by Debra Dunbar
This place was full of secrets—hidden passageways where the residents could escape down through the house and monastery to the private dock far below, tiny, out of the way spots with little benches and romantic views, shielded from sight by stone and clever landscaping. I was sure this was another, and as I came out onto a stone grotto carved into the side of the cliff face, I realized I was right.
I also realized that I wasn’t the only one who’d discovered the hidden path. There in the grotto locked in a passionate embrace were a young couple. His hand was braced against the stone, his other arm around her shoulder, drawing her close. She, far from a passive participant, had one arm around his waist, the other encircling his neck, pulling him tight against her.
And holy smokes, what a kiss. I bit back a smile and carefully edged backward, trying to move as slowly as possible so I wouldn’t disturb the two lovebirds.
He ran a hand through her long, dark hair and it fanned out, catching the sunlight and shimmering with highlights of burgundy. It was Bianca Montenegro, naughty girl, making out with some lover. I wondered if, during her many visits to her uncle’s villa, she’d met a local boy. If so, no wonder she had been here every weekend. Would her uncle’s death put a temporary hold on this young romance? I doubted she’d be as free to come and go now that there was no uncle to visit, but perhaps her grandmother would bring her during winter break. Or she could concoct some reason to visit Ilaria, who I’m sure would remain as a family caretaker.
There was something so appealing about young love. I smiled, lingering more than was polite. Just as I was about to turn around and retrace my steps, the two separated from their embrace and I saw the face of the young man that Bianca had been smooching.
It was Sergio Sommariva.
Oh my. It seemed his mother, Daniela, had been right in her fears that her son was not spending the afternoon with friends as he’d said. Now his longing glance across the lake made sense. It was all so very romantic, this stolen moment in a beautiful grotto overlooking the water. And as worried as Daniela was about her son falling in love with the wrong sort of girl, she needn’t have been concerned. Sergio was heir to his grandfather’s obviously wealthy estate. Bianca had just inherited a fortune of her own. They were perfectly suited from a financial perspective. And the look of adoration on both their faces as they stared longingly into each other’s eyes and murmured soft affection was making me melt.
There was another reason Daniela shouldn’t have worried. Bianca might be a suitable match for her son, but it wouldn’t last. The woman could say all she wanted about true love and soul mates and bonding only once in their lifetimes, but young love like this burned hot and fast and typically was over by the time both parties went off to college. I’d been there, and as much as I’d thought that high school boyfriend was the person I was destined to be with for the rest of my life, he wasn’t. I’d had a lot of growing up to do, and so had he, and looking back, we never would have made it in the long term—even if I had been human.
I was only twenty-two. And I knew Irix felt the same about me, that I was like these two in front of me—that I was too young to know a lasting sort of love. But he was wrong. Irix was it for me. There would be others I’d love in my life, like Kai and Harkel, but the fullness of my heart would always belong to Irix.
So I was completely cognizant of the irony of me, at twenty-two, looking at these two and thinking their obvious love would quickly flame out.
Whether I was right, or Daniela was and her son had just found the love of his life at the age of eighteen, watching the two lovers was still a joy. They kissed again, and I smiled, using all of my elven skills to silently edge back down the trail and make my way to the arches to meet Irix.
Chapter 8
I stood on the broad terrace, the picturesque arches in the background, before me the deep green of the lawn and the beauty of Lake Como. There wasn’t a bad view on this villa’s property. I’d loved the stately splendor of Villa Sommariva with the eclectic acres and acres of gardens, but this seemed more wild and verdant, as if it were a part of the rock and land rather than a decoration, a jewel, upon it.
And the lake… Sunlight lit on broad, black rippled waves, like reflections of dancing light on polished marble, like a lake of molten obsidian.
“Romantic?” Irix’s arms came around me. I felt his chin against the top of my head.
“Very romantic.”
It seemed like a tremor ran through him, like he was hovering on the edge of something. And then it was gone. I felt him breathe a soft laugh against my hair.
“Wanna fuck?” I teased. Well, I wasn’t completely teasing, although there were quite a lot of tourists walking about this afternoon. I didn’t mind a public display of extreme affection, but I wasn’t sure they’d appreciate the two of us screwing up against the side of the building.
“No. I want. I mean, yes, always, but right now…” He pulled away and for a second I wondered what the heck was going on. I’d never heard him so nervous.
I turned around and nearly crashed into him. Which would have been funny since he was down on one knee and his head was level with my crotch.
Down on one knee. Everything spun, the villa the shrubberies, the scenic view of the lake. Irix’s face blurred and for a second I thought I was going to pass out.
“Is this the right way to do it?” he asked. “Because Darci said this was the right way to do it, that humans, and especially you, put great value in the method of presentation. But you don’t look very happy. You look like you might throw up.”
We were drawing a crowd. I didn’t care. “Ask me,” I choked out. “Ask me before I puke.”
He dug in his pocket, muttering something about Darci not telling him vomit was a possible outcome, then pulled out a velvet-covered box. With a flick, he opened the lid and extended it toward me.
“Amber Shania Lowry. You are and will always be the most important being in my life. I love you, and I want to be with you forever. I have been informed by your best friend that part of loving you forever means that I must pledge myself to you in a religious building in front of the deity of your choice and what will most likely be hundreds of friends, relatives and acquaintances while I’m wearing a tuxedo. I want to do this very much, because I want everyone to know that you’re my forever. And most importantly I want you to know. I don’t want you to ever doubt how I feel about you.”
“Ask me.” My stomach rolled. I gritted my teeth to keep the contents in place. Now was not a time to spew lunch all over my soon-to-be fiancé and the beautiful ring he’d picked out for me.
Irix’s eyes widened with alarm. “Amber Shania Lowry, will you marry me?”
I burst into tears.
“Is that ‘yes’ crying or ‘no’ crying?”
Poor Irix sounded as if he were two breaths from a panic attack. “Yes, yes,” I sobbed.
The crowd erupted with cheers and shouts. Irix jumped to his feet, yanking me into his arms and kissing me. It was one of those hard, desperate kisses, as if he’d thought he’d never see me again.
“For fuck’s sake, Amber. You nearly gave me a heart attack here. Are human engagements always this nerve-racking?”
I wiped my eyes on my arm. “I don’t know; I’ve never been engaged before.”
Irix growled. It was a low, possessive sound that made me wonder if we could get away with fucking right now up against the building in front of all these people.
“You better not have been engaged before. Otherwise, I’d have to hunt him down and kill him.”
Silly demon. He had no problem with me having sex with random strangers for energy, had no problem sharing my love with Kai or Harkel, but he drew the line at someone putting a ring on my finger.
Actually, I got it, because that was where I drew the line, too. And speaking of ring.
“Go ahead. Make it official.” I held my hand out and wiggled my ring finger at him. He pulled it from the box and slid it on. It fit perfectly
, a huge emerald-cut ruby with a frame of tiny diamonds and a platinum band.
“I wanted to ask you at Villa Sommariva, in the gardens among the plants that you love so much, but that darned Daniela woman wouldn’t go away.” He looked around. “Although this isn’t as private as I wanted it to be either.”
“The setting makes up for it,” I told him, kissing him again.
We broke apart and needed to accept the gushing congratulations of a dozen people, some of them talking excitedly in Italian or German, others telling Irix he was a very lucky man in heavily accented English while patting him on the shoulder. I stood, cradled against him, thanking everyone and showing all the women my ring as they waved their hands around, and kissed my cheeks.
Then I looked over and saw Bianca, alone this time, standing just under one of the arches. Her pale skin was flushed, dark eyes glittering with excitement, and I knew that she was dreaming of a romantic proposal of her own. I hoped she got it. And suddenly I found myself wishing that her and Sergio’s young love was the sort that weathered the test of time. And then I thought what a lovely bride she’d make, her dark hair and eyes a contrast in the white dress.
White dress. Hmmm. Should I do white? Or a non-traditional color? A half-succubus wearing white to her wedding would be rather funny.
Oh, I couldn’t wait to make wedding plans. The guest list, the cake, the band, the attendants and their dresses, the flowers. Would Leethu walk me down the aisle? With my human mother on the other side of me? Of course Darci would be my maid of honor, and then Nyalla as a bridesmaid, but who else? Kai? Harkel on Irix’s side? Jordan? Sam? Maybe not Sam. I’d definitely want her there, but asking her to be a bridesmaid might be tempting fate a bit too much. The church—wait, could Irix go inside a church without lightning striking or something? Maybe we’d need to have an outdoor wedding.
“I love you,” he said, kissing the top of my head, then bending down to plant a feather-light kiss on my lips. He didn’t have to say it; it was right there in his eyes. Actually no, he did have to say it because I liked hearing it.
“I love you, too,” I replied. The crowd sighed. Then they began to drift away to give us our privacy, still glancing over at us every now and then with sappy smiles.
“Did I do it right?” Irix held my hands, turning the ring with one finger.
“Perfect.” I’d never expected this. And I was deliriously happy. “But in the spirit of full disclosure, I do need to tell you that I was briefly engaged to William Pickett while in the first grade. I believe it had something to do with joint custody of a scooter,” I teased him.
The corner of Irix’s mouth twitched upward, and there was the dimple I so loved. “William Pickett is a dead man.”
“William Pickett came out his sophomore year in high school and he is currently dating a guy named Dennis.”
His eyes danced. “Well then William Pickett gets to live.”
Chapter 9
The drive to Bergamo for day one of my seminar had me regretting my decision to stay in the Lake Como area. It was two hours in rush hour traffic. I was biting my nails, worried I’d be late and that it would give me a black mark on my score. I was worried I’d squash the Panda against the side of a building trying to get down a narrow alley with a tour bus coming the opposite direction at fifty miles an hour. I was worried I’d get lost and find myself in the south of France, frantically trying to ask directions via tourist sign -language and very loud English.
I wasn’t late, I didn’t get lost, and I didn’t wreck the Panda, but I did have a few close calls. I arrived in Bergamo just in time, driving up the long hill past row after row of vineyards to turn down a driveway toward a set of iron gates and a giant, sprawling house to park and dash in the door just as the clock tower chimed the hour.
Castle Abbondio wasn’t what I expected when I thought of “castle”, at least from the front entrance. The house was built in the fourteenth century around a tower fortress that had been erected a century before to protect this critical area between two of the then-decentralized Italian city-states. Instead of the fort-like structure I was used to in the States, or the four-towered gothic hodge-podge of horror movies, Castle Abbondio was elegant in an understated gothic way.
I’d bounced the Panda up the drive with its fist-sized stones cemented into the pavement, making me wonder how Italian cars managed to keep their shocks intact for more than a year, then parked beside a row of other tiny cars. Then I hopped out, dashing through the gates to where everyone was standing around what seemed to be a registration table.
With quick efficiency, I had my nametag and a binder full of information, and was heading toward the dining room where we were to have our first presentation. I hoped they’d have coffee.
They did. And croissants. I sat to scarf one down and eyeballed my fellow participants who were doing the same to me. There were ten of us—seven guys and three women including me. Two men were in their forties. One was wearing a suit with a bow tie, the other khaki shorts with Crocs. The other five guys and the two women were roughly my age. One of the women came up to me with a tentative smile and extended her hand, greeting me in Italian.
She was pretty, with a curly mess of auburn hair and gray eyes so dark that at first I’d thought they were brown. And the only thing I’d understood of her greeting was that her name was Eva. I stood and shook her hand then introduced myself in English, once again lamenting that I seemed to have no skill at all in learning other languages.
“Thank God, another American!” she exclaimed cheerfully. “I was getting worried that I’d be the only one. We’re surrounded by Italians and French I’ll have you know. Well, except for Celio and Eskel. I’m surprised there isn’t an Aussie here. Or someone from South America. I mean, did they really need three Italian dudes? Or three from France? Although Marta is pretty cool. She can stay, but we need to swap those other guys out and get more diversity in here.”
We were all white, so I was assuming she was speaking in terms of nationality when it came to diversity. Still, I was thrilled to meet another American. I stuffed down the rest of my croissant and picked up my binder to relocate next to Eva’s seat, but she waved at the heavy tome.
“Oh leave that. We’re heading out to the vineyard this morning. No sense in lugging a big book around.”
She was right. A man came in and instructed us in both Italian and in English to bring only something to take notes with and come with him as we were to tour the vineyards first.
I was in heaven. Stuffed into a golf cart with a dark-haired guy from Spain named Celio, as well as Eva and Marta, we rode all over the three hundred acres of vines discussing rootstock, pruning cycles, row spacing, netting and bird control, and spraying for pests. Then the vineyard manager went into an hour-long discussion of phylloxera and other blights and how they affected both yield and grape quality. I’d just come off an internship where I’d been exposed to just about every grapevine blight known to mankind, so I stood and smiled serenely while the others furiously took notes. I was so going to get this apprenticeship. I knew this stuff. It was in my very flesh and bones. When it came to things like optimal phosphorous and nitrogen levels in the soil, how best to protect against downy mildew, and what temperature conditions at which point in the growing cycle produced grapes with the highest sugar content, I was in-the-know.
We returned to the castle for a quick break with more coffee and pastries while the presenter set up for a lecture on what looked to be the steps of winemaking and the anatomy of a grape from his poster board charts. The break was over far too quickly, and we all took our seats, croissants still in hand, to listen to the sommelier discuss the vintnering process at the castle winery, as well as the styles of wines they produced.
I felt a moment’s pang of regret that Irix would be hanging around Lake Como, trying to pick up and score with as many men and women as he could, while I was here, relaxing and listening to the history of this beautiful winery while I drank espresso
and ate pastries that melted in my mouth. He was an incubus. He need to feed. And in spite of the fact that this was a workday for the majority of the Italians, I knew he’d find good hunting while I was learning about varietals, yeasts, weather conditions and how everything all combined together into perfect harmony to create an ideal wine.
I needed to feed as well, and I was completely aware that I’d neglected this for two days. I’m pretty sure Irix would have been pissed off and scolding me, except for the fact that we were newly engaged and he was happy to let me take a break and use his energy instead.
Newly engaged. The seminar speaker faded into the background as I looked down at my ring. It was beautiful. And it was new enough that I was fully aware of its weight on my finger, reminding me that Irix was mine, and I was his, and we were about to be married, just like humans.
I’d spent my life dreaming of my wedding, just like every young girl, and then I’d mourned the fact that it would never happen. But Irix was giving this to me. He didn’t understand my need for this. He certainly didn’t need it. But I did, and he loved me, so he was willing to go through with a bizarre human ritual and stand in a church and pledge himself to me in front of a God he didn’t believe in.
I really hoped he didn’t catch on fire or anything.
The sommelier finished up and a middle-aged German man named Leo took the presenter’s block. After a basic introduction to the process of fermentation, Leo suddenly became a chemist and the slides turned into an incomprehensible scribble of molecular formulas. It wasn’t that Leo’s drawing skills were bad, it was that I was a botanist, and this was even more gibberish than the foreign languages murmured in the background. I tried to copy them as fast as I could, too embarrassed to be seen snapping pictures with my phone, but well aware I was going to need to look all of these up later.
