They set up chairs for the rest of the day, making the audience weave in between the rows of vines. Isabella brought them bread and cheese for lunch, but by the end of the day, he was exhausted and ravenous.
Carly had taken off her outer shirt and she looked so sexy in her tank top and shorts. A light sunburn covered her shoulder and the bridge of her nose. ‘Is there anything else you can think of that we can do to prepare?’
Michelangelo shook his head. ‘I think we’ve done enough for today. Let’s head back to the house.’
Carly wiped sweat from her brow. ‘Sounds good to me. My arms feel like they’re going to fall off.’
He ran a finger down her arm, wishing he could massage her tired muscles. ‘You did a great job. I’m not sure we can fill all the seats you set up.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ Carly walked beside him as they headed toward the house. ‘And I didn’t do it alone. You set up about twice as many chairs as I did.’
‘I’ll do anything I can to save this place.’ He put his arm around her. ‘It feels so good to be able to do something to help my winery. All summer I sat on that patio, watching helplessly as my mother and the vineyard slipped away from me.’
‘It must have been awful thinking there was nothing you could do.’
He nodded, relieved he could talk with her about his problems. ‘One of those days, Isabella brought me the newspaper. We’d canceled it a long time ago, but I guess that paperboy messed up his route, or forgot. Anyway, that particular paper made it into my hands, and it had Ms. Maxhammer’s ad.’
Carly raised an eyebrow. ‘Would you call that fate?’
‘Perhaps.’ Michelangelo tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. ‘It led me to you.’
Carly felt way too good under his arm, and he didn’t think he could hold back any longer. Michelangelo pulled away before he stole a kiss, which would lead to another and another. ‘Come, let me make you dinner. You can try some of my family’s wine.’
A smile etched its way into the corners of her lips. ‘I’d like that very much.’
Michelangelo led her through the back door to the kitchen. A southern-facing window looked out over a patch of old vines from the original vineyard. While Carly watched the moon rise over the hills, he started a pot of boiling water and found a bag of homemade pasta he’d bought at the market down the street. At the time when he bought it, he thought he’d be eating it alone with the jar of homemade tomato sauce, which was just like his mamma used to make. The serendipity of the situation gave him hope.
‘The vineyard looks so magical at night.’ Carly ran her fingertips along the windowsill. ‘You were right when you said there was nothing like it.’
Michelangelo emptied the bag of pasta in the water and warmed the pan of sauce. ‘I’m happy to share it with you.’
Carly turned from the window, a flush in her cheeks. Intensity burned in her gaze. ‘Being here has brought up emotions inside of me that I didn’t think existed.’
Michelangelo’s chest tightened. ‘Does that scare you?’
Carly laughed. ‘Maybe a little. But, more than that, it opens my eyes to a whole new world, a different way of life, more possibilities.’ She drew out the word possibilities as if inferring a deeper meaning.
The temperature in the kitchen rose fifteen degrees and he didn’t think it was the cooking. Michelangelo drained the pasta and stirred in the sauce, thankful to have a task to employ his eager hands. He ached to go over there and wrap his arms around her, but he didn’t want to come on too strongly. With his winery on the line, he could be homeless in less than a week. He really couldn’t promise her anything. He had nothing to offer. As much as he wanted Carly, he let the comment drift away. ‘Dinner is ready.’
Carly walked over. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’
Michelangelo pulled out two brightly painted plates from the cupboard. ‘Yes.’ He gestured toward a wine rack on the countertop. ‘Choose a wine.’
As Carly wandered over and pulled out bottle by bottle to read the labels, Michelangelo set the table with two steaming plates of fettuccini. Hopefully, she wasn’t one of those carb-counters or a relationship would be almost impossible. Pasta was one of his favorites.
Why I’m thinking about a relationship right now is beyond me. He lit two long tapered candles and the romantic feelings stirring deep inside him came to the surface. He wasn’t sure he could hold them down any longer. Part of him didn’t care. He’d given everything to this vineyard, so what was one night away from duty?
‘How about this one?’ She pulled a red Merlot, aged to perfection over the last ten years, from the rack. Those grapes had been harvested by his father when he was still a teen.
Michelangelo smiled. He couldn’t have chosen better himself. ‘Perfetto!’
Carly brought the wine to the table, the deep-crimson liquid glowing in the golden candlelight. ‘My goodness you’ve cooked a feast.’
He froze with his hand over the wine-opener. ‘You do like pasta, don’t you?’
She pulled out her chair and sat down. ‘Love it.’
Michelangelo breathed easily. ‘Good.’
As he popped the cork and poured two glasses, he wondered just what he was going to do with her. What did she want?
‘So, are you enjoying your stay in Italy?’
She sipped her wine and licked her lips, giving him memories of what it tasted like to kiss her. ‘I have to say it’s grown on me.’
Michelangelo twirled the fettuccini around his fork with practiced grace. ‘When I first met you, you said you’d never come back. Is that still true or did I change your mind?’
Carly glanced down at the table, and he couldn’t read her expression. ‘My life is very complicated, scheduled down to each hour of every day. Being a freelance musician, you have to take every gig offered to you. It’s the only way to play the game and win. When I first got here, that’s all I could think about—which gigs I was missing out on and how soon I could get back.’
She looked up again, the sheer determination and vulnerability he’d seen in her eyes that first day had come back. ‘The funny thing is, right now, I don’t want to leave.’
He almost dropped his fork. If only he had his winery, he could offer her a place to stay and explore their feelings for each other, and then, perhaps, establish herself in Italy. But all of that depended on the concert and how much money they raised. Besides, it could just be a passing fancy, and she’d miss her Boston gig life soon enough. The closer he got to her, the more she’d hurt him if she left. This time it would be worse than all the others who’d left before.
‘I don’t want you to leave, either, but there are some things we may not be able to change.’ Michelangelo collected his empty plate and stood still. ‘There are guest rooms upstairs. You are welcome to stay in any one of them you’d like.’ As long as this place stands.
Carly raised an eyebrow. ‘Guest rooms?’
‘Yes.’
She finished her wine. ‘And where will you be sleeping?’
‘I have a room down the hall from my mother. It used to be a guest room, but I moved upstairs to keep an eye on her.’
She set the glass down with finality and held his gaze. ‘You said I could stay in any one of the guest rooms, right?’
He nodded.
She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. ‘Well, I’d very much like to see yours.’
Heat rushed from Michelangelo’s head to his toes. He’d very much like her to see his room as well. But was this the best for both of them? Right before the big fundraising concert that would decide both their careers? To hell with it. He’d handle the aftermath later. ‘Shall we?’
Chapter Twenty-One
One Night
Carly’s heart raced as she followed Michelangelo up the stairs. This was no longer an ‘experiment.’ Her heart was on the line. Playing duets with him, meeting his mother, and seeing his ailing vineyard had driven her
to a place she’d never been before, a crossroads where life took over if she let it. This time she played for keeps.
Michelangelo led her down the corridor past his mother’s room. He opened a thick oak door to a smaller, cozier room with embroidered rugs thrown over a stone floor. An ashy fireplace framed with a thick, carved mantel stood across from a four-poster canopy bed draped with sheer fabric. A window looked out to the eastern patch of vines, where the hill slanted into the valley.
Carly felt as though he’d taken her back in time. No cell phones, no televisions or honking cars. Just the two of them and their thoughts in the silence. It was undeniably the most romantic place she’d ever been.
Michelangelo crouched by the fireplace and coaxed a flame from the wood. ‘It gets chilly here in the evening toward the end of the summer.’
What chill? Her whole body throbbed with heat. If her neck and cheeks blushed any more, they’d start to steam. But when an Italian hottie invited you into his room and started a fire, you didn’t say no.
She walked over to the bed, smoothing the crimson velvet comforter with her fingertips. ‘This is your room?’
The fire caught, lighting the room in a golden ambiance. Michelangelo stood, brushing his hands together. ‘It is now. As a boy, I used to live downstairs near the kitchen.’
She ran her fingers along the bedpost, carved to resemble roses and vines. A nick in the wood here and there told the tale of ageless years of use. ‘So this place has been in your family for generations?’
Michelangelo nodded. ‘Since my great, great grandfather.’
The ache she’d felt before returned. How could they tear down such a gorgeous place with so much history? ‘I’ll do everything I can to keep it in your family, to keep the memories alive.’
‘Shhh.’ He walked toward her and placed a calloused finger on her lips. ‘That’s for tomorrow. Right now, we have tonight to ourselves, and I mean to enjoy it.’
A rush of fire trailed up Carly’s legs. Electricity buzzed in the air between herself and Michelangelo. He looked dark, brooding and sexy in the mix of shadows and firelight. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then moved to her forehead, her cheek, and her lower neck. Each kiss burned her skin and desire stirred within her.
She ran her hands up the lean muscles in his back to his neck, pulling him closer. His lips met hers. She opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to slide across her teeth. Jolts of electricity ran along her nerves. She sighed deeply as he moved her toward the bed. They fell onto the velvet cover, and Carly forgot about her gigs for the first time in her life.
*****
Morning light pierced through Carly’s blissful sleep. She turned, burying her head in Michelangelo’s bare chest. He smelled like a mix between clean linen and salty man. Just two more minutes…
Bangs and thumps, followed by men shouting outside interrupted her peace. What were they doing out there? Then she remembered the e-mail Isabella had sent to the crew to set up for the concert. Carly bolted upright. If tonight didn’t go as planned, there’d be no more Italian nights on the vineyard with Michelangelo.
‘The concert!’
Michelangelo blinked and rubbed his eyes. ‘They’re out there already?’
‘Yes, and we have to help them.’
He checked his watch. ‘Wow, it’s nine o’clock already! I never sleep in this late.’
He looked too scrumptious to abandon just yet. She collapsed on top of him and kissed his chest. ‘Maybe we tired ourselves out.’
He rolled his eyes as embarrassment softened his gorgeous face. ‘I don’t want my crew thinking I’m a playboy, bringing home pretty women, or, even worse—a slapper.’
Carly nuzzled against his nose. ‘Knowing you and all you’ve done for this place, I doubt they’d think either.’
She moved away, but Michelangelo pulled her back. ‘Wait.’
The gravity of his tone made her heart skip. ‘What?’
Intensity flared in his eyes. ‘When this is all over, if I still have this winery, I’d like it if you could stay a while—you know, give ‘us’ a chance.’
There’s an ‘us?’ Carly stopped breathing. This was it—the invitation she’d been waiting for and dreading at the same time. Staying meant leaving her career in Boston behind, but it also meant following her heart. All that waited for her when she got back was work. Here, she had someone who cared about her, someone to build a life with. But restarting a career was a huge undertaking. Even though she’d had some success already, she might never have the same balance of gigs and orchestra that she had in Boston. The reviews hadn’t gotten her off on the best footing. All those years…all that work.
Her phone called to her from across the room, poking out of the front pocket of her purse. She hadn’t checked her messages since last night.
Michelangelo stared into her eyes with expectation.
The bright morning light had brought clarity and reality along with it. She sighed. ‘Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?’ Who knew if he’d even have a vineyard? He had enough problems with his mom, and he didn’t need one more mouth to feed—which was exactly what he’d have to do until she pieced together a new career here in Italy. Everything was happening too fast and she needed time to think.
Michelangelo’s face fell as though she’d stabbed him in the chest. ‘Of course.’
Carly pulled away. She couldn’t stand to see his disappointment. But she also couldn’t give him a promise she might not be able to keep. ‘Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?’ She tried to sound cheerful, but an edge of anxiety worked its way into her words.
They showered, dressed, and ate a quick breakfast. The bus with the musicians pulled up to the front of the estate, and Carly welcomed the orchestra as Michelangelo unloaded the instruments. Bertha and Trudy seemed charmed by the place at first sight, and even Al stopped to take a few pictures with his phone.
While she waited for Bertha to climb down the steps of the bus, she chanced a glance at the man she was falling for. For the first time in her life, she had something to fight for beyond her own music career. Her life had new meaning, a new direction. But, could she follow that direction, or would she risk giving too much up?
A bigger question gnawed at her composure: was he enough for her to stay?
Michelangelo’s dark hair had fallen in front of his eyes and he brushed it away. As if sensing her examination, he turned toward her. A smile stretched across his lips. He was in his element, and in his element he was truly happy.
Damn! Carly wanted him.
She hoped beyond measure this concert would succeed. Everything rested on it. Save the winery first and then she had a decision to make.
Chapter Twenty-Two
New Meaning
‘Twenty euros is not enough!’ Carly threw the ticket back into the basket Ms. Maxhammer held in her free hand. ‘The maximum seating capacity of this vineyard is three hundred, and even if we sold out,’ she calculated the math in her head. ‘That would raise six thousand euros—not enough to save the winery.’
Ms. Maxhammer placed the basket by the entrance to the patio. She wore a spotless white pantsuit more suited to a fashion runway than a dilapidated vineyard. A chunky, golden chain necklace draped across her neck. ‘Our other concerts were either free, or less than ten euros, so this is already a hefty price increase. You forget, we didn’t come here to make a fortune. Maestro Braun raised the money himself to pay for the orchestra’s expenses. This tour was a publicity stunt, no more.’
Carly’s heart sunk. ‘But Michelangelo needs the money now.’
‘The trick is to get them here in the first place to see the beauty firsthand, then they’ll spend their money. You worry about your aria, and I’ll worry about the dollar signs.’ Ms. Maxhammer winked at her and handed her a program. The president of the board had printed them this morning, with a picture of Michelangelo’s winery on the front cover. The cover looked lovely, but it only served to remind
Carly of what they had to lose.
‘All right.’ Carly sighed and walked to her seat in the orchestra. Ms. Maxhammer was a shrewd businesswoman. She could calculate funds better than a tax collector. Carly just had to trust her. She wasn’t sure what Ms. Maxhammer had up her sleeve, but it had to be good.
The layout of the winery forced the crew to intersperse the audience amongst the rows of vines. It was hard to tell how many people were there. Spreading the audience out probably made it seem larger than it really was. Some chairs were empty.
Fighting her inner doubt, Carly plopped into her seat. The battle wasn’t over yet. They still had a concert to play, and she owed Alaina a breathtaking aria.
Could she play her best?
She had to. Too much rested on this one performance. The concertmaster stood and signaled for her to give the first tuning note. The murmurs in the audience settled. Carly stuck her reed in her oboe with determination. She took a deep breath and played a soaring tuning note that resonated across the vineyard. The strings tuned, followed by the woodwinds and brass. Silence settled over the vineyard, punctuated by the chirps of finches.
Maestro Braun walked on stage in his penguin-tailed tux. Carly felt a rush of adrenaline as the audience applauded him and the orchestra tapped their feet in admiration. He acknowledged the audience then turned to the orchestra and raised his baton.
The first two pieces went well, giving Carly some confidence leading into the aria. The intermission came and Ms. Maxhammer walked on stage. Three members of Michelangelo’s crew followed her, carrying bottles of wine, jewelry, and fine silk scarves. She announced an auction to the audience, and invited them to come up to the stage and bid.
Genius. But auctioning off pleasantries still wouldn’t raise enough money to save the winery. If that’s all Ms. Maxhammer had up her sleeve, they were doomed. Carly slipped into the office to change into her now-famous red dress for the aria.
An American Girl in Italy Page 16
