The Perfect Someday (A standalone novel ~ Book three in The Mathews Family)

by Beverly Preston

  Insecurities slowly unraveled. “I need to learn the language.”

  “You’re in the right place,” Benny assured. “Lisa’s a wine expert.”

  “I prefer the term wine connoisseur. A mere hobbyist who enjoys fine wine.”

  “I understand the business side, but wine has an entire dialect of its own.”

  Lisa eased her shoulders back and clasped her fingers to her waist, morphing into a full on Red Carpet pose. A prideful grin ignited into an aura of haughtiness. “Well miss smarty-pants, let me take you to school.”

  Tracy spent the afternoon stuck in the cellar, her head swirling in a vortex of information. Lisa enlightened her in the definition and understanding of everything wine. Cult wine, super wine, color, bouquet, taste and then there are the levels in which the wine is classified. IGT, DOC or DOCG. She felt like she suffered from a hangover without uncorking a bottle.

  The Levi’s left the following morning for LA, leaving Tracy free reign of the Villa. Upon leaving, Benny gave strict instructions. “Don’t be afraid to use anything, make yourself at home. Take advantage of the full gym at the end of the west wing. There’s a sauna and a cold plunge too. You can drive whichever car you’d like, but only take one of the black vehicles.”

  Tracy had brought nothing to wear for a job interview. After hitting the treadmill and stair-climber, she decided to go shopping for a few outfits. Flipping the light switch on in the garage, illuminating not two, but six outrageously sleek black vehicles ranging from a sporty SUV to a racy sport car she’d never heard of. Each boasted of luxury at its finest.

  “Sure, okay, I’ll just take the black one,” she murmured, grabbing the keys to the Range Rover.

  Tracy enjoyed the morning shopping in a village thirty minutes from the Villa. The distinct aroma of fresh bread and robust coffee filtered through the streets of the quaint village. She meandered in and out of charming boutiques, filling a few bags with business-chic attire.

  Catching her reflection in a window, Tracy stopped abruptly, taking close inspection of her appearance. Jeans, boots, fitted sweater and hair pulled up in a ponytail. Peering through the window, beyond her own image, a woman rose from a salon chair. The woman slipped her designer bag into the crook of her arm, her dark hair sweeping along the edge of her jaw. The inverted cut oozed sleek sophistication.

  Before she realized it, Tracy sat in the same seat draped in a cape.

  An hour later, she examined her reflection outside the salon window. A radiant grin lifted at the corners of her mouth. Tracy swung her head from side to side. New long bangs swept across her forehead and framed her face.

  A giggle rose in her throat as she ran her fingers through the razor cut edges. “Go for it.”

  ****

  The next morning, Tracy drove right past the small romantic sign reading Castlello Giovanni. It was nearly hidden amongst the wilted winter vines of ivy, fifteen yards from the entrance. She flipped a U-turn on a short straight stretch of windy road.

  At the end of a gravel road, the stately fortress was nestled into the hillside. The renaissance structure towered above the unspoiled rolling hills of the vineyard. Small imperfections in the stone and shutters, distressed from years of exposure, only added to the castle’s charm. The tidy property held a warm, romantic feeling of aged character.

  Sporting a fresh new look, a mental file packed full of information, and a newfound confidence, Tracy hit the pavement at Castlello Giovanni in patent leather platform peep-toe pumps. Exiting the Rover, she smoothed the creases on her cocoa brown tweed skirt. She opted for a smart business approach wearing a modernized flat front pencil skirt and matching jacket over a cream colored turtleneck.

  Passing by empty stucco planters, Tracy followed the sidewalk lined with dense box-cut shrubs leading from the parking lot to a door at the side of the castle. The door, weathered and grey, was in need of attention. She glanced around to see if she overlooked another entrance, but ultimately decided it had to be the right door and knocked before entering. “They need a sign. A big sign. And fresh coat of stain on the door.”

  The intimate ambiance of a dreamy era gone by changed as she stepped over the threshold into a small, somewhat dull, reception room. Waiting to be greeted, she made careful observations of a room untouched by time. Two chairs covered in faded green upholstery filled the corner of the small room and a large showcase displaying the estates wine encompassed the far wall.

  Tracy stepped around a small reception desk, squinting to read the labels under the umber glow of the chandelier suspended from the rafters high above. She drew a long breath through her nose. Her sense of perception was awakened by the earthy scent of damp dust, reminding her of the first spring rain in the dessert. This place needs major updating.

  Drawn to a collage of black and white photos hanging on the used brick wall, Tracy looked over the family pictures, dating back several generations. A door opened at the end of the hall and heavy footsteps echoed off the stone walls. She lifted a finger to straighten a few frames, nearly jumping out of her skin when a door slammed shut. The booming sound reverberated through the reception room, almost knocking the photograph from its nail.

  Tracy’s heart lurched in her throat. Her hand flew to her chest, bumping her elbow into a brass candelabra on the corner of the desk. She barely caught it before it crashed to the floor.

  “Buongiorno,” Antonio announced enthusiastically, welcoming her with a warm smile.

  She leaned against the reception desk blowing out an anxiety-filled puff of air. “Buongiornio.”

  His gaze raked over the length of her body, pausing at her hand lying atop her breast, before fixating on her face. His brow arched, seeming very appreciative of the way her suit flattered her curves. Clasping both hands to the tips of her shoulder, he pulled her close placing an extended kiss to each cheek.

  Instinctual tracers of wariness skittered up the back of her spine like an icy current.

  Tracy retreated from his half embrace, extending a professional handshake. “Sorry for being late. I missed the sign at the end of the road.”

  “No problemo.” Antonio eased back onto his heels, eyeing her new appearance in a lascivious stare. “You look magnificent.”

  Antonio theatrically gestured perfection kissing his fingers and tossing them in the air. His glimmering grey eyes took too long to rise above her shoulders. Blood powered through the vein at the side of her neck. Those eyes. Not now! Tracy refused to turn away, determined not to be distracted by the resemblance of the ghost from her past.

  “Thank you,” she replied curtly hoping to squash any misgivings lingering in the back of his mind. “Is Mrs. Giovanni joining us this morning?”

  “Ahhh, mamma, no she will not be joining us today. I handle the business end of the vineyard since my papa passed away. My mamma, she will meet with us to go over any findings, how you say sug—“

  “Suggestions?”

  “Yes! Any suggestions you come up with. And my brother, my brother will be there too. I’m sure you’ll meet him this afternoon. But this morning…you are all mine.” The last four words rolled fluently from his tongue, smothered with a hint of insinuation. A cocksure grin tugged at his lips.

  Amusement flickered in his eyes, studying her intently waiting for a reaction. Typically, Tracy would have no problem being blunt when a man acted so arrogantly. It took every ounce of self-control, but she refrained from correcting him. No way in hell would she be all his.

  The man exuded enough charismatic charm to make the average woman want to undress and fall straight into bed or at least gladly bend over his desk for an afternoon. But to Tracy, egotistical, over confident, and narcissistic were not qualities she found attractive in a man. No matter how good-looking.

  “I’m disappointed. I was hoping to meet with Mrs. Giovanni. Lisa speaks of her often.”

  Amusement lingers in his eyes. “I promise not to dissatisfy you.”

  It’s going to be a very long day. />
  Tracy spent the morning touring the castle. The building itself was grand in nature and built of square design, surrounded by unspoiled character of the vineyard. They strolled the terraced gardens, stopping at one of several brushed iron tables and chairs scattered around the grounds, tucked amid dormant gardens. Warm weather would turn the brown twigs lush in the spring, wreathing the tables in white climbing roses, pink bougainvillea and a host of other colorful flowers. Between warding off constant petting and sexual undertones, she learned as much as possible about the property’s past and what the Giovanni’s expectations were for the future of the vineyard.

  After lunch, Antonio graciously offered her the use of an office directly across from his, stating he would be there for anything she needed.

  The small room was located at the end of a long hall and came complete with an antique desk crafted from an old wine tasting table and a wooden swivel chair. Tracy dug into files of paperwork, inputting and graphing out essential information into her laptop. After thirty minutes of facing a wall covered in muted grey and tan stone, she dragged the solid oak table across the ancient plank flooring and into the sunshine.

  “That’s better.” She said looking out the window at Tuscany’s fabled rolling hills and a neighboring castle in the distance. Tracy gripped the edge of the cumbersome table, giving it one last shove, slicing the pad of her middle finger on something beneath the edge.

  “Shit,” she whimpered, jerking her finger and bringing it to her mouth. Tracy sucked the tip of her finger, attempting to stop the bleeding long enough to inspect the damage. Feeling a sliver with the tip of her tongue, Tracy pinched at the flesh trying to expose enough of the wood to grab it with her teeth, but unintentionally buried it deeper.

  Blood gushed down her finger, dripping onto the floor. Cradling her finger in her other hand, she stepped into the hall and peered into Antonio’s empty office. As she hurried toward the ladies room at the end of another hallway, red tinge began to soak into the rib sleeve of her cream colored turtleneck.

  “Damn it.” Her soft swearing and clacking of heels echoed down the quiet corridor. She held her arms out further so not to drip blood on her new tweed skirt. Rounding the corner, Antonio stood with his back to her, grasping the handle of the backdoor leading to the vineyard.

  The sliver began to sting painfully. She looked down, pinching her finger tighter, hoping to stop the pain and the bleeding. “Antonio, can you please help me for a minute before you leave?”

  “Are you talking to me?” came a voice similar to Antonio’s.

  The deep quiet intensity in his tone, brought her eyes up to meet his in a flash. Catching one glimpse of his translucent stormy irises stopped her in her tracks. Tracy skid on the heel of her pump, nearly falling on her ass. Their gazes locked with mesmerizing force sending points of energy screaming through her veins. Her heart pound wildly in her chest, captured by his handsome masculine features. Rationality abandoned her. Tracy simply stood frozen, incapable of saying one word.

  Unable to break old habits, she dragged an inquisitive gape over every inch of him, studying his bold handsome features. His gorgeous grey eyes narrowed in concentration, raking over her with unreserved slowness. She remained motionless, likening his collar length wavy hair and broad shoulders. The similarities he held to The Italian from her past were gut wrenchingly painful. Blistering heat welled in her chest. Damn it! I never should’ve come here! Being in Italy is just making it worse.

  Slowly, her feet slowly began to move, bringing her nearer. The fixed stare he held on her face turned frigid. Tracy recoiled, shrinking like a desert flower in the hot sun, from the utter disdain growing tighter in his jaw. Surely he’s not looking at me like that.

  Dropping her eyes to the floor, she slyly glanced to the left of her and then to the right. No one else stood near her. Why the hell is he looking at me like he wants to rip my head off?

  She opened her mouth to introduce herself, but had no saliva.

  “You’re bleeding all over.” His voice edged between impatience and loathing.

  She answered through dry lips. “I was moving my desk and got a sliver.”

  He marched toward her pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. “Your desk?”

  Tracy shuddered at the quiet, cold strain in his tone. It reverberated through her like two pieces of styrofoam rubbing against each other. Marshaling all her defenses, she replied, “I’m Tracy. Are you Antonio’s brother?”

  “Si`. I’m Vincent. And I know who you are,” his voice laced with venom.

  His head bent as he stood over her, gruffly grabbing her hand with the cloth. He wiped at the blood, making several painful passes over the sliver, cleaning off the tip of her finger. He stood so close, she could smell the outdoorsy scent of the cold winter’s day clinging to his heavy jacket. Attempting to calm her frazzled nerves she breathed in the sweet earthy smell. A squirming sensation gathered in the pit of her stomach.

  Vincent inspected the sliver. Anger rolled off him as he pulled a pocket knife from his jeans.

  “What the hell are you planning to do with that?” she protested attempting to yank her hand free.

  For a split second, Tracy thought she saw a tiny bit of a smile creeping through the clear look of despise rolling off him in waves like the Tuscan hillside.

  He clutched her hand in his. The warmth of his skin made her tremble, and it didn’t go unnoticed. “Hold still.”

  “Don’t cut my finger.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you. No matter how much I’d like to.” He muttered the last few words under his breath.

  “Excuse me?” Tracy scowled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Whatever he saw in her eyes made him ease off. Holding onto her hand, he hauled her closer to the door, into the direct sunlight streaming through the glass panels. He held her finger, pinching upward at the flesh near the base of the splinter. The light cast rays over their faces, illuminating strands of blue and grey in his eyes.

  “It’s deep,” she thought she heard him say through the buzzing in her ear.

  The aching in her finger didn’t compare to the agonizing reminders his smoky eyes unleashed on her heart. Emotions she thought she had put to rest, thoughts of The Italian, broke to the surface welling against her bottom lashes. Ridiculously aware of the sound of her own heavy breathing, and his, she instructed softly, “Just do it.”

  He carefully tucked the tip of the blade beneath the exposed tip of wood poking out from her skin.

  “Wait!” Drawn to him by some unidentifiable pull, she leaned closer brushing her arm against his. “Shouldn’t we sterilize it first? Burn the end of it?”

  Appalled by the suggestion, he rolled his eyes in disgust. Looking away, she took in the smooth texture of his freshly shaven throat. Tiny muscles at his jaw tightened as he concentrated, pulling the inch long piece of wood from her flesh.

  Vincent wrapped the cloth around her finger. She expelled a heavy sigh of relief and opened her mouth to say thank you, but he cut her off.

  “Don’t make yourself too comfortable, you won’t be here very long,” he warned, before walking out the door and slamming it behind him.

  Tracy jumped at the loud bang. She blinked repeatedly, staring in confusion. Heat climbed up her neck, striking a match to her ears.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Grabbing the handle, she considered going after to him, but dared not to open the door. Her heavy breathing fogged the glass watching him march past the end of the building and out of her sight.

  ****

  “Can you please explain to me what the hell is wrong with Italian men?” Tracy tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder organizing stacks of papers strewn all over her bed.

  “Let’s see. They’re entirely too good-looking, they tend to take longer getting ready than I do, and most can undress you in a blink of the eye.”

  “Antonio is like a fucking octopus!”

  “I was going to ask h
ow you’re holding up, but your F bomb answered that question.” A wicked giggle erupted on the other end of the line.

  Tracy knew her sister’s naughty chuckle all too well. She let out a giddy chuckle envisioning her little sister making an obscene humping gesture.

  “It could be worse,” JC chortled.

  “I don’t see how! He gave me an office to use and it’s directly across from his.”

  “At least he makes for a gorgeous view.”

  “He is so not my type,” Tracy scoffed indignantly. “Did I mentioned he has a fiancée?”

  “Ouch. Sucks to be her. At least Mr. Cop-a-feel seems to be taking your mind off the fact he looks a lot like you know who.” Her voice softened. “I expected you to be all depressed when I called.”

  Tracy stopped abruptly. Her lip curled, grumbling a sigh of disgust. “The similarities haven’t gone unnoticed.”

  After a brief silence, JC continued, “Sorry. It just seemed to be the elephant in the room. I saw how you reacted when you first saw Antonio at the party. We didn’t get to talk about it before I left, so I wanted to call and check on you.”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m over it. I have been for a long time.” Confidence hinged on borderline at best. Tracy added in revulsion, “And his brother is even worse.”

  “Two octopuses? Maybe you need me as an assistant. Or does he have a fiancée too?”

  “No I don’t need any help, nor do I give a shit if he’s got a fiancée or wife. The man barely spoke to me and acted like he wanted to rip my head off!”

  “Why?” JC asked with concern.

  “Who knows? But he definitely made it very clear he doesn’t want me here.”

  “Did you ask him why?”

  “No. He just pulled a splinter from my finger and slammed the door in my face.”