by Diana Fraser
“I’m surprised you recognize my accent.”
“I don’t. But you have a Swedish name. But you’re not from Sweden?”
“Oh yes, I was born there. But my accent left me years ago when I was sent to boarding school in England.”
He frowned. “Boarding school? That must have been tough. How old were you?”
“Eleven.” She shrugged, not wanting to turn back the clock and remember the desperate sadness she’d felt. “But that’s okay. I learned to be a citizen of the world, not restricted to one place. I travel with my job and have apartments in Stockholm and New York. I have no place I call home, and that’s how I like it.”
Her confident tone didn’t appear to convince him. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Anyway, what else happens here?”
He nodded, accepting her change of conversation. “We have a torch-lit parade which winds through the town. The torches are then used to light the stacks. We sing as we walk, obviously.”
“Obviously. A parade isn’t a parade without a song.”
“Exactly. I can see you understand our ways already. And then, of course, we eat and drink. The local enoteche are all open and provide wine, and there’s fantastic food in the cafés.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“It is wonderful. Will you stay for the celebrations?”
She shrugged. “I’d love to, but I guess it depends on accommodation.”
“Let’s go and check it out. This way.” He guided her through the busy square to a hotel across from the abbey.
It seemed entirely natural as they made their way through the crowds for him to reach for her hand and for her to accept it. Otherwise, she reasoned, they’d have become separated. And she didn’t want to be lost twice in one day. And nor, it seemed, did he want to lose her.
The hotel was packed with tourists drinking at the bar. She followed Demetrio to the reception where he exchanged a few words in rapid Italian with the concierge whose shaking head and laughter made Ursula realize that she was out of luck.
“No room anywhere,” Demetrio explained. “But come, have a drink to warm yourself.”
“Thanks. But it’s beginning to get dark. I’ll need to get my car looked at.”
“Ursula, there’s no accommodation and certainly no garage mechanic who will leave his drink to venture into the mountains at this hour. No, come over to the fire while I get us some drinks.”
“But Demetrio, I need to find somewhere to stay even if I can’t get my car sorted.”
“What you’re overlooking is that you’ve found yourself a resourceful man, not only with a plan but also with parents who have a spare room.”
“Your parents? But—”
“Sit by the fire.” He shrugged off his wet jacket. “Here, you take this, and I’ll get you a drink, and then I’ll explain.”
Faced with the choice of trudging through the snow to stare helplessly at a car engine in the dark, or sitting by the fire and drinking with a handsome stranger, she decided her independence shouldn’t get in the way of reason. Not this time, anyway.
She peeled off her coat and hung it, together with his jacket, on the back of their chairs. Then she squeezed into the small nook seat by the roaring fire and soaked up its heat. Demetrio was right; she was chilled. She flexed her cold hands in front of the flames while she watched Demetrio wend his way between the jostling groups of people to the bar.
He was taller than most, and his much-washed checked shirt hung in soft folds from broad shoulders. With his hat off, she could see his hair—dark, curling and a shade too long. She sat back, lulled by the soothing heat of the fire. Hair too long for what, she thought? For a corporate boardroom, yes. But for a farmer, who’d brought her in from the cold? She sighed. For someone like that, his hair was the perfect length.
He turned and caught her eye, smiled, and raised the two large glasses of red wine above the crowds as he made his way back to her.
He sat down, by necessity, close—so close the heat from his thigh warmed hers—and raised his glass to hers. “Happy Christmas, Ursula! I hope you enjoy your stay here.”
She clinked her glass against his. “I’m enjoying it already.”
And she was. She could see him better now, even under the subdued lighting of the bar. With his olive skin, Roman nose and hair tumbling around his face, framing his dark eyes, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a renaissance painting. She had to force herself not to stare.
“Good, so am I. I hadn’t anticipated joining in the festivities so early. Not while there’s work to do.”
She sipped the red wine as she enjoyed the sensation of the heat bringing life back to her chilled limbs. “I’m sorry if I’m stopping you from your work.”
“It doesn’t matter. It can wait until tomorrow.”
“So what work should you be doing at this hour? It’s dark outside already.”
“There’s always something to do on the farm. But it’s okay. My family will have realized I’ve been delayed and have brought the animals in by now.”
Ursula’s heart sunk. Of course. He had a family waiting for him. No doubt a wife and children. She took another sip, her throat a little tighter now. She tried to smile. “Family? Your mother and father?”
“And all the rest. The farmhouse is always crowded at Christmas.”
Ursula didn’t say anything, hoping he’d describe precisely who his family comprised of. But it seemed Demetrio wasn’t about to elaborate.
“Now,” he continued, shifting in his seat, so he was half-facing her, his elbow on the back of the nook seat. “I have a proposition for you.”
Ursula’s stomach did a curious flip, and she focused on taking another sip of wine. “A proposition? That sounds interesting.” She glanced at him and couldn’t help noticing his disarming grin was back in place.
He inclined his head towards hers until their foreheads were almost touching. “I hope so.”
His voice was low, and she felt it more than heard it. She struggled to take a calming breath. “This proposition, does it include a place to stay?”
“It does indeed. Would you believe my parents have a spare room over a stable?”
She laughed, relieved to break the sexual tension that was threatening to derail her senses. “That’s a terrible joke.”
“It would be if it were a joke. But seriously, there is a guest room, and it is, believe it or not, above the old stables.” He laughed. “Don’t look at me like that. Would I put you anywhere near a working stable?” He plucked off a few stray dog hairs from her angora sweater. “You, with your fine clothes and”—his gaze dropped to her suede bag now soaked through and permanently stained—“ruined designer handbag.”
“Honestly? I think you might. But I’m very grateful to you, whatever condition it’s in, and I accept your kind offer. Do you think your parents will mind?”
“Mama will be thrilled to feed another person. And Papa would shoot me if he thought I hadn’t helped a lady in distress.”
“Your parents sound very generous.”
“They are. It’s a gift I’ve inherited.” Again that grin that did strange things to her stomach. “That’s settled then. Now, I’ll have missed dinner at home, so would you like to join me for dinner here?”
It would have been rude to refuse.
* * *
The snow had stopped falling by the time they stepped outside, and the temperature had dropped to below freezing. Ursula shivered in her thin coat and brought it tighter around her. Demetrio offered his arm. “You might slip in those boots,” he said, by way of explanation. “You’re not exactly dressed for the snow.”
It was entirely logical, she thought, as she accepted his arm, and they walked through the square, quieter now the excitement of the Christmas Eve preparations was over, and everyone had returned to their homes. And, as he squeezed her arm against his body, she couldn't help feeling that it was also perfectly lovely.
The snow had sett
led on the cobblestones, on the rooftops, and on the overhangs and ledges of the shops; everywhere was topped and edged in startling white. Even the stars, when she looked upward, were bright in the dark sky. As she walked in step with Demetrio through the thick snow, Ursula suddenly realized she felt very happy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this way.
“What’s brought a smile to your face?”
“Just one of those rare moments, you know, when you look around, and everything seems just right.”
“For you, these moments are rare?” He grunted but didn’t press for a response. Instead, he stopped in front of a huge bonfire, edged with snow. “So… what do you think?”
“It looks amazing.”
“I’ll look even more amazing tomorrow night when it’s lit. The kids love it.”
Ursula felt her smile slip a little. Whose kids? His? She’d spent an enjoyable evening with this stranger, but he hadn’t mentioned his marital status, and she hadn’t asked. All she knew was that he lived with his family. What was the point of asking? She’d find out soon enough.
“Come on. You’re not dressed for this weather. And by the looks of things, it’ll freeze tonight. Just as well we have the tractor.”
They walked to where the tractor was parked, and he helped her up. As they drove through the cold night, he pulled the tarpaulin that smelled of pine over their shoulders. “You’re shivering. Move closer to me.” He lifted his arm so she could get further under the tarpaulin. She did, and the heat which emanated from his body, soothed her shivers until she felt she was melting into his arms. He smelled of wholesome male outdoors—pine trees, fresh air and warm wool—and she closed her eyes and wanted the moment never to end.
“Don’t go to sleep on me,” he rumbled. “We’re here.”
She sat up, blinking under the bright snowy light. At the end of a farm track only five minutes from the town, but already deep into the countryside, was a two-story stone farmhouse from which lights spilled out across the snow, revealing neat, fenced enclosures and out-buildings. It looked ancient, but also homely and welcoming.
Demetrio drove the tractor into the open barn, jumped down and offered his hand to Ursula.
“Are you sure no one will mind?” she asked, as she jumped to the ground.
“Of course no one will mind.”
She felt strangely nervous as they walked the short distance to the farmhouse. Demetrio opened the front door to reveal a stone-flagged hallway. They hung their coats on an already cluttered old-fashioned coat stand and Demetrio turned to her with a smile. “Ready?”
She felt another flutter of nerves. What did she have to be ready for? She nodded. “Ready.”
He opened the door into a large kitchen and sitting room. It had a blazing fire at one end and an Aga at the other, over which a kettle was boiling. An older man of indeterminate age was asleep in the armchair beside the fire, an Italian pointer dog at his feet.
“And what time do you call this?” a very female, and certainly not old, voice called out. A beautiful woman in her twenties came into the room, one arm full of children’s toys, the other balancing a tea tray. Ursula’s heart sank.
“Marianna.” Demetrio kissed her on the cheek, took hold of the tea tray and placed it on the sideboard. “I’d like you to meet Ursula.”
Ursula kept the smile fixed on her face. It was no hardship; she was accustomed to hiding her thoughts and emotions, used to showing poise and an aloof exterior to cover her true feelings. It was the only way to keep safe.
“Her car broke down,” he continued. “So I gave her a lift. I’ve invited her to stay here tonight.”
“Of course. The hotels will be full all week. Welcome, Ursula.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Marianna. I hope my visit isn’t too inconvenient?” She looked at Demetrio, feeling almost betrayed by the closeness they’d experienced over the past few hours while, all along, his wife had been waiting for him at the farmhouse. Demetrio frowned, as if confused, and looked away. Why the hell had she trusted him? Wasn’t this the kind of thing from which she’d been running? People who said one thing and did another; people she loved, who didn’t love her?
“Not at all. Mama and Papa will be delighted to have more people.” Marianna inclined her head to Ursula. “They seem to think my three children aren’t enough.”
Ursula smiled faintly. “Sounds plenty to me.” Three too many.
“And I can assure you, it is plenty. Come now, and sit with Papa by the fire.” Marianna smiled, looking strangely unperturbed by her husband bringing home a strange woman in the middle of the night. “Demetrio!” She peered more closely at Ursula. “Are those dog hairs Ursula is covered with? You didn’t use that old dog blanket, did you?” She shook her head at his shrug. “Dio!” She dropped the toys into a big wicker basket.
“Papa!” Marianna kissed the top of the old man’s head. “Wake up. We have a visitor.” She nudged the dog. “Bacio, move!”
The dog reluctantly moved, and the old man jumped up, instantly alert. “I was just resting my eyes.”
“Sure, Papa.” Demetrio also kissed the old man. “Sit down again, and I’ll get us some drinks.”
But Papa wouldn’t hear of it, and after greeting Ursula, he took charge of pouring them all generous glasses of red wine. They were about to sit down when a baby began crying from somewhere else in the farmhouse.
Marianna and Demetrio exchanged looks. “Sit still,” said Demetrio. “I’ll go.”
Demetrio disappeared, and Marianna smiled at Ursula. “He’s so good to me.”
Ursula managed to maintain her smile and nod, in what she hoped appeared like agreement. But all she could think of was what she’d like to say to him for flirting with her while he had a gorgeous wife waiting for him at home. Instead, she turned to Papa.
“You have a beautiful home, sir.”
“Grazie. It’s been in our family for many generations. But it is too big for only Nonna and me. It needs a family.”
Ursula was confused. “Don’t you all live here?”
“Only Nonna and Papa,” Marianna replied. “That’s Mama and Papa. We call Mama ‘Nonna’ since the kids came along. But, yes, only they live here. Demetrio and I live in Florence. But Demetrio wants to move back to the farm.”
“And you don’t?”
“Oh no. It’s too quiet for me, but Demetrio loves it. He’ll be happy here.”
“Oh, it’s sad that you won’t be together.”
Marianna looked up. “Why?”
Ursula shrugged. “Because you seem happy together.”
“Me…and Demetrio?” A broad grin spread across her face. “You think we’re married?” She laughed too earthily for such a beautiful woman. “No, Ursula, he’s my brother. My husband, Vincenzo, is working away from home at present. Unfortunately, some things require attention whether or not it is a holiday.”
A wave of relief swept through Ursula. Ridiculous. She’d only known him an afternoon but somehow those moments snuggled together on the tractor, with nothing all around them but the falling snow and the piney smell of wood, made her feel close to him.
“We are the only two who are home this Christmas. My sisters are either working or with their families. We’re spread all over the world. It doesn’t make Nonna and Papa happy, I can tell you.”
The baby’s tired cries became more intermittent as the pacing on the floorboards overhead continued. Marianna sighed. “I’d better go and relieve Demetrio. Come, you’re yawning, I’ll show you to your room. It’s already made up. Nonna lives in the hope of visitors. She’ll be thrilled you’re here.”
They said goodnight to Papa who was damping down the fire, and went out into the stone-flagged hallway from each end of which two winding wooden staircases rose. “This way.” Ursula followed Marianna up the worn staircase and raised the latch on the first door which led into a corridor away from the main house. “The extension was built above the old stables. Nonna always keeps a spar
e bed ready and aired for visitors.” She opened the first door, and Ursula looked around the room. It was furnished with a small tester bed covered with a brightly checked duvet, and antique oak furniture. A rug added a touch of comfort and color to the dark-stained floorboards.
“It’s lovely.”
“There’s a bathroom next door.” Marianna looked around. “I hope you’ll be comfortable and that the kids don’t wake you. They’re next door and keep unsocial hours.”
Ursula couldn’t remember the last time she’d stayed in a house where children were so much in evidence. “I don’t mind. It’ll be fun. It makes it feel more like Christmas.”
Marianna held her gaze with the same eyes as Demetrio—eyes that zoomed right into her, focusing on the essentials, not the externals. It was both disarming and nerve-racking at the same time. Now she knew they were siblings, Ursula couldn’t believe she’d imagined otherwise. “I’m glad you found us, Ursula. I don’t like to imagine you alone in a hotel room on Christmas Eve.” And neither did Ursula now. But before she could respond, Marianna had quietly closed the door and retreated down the creaky wooden stairs.
Immediately the door, whose catch had barely caught, was nudged open and Bacio, the dog, clattered into the room and jumped on the bed, eyed her suspiciously, and made himself at home on the end of the bed.
Ursula tried to lure him away, tried pulling him off but, in the end, she had to admit defeat. She climbed into bed and made herself comfortable around the snoring dog.
She lay back and looked out the low window, the curtains of which she left undrawn. Beyond the farmyard, the track led to the road, and then the valley fell away, leaving an open vista of trees and mountains, all glowing under a thick carpet of snow and starlight.
How on earth had she ended up here? Deep in the heart of the Italian countryside, deep in the heart of a family? She’d begun the day determined to avoid being near family at Christmas, and she’d ended it sharing a bed with a dog that snored, and with the faint and now intermittent sound of a tired baby’s cries. How would she ever sleep?
They were her last thoughts as her eyes fluttered closed and she fell into a deep sleep, where dreams of falling snow were warmed by the memory of a man’s embrace.
