns, it is too small to be what you Americans call the county seat.”

  “I had no idea.” Her eyes fastened helplessly on his striking profile. “It sounds complicated and out of the way. I—I don’t want to infringe on your time any more than I already have.”

  He darted her a shuttered glance. “I promised my brother to make your last day in Italy memorable. In my opinion, finding one’s family roots takes precedence over attending a Renaissance ball, therefore I’m at your disposal.”

  “Thank you, Luke.” Her voice caught. She looked away, afraid he’d see too much in her eyes. This was her last day. She couldn’t bear to think of tomorrow without him.

  “You don’t need to thank me. To be honest, genealogical research has always intrigued me. You never know what kind of information will turn up.”

  “Well, it’s certain there won’t be a pope in my bloodline,” she joked to cover her hectic emotions. “Probably just the opposite!”

  His full-bodied laughter was the most thrilling sound she’d ever heard. She had the impression he hadn’t let go and relaxed for a long, long time.

  “With all that red hair, you could be right,” he mocked dryly.

  Heat swept through her body. “Maybe my great-grandmother didn’t tell us the truth. Maybe she was trying to escape a bad home situation and ran off with the first person who could offer her freedom.”

  “Did she strike you as a woman with secrets?”

  Gaby shook her head. “No. She seemed like a totally happy, fulfilled person, but then I was a child when she died.”

  “A child’s instincts are rarely wrong.”

  “I don’t know. Las Vegas is the antithesis of Loretello. I can’t imagine her leaving this paradise unless she had to. You’d know what I meant if you’d ever traveled to Nevada.”

  “I’ve been there,” he inserted quietly.

  “You?”

  Her astonishment produced another chuckle from him. “In my early twenties I traveled extensively in the United States which included an overnight stay in Las Vegas.” Gaby would have been fourteen or fifteen, old enough to have developed a huge crush on him.

  “I went on to school in California which gave me added time to explore. For someone from my country, the American desert has a beauty all its own.”

  She agreed with him, but the revelation that he’d once been that close to her made her blurt, “So that’s why you speak English with hardly a trace of accent!”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Gaby could scarcely credit they were talking to each other this way. She wanted the drive to last forever. “Did Giovanni accompany you? I don’t recall him saying anything about it.”

  “No. He was too young. In any event, except for two months in England a few years ago when we went together at my instigation, he has never shown any inclination to stray far from home.” Luke offered the information as if his brother’s behavior continued to trouble him.

  “I haven’t known Giovanni long, but he seems very untouched by the world.”

  A strange sound came out of the man sitting next to her. “I thought so, too. That is, until he met you.” His voice trailed off.

  She didn’t detect censure exactly. But there were undertones which filled her with trepidation. “I—I’ll be gone tomorrow, out of his life.”

  “But not necessarily out of mind,” he said rather intensely. “Unlike his friends, he never dated girls in his teens. In fact, he’s never had a romantic interest in women and treats Efresina like a sister. That’s why his phone call about you came as a complete shock—in more ways than one,” he added cryptically.

  Oddly enough, the news that Giovanni had never been attracted to women didn’t surprise her. “From the beginning, your brother seemed to function on a different plane. That’s the reason I enjoyed his company so much.”

  “So you used Giovanni for protection.”

  In an instant, the fragile rapport with him was gone. A tiny gasp escaped her throat. She jerked her head in his direction. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what you think I meant,” he said in a deceptively silken tone. “Let’s not pretend you don’t know the impact you make on the male population.”

  Incensed, she cried, “You say that as if it’s a sin to be a woman!”

  “It should be, when she looks like you,” he grated. “Not even my brother was immune. The minute I saw you, I understood why.”

  Stunned into silence by his frank remarks, she watched dazedly as he pulled off the main road and entered the parking area of a quaint inn.

  At one time the Trattoria Alberto must have been a small villa. Intimate tables for two with checkered cloths and pots of flowers placed in every conceivable nook beckoned diners to its trellised patio.

  But Gaby no longer found joy in the surroundings, let alone their outing. In fact she felt ill. Her companion must have noticed because he didn’t immediately get out of the car.

  “You are the only woman of my acquaintance who could twist an innocent observation and make it sound like an insult.”

  “Innocent?” Her eyes glazed an incandescent blue. “You accused me of using Giovanni.”

  “Then you misunderstood me.” His black eyes impaled her. “Let me rephrase it. Knowing that Giovanni would always remain the gentleman, you instinctively clung to him out of a sense of self-preservation. What an amazing irony that he turned out to be as vulnerable as the next man.”

  His explanation should have soothed her, but somehow it didn’t. Gaby had trouble catching her breath and averted her eyes.

  “American women unwisely go where they want, unchaperoned, never giving it a thought. But if I had been your elder brother,” his voice dropped in timbre, “I wouldn’t have allowed you to step foot on Italian soil without proper supervision. Having said that, I suggest we go inside. I find that I am in need of sustenance.”

  On legs as insubstantial as jelly, she entered the restaurant with him. Her ears picked up the background music of Rossini, the famous composer whose ancestral home of Pesaro was located in the Marches.

  After they were seated, Luke helped her translate the menu. When their orders were taken, he excused himself. She decided to use the time to visit the powder room.

  They met back at the table five minutes later. As if reading her mind he said, “I made a phone call to Luciana who sounded disappointed she wouldn’t be able to do your hair after all. No doubt she is on the line with Giovanni this minute, alerting him to the c
hange in plans.”

  Gaby’s voice was hesitant. “M-maybe we ought to call him and explain what we’re doing.”

  “The dye has been cast,” he murmured, sounding vaguely impatient. “Let’s enjoy our meal.”

  On that succinct note they put personal worries aside while she was treated to Italian cuisine at its finest. Along with the pasta and rabbit, they ate succulent melon wrapped in prosciutto, and a nutty whole-wheat bread with a cru poured over the top made from the olives of just one hillside of the region.

  As if that weren’t enough, Luke introduced her to a lightly astringent white wine he preferred called Verdicchio. To please him, she drank some during the delicious meal, then allowed him to fill her glass again while she accompanied him and the voluble owner inside the villa.

  The man was obviously honored by the presence of an illustrious member of the Provere family. He kept smiling at Gaby and insisted on showing her his private collection of an irreplaceable set of hand-painted maiolica, a china with the famous blue-andyellow decoration made around Urbino during the late Renaissance.

  The owner would have taken them on a tour of the entire villa if Luke hadn’t indicated they were on a deadline and must be on their way. The man walked them to their car, his goodbyes effusive. Luke was probably used to a surfeit of that kind of preferential treatment, but it was a new experience for Gaby who was more or less floating by now.

  Being with Luke felt too good, too natural. When he helped her into the car, she didn’t pull away at the touch of his hand on her arm. In truth, she welcomed the burning sensation igniting her body. If he hadn’t moved to shut the door, she would have rested against him.

  Not used to drinking anything alcoholic, the wine had blurred the sharp edges of reality. She had wandered into a dangerous corridor of contentment, willing to follow wherever he led.

  For a brief moment, she had the strongest conviction that if she’d turned in his arms just now and pressed her mouth to his, he wouldn’t have found the strength to push her away.

  Once on the road however, Luke seemed to have removed himself emotionally from her. Deep in his own thoughts, he concentrated on his driving, not bothering to make conversation.

  Though she might be feeling the effects of too much wine, he didn’t appear to be suffering from the same problem. Ashamed she felt so out of control and unable to suppress her overflowing emotions, she closed her eyes to blot him from her vision. But she hadn’t counted on the rich food and lack of sleep the night before to conspire against her so completely.

  Her lids grew heavy. She couldn’t open them again and at some point oblivion took over. She didn’t waken until she discovered them parked outside the small church in Loretello, a wheatcolored brick edifice which seemed to grow organically from the hillside. Earlier, Luke had stopped in Arcevia to make inquiries and she’d never even stirred.

  “W-what did you learn?” she asked, smoothing the hair out of her face. Luke’s silent scrutiny confused her, making it difficult to think. She was embarrassed to have slept so long.

  One black brow dipped in concern. “Not a great deal, I’m afraid. Your great-grandmother’s family did not own land in Loretello. They must have moved into the area, farmed someone else’s plot of ground, then moved on. There are no Trussardis listed in the birth or death records.”

  Surprised at the depth of her disappointment, she turned her head away. “It’s possible my great-grandmother’s memory was faulty and we’ve been led on a wild-goose chase. I—I appreciate all your help, Luke. You’ve gone out of your way for nothing.”

  “All is not lost,” he reminded her in a voice of inherent authority. “We’ll visit the church and consult the parish records. Sometimes a detail is overlooked when copies are made for the conservatory archives.”

  Gaby shook her head. “They won’t turn up anything, and I don’t want to put you to further trouble.”

  She heard a muttered imprecation which could have meant any number of things before he levered himself from the car. She scrambled out her door to accompany him, not wanting to incur any more of his displeasure when he’d been trying so hard to help her.

  The Medieval facade gave way to an ornate interior and shrine. At the back pew she watched Luke cross himself, reminding her as nothing else could do, that in less than a month, the walls of a church would be his home for the duration of his life.

  Her heart felt a sharp, stabbing pain as she, too, made the sign of the cross. Unaware of her turmoil, he asked her to wait while he searched for someone to assist them. Seemingly at home in this sanctuary, he disappeared through a side door.

  In agony of spirit, Gaby closed her eyes and prayed for release from the invisible cords binding her to him. She begged for help in forgetting him once she left Italy, begged for peace to come into her heart. Otherwise she’d continue to mourn him, and her whole life would be an utter waste.

  “Gabriella?” She heard her name in a tortured whisper. She knew he was worried about Giovanni, but wondered if there wasn’t something else burdening him, adding to his turmoil.

  Brushing at the moisture on her dark lashes, she stood from a kneeling position, hoping he couldn’t tell she’d been crying.

  “I expected to talk to the local cure, but he’s out visiting. Fortunately the caretaker is on hand. He’s willing to let us scan the records in the office.”

  Only Luke’s prominent name and vocation could have induced the groundskeeper to open up such valuable records to a stranger, a foreigner no less. Her debt to Giovanni’s brother had grown beyond her ability to repay.

  Keeping her head lowered, she turned and followed him to the small anteroom which served as an office with a desk, chairs and several floor-toceiling bookcases encased in glass.

  She smiled at the wizened caretaker and thanked him in Italian for his kindness. He bowed politely and undid the lock on one of the bookcases. After putting a large tome on the tabletop, he left them alone and shut the door.

  Luke indicated she should sit next to him and pushed the ancient-looking record in front of her. “According to what you’ve told me, your great-grandmother was born somewhere around 1883. Since the earliest she might have met her future husband would be at age fifteen, we can assume she was living here at the turn of the century.”

  Trying to cover up the trembling his warmth and nearness evoked, she opened the cover.

  Luke translated in a low, mellow voice. It resonated to her insides. “This lists a church census covering some births, christenings and baptisms from the years 1834 to 1908. There’s a note indicating that a fire in 1900 destroyed part of the record.”

  “Just the year we’re looking for,” she lamented.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. Let’s start with 1885 and move forward.”

  Throughout the book there were scorch marks, some too brown to read the names entered in ornate cursive handwriting. Gaby came to the portion Luke suggested and ran a nervous finger down the neat rows of names.

  Dozens of the same appellation appeared because whole extended families had lived in the area. They turned page after stained-torn page. It became evident that there were no Trussardis listed anywhere.

  The handwriting taught in the American public schools didn’t resemble European penmanship dating back a century. Most of the time she couldn’t tell the difference between a capital J, F, G, I or T.

  But Luke, who studied each entry with absolute concentration, had no such problem. For him to spend this kind of time helping her research a name that meant nothing to him, made her love for him that much stronger and binding.

  As the pendulum of the antique wall clock swung back and forth marking the passage of time, she realized that she’d probably never know about her namesake’s origins.

  “Luke—” She touched his arm gently. His eyes swiveled to hers in puzzled query, and she removed her hand. “It’s no use.”

  “Maybe,” he murmured. “Maybe not. Will you hand me that large magnifying glass hangin
g on the peg next to the bookcase?”

  “Yes. Of course.” She got up and reached for it, then gave it to him. “Have you found something?”

  “I’m not sure. There are about ten pages badly stained, but I can just make out some of the names.” He stood up and went over to the window to take advantage of what little light it afforded.

  For once Gaby had an excuse to feast her eyes on him. Right now she could easily imagine him in robes of an important holy office. There was a magnificence about his physical presence as well as a nobility of character that shone through. He would make his mark in the church.

  Yet Gaby had glimpsed a sensuous side to his nature. Today there’d been brief moments of ecstasy when she’d caught sight of his rare smile and heard his full-bodied laughter. And there’d been other times when the hunger in his eyes had turned her body molten. She couldn’t have imagined those looks, could she?

  That’s what was tormenting her now…the possibility that she’d wanted him so much, she’d fooled herself into believing her presence affected him in a similar fashion.

  “Santa Maria!” she heard him mutter, jerking her from her inner torment. With her heart thudding, she rose to her feet.

  “Luke-”

  “The date at the top of the page is missing. But according to the ones I can read, we know it has to be sometime between 1882 and 1885. It appears that a Vittore Ridolfi and wife, Amalia, had an infant, Gabriella, christened.”

  His black eyes flashed with a strange light. “This is the only Gabriella I’ve come across in any of the records at Arcevia or here. How strange that there is no birth date on her when the Ridolfi name is quite prolific in this region.” He sounded far away.

  Gaby started to get chills of excitement. “What are you thinking?”

  His gaze encompassed her flushed face. “There is no evidence that this couple had children born to them. It’s possible they took someone else’s daughter to raise.”

  Her thoughts raced. “You mean she might have been an unwanted pregnancy and was either abandoned by her real mother or given up for adoption.”

  A frown line etched his dark brow. “There could be many circumstances we’re not aware of. Perhaps the natural parents were killed while in the area, leaving the child orphaned. Or the Ridolfis might have been so anxious to have a baby, it’s possible they traveled further afield to find one needing a home. It wasn’t uncommon for a family with too many mouths to feed to sell a daughter.”