“Perhaps we should let the wine breathe,” he suggested. What a pity their paths were unlikely to cross again, he thought. He told her of his family, of his business, but left out that he owned several vineyards, passed to him by his father on his retirement. He spoke of Rosetto with such pride. Holly had an image of him, as a kind of Italian laird. If she had only known the half of it.
He spoke of the re-enactments they held at the beginning of June, of the Ferie della Giostra – the jousting ceremony and craftsmen showing off their art, teaching the younger generations how to carry out the ancient arts of book binding and arrow making. He told her of the determination of the locals to beat their neighbouring Carduccio. To Holly it was highland games, but far more interesting and romantic, as befitted twelfth century Tuscany. His friend was undefeated in the archery tournament since 1997. People came from the length and breadth of Italy, to see if they could beat him. The festivities lasted a week, but with the anticipation before the events and the enthusiasm and good natured sense of belonging which permeated the whole village it felt more like a month.
The weather had improved. Only the odd tiny puddle remained here and there, so Dario suggested they sit outside. An old fashioned lean-to canopy clung to the side of the house. Dario switched on the lights and stepped outside. Picking up a long wooden pole, he pushed the water laden sections of the canopy, upwards. However, he wasn’t quite quick enough to move out of the way and managed to almost drown himself with the water which spilled over. Holly grinned, as, soaked through, he looked up at her. She had no need to ask what “Cazzo,” meant. Pulling out a wicker chair, Dario invited Holly to sit and said he would go and change.
A blanket lay on a shelf next to her and picking it up, Holly wrapped it around her. Dario had only just left the room and already she missed him. Even though she wasn’t doing anything wrong, she felt guilty. She didn’t want to sleep with him, but found it hard to believe she could like someone so much when they had just met, especially when she already had a wonderful boyfriend. This was torture.
Dario returned wearing a white t-shirt, which perfectly showed off his physique. The two continued to blabber on, each aware of the sexual chemistry which was playing out, but both believing it was one-sided. It was getting late and Holly yawned.
“You must be tired. It has been a stressful day for you. We should go to bed now,” stated Dario.
Startled, Holly’s heart leapt. Then she realised she had probably lost something in translation and Dario meant they should go to bed, separately. But Dario had seen the way Holly reacted and had decided it was now or never. Maybe what he had read in Holly’s expression had been desire, he couldn’t be sure, but he was going to find out. He turned out the lights and escorted Holly to her room. Outside, he stopped and said “Goodnight” and leaning in, he kissed her. Holly kissed him back, expecting the sensation to last a mere instant, but he began placing little kisses tenderly around the edge of her lips. She couldn’t breathe. She shouldn’t be doing this, but was powerless to stop herself. All evening she had imagined this happening and now it was. She hadn’t even known he was interested. Dario flicked his tongue gently inside her mouth, across her teeth, finding her tongue, until Holly moaned softly beside him. All of a sudden she stopped him.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” she took hold of his arms, to distance herself from him. “I really like you, but I have a fiancé and I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“I kissed you,” Dario said quietly. “And I can only say that I wish I was your boyfriend. Lots of women are not so faithful. I am sorry if I offended you.”
“Not at all. If things were different...”
A brief silence ensued.
“What time do you want me to wake you?” Dario finally broke the uncomfortable silence.
“Whenever suits you.”
“Eight o’clock then.”
“Fine. Thank you, for everything.”
Dario lay in bed and wondered if ‘for everything’ included his kiss. He hoped so. It took him a long time to fall asleep, but when he did his thoughts were of this particularly captivating Scottish woman.
Holly also had trouble sleeping. It was too quiet. Crickets chirruped in the garden. She felt so guilty. She had let Dario kiss her. In four years, she had never kissed anyone but Tom. She loved him. They were getting married. Maybe it was the fine wine, which had gone to her head. Exhausted, she drifted into a restless slumber.
“Buongiorno, signorina.” Holly opened her eyes to see a wizened old lady standing in front of her bearing a cup of coffee.
“Ha dormito bene?” chirped the old woman again.
“Si, ho dormito benissimo, grazie,” she lied.
The elderly lady, happy Holly had slept well, turned to go, but as she was leaving, she said,
“The mechanic will be here in an hour to collect you. Breakfast is ready downstairs.”
“Is Dario up yet?” enquired Holly.
“Yes, but he has gone over to the vineyard. He left a note.”
Holly barely touched her breakfast. When she reached the breakfast room, she looked for Dario’s note. She picked it up eagerly and after reading the single line, turned it over to read the back, but it was blank. Dismayed, she re-read the line, hoping to translate it into something with more substance, but the stubborn,
“Sorry. I have to work. I have asked the mechanic to collect you,” couldn’t be expanded into anything with more feeling. It was with a heavy heart that Holly left L’Uliveto an hour later.
“Grazie, Signore,” Holly bid farewell to the mechanic, happy that her car was roadworthy again. A bit of a dent in her credit card, but she would be reimbursed by the car hire company.
Holly had been unable to think of anything all day, but Dario. Dario and Tom. She tried not comparing them, but it wasn’t possible. Tom was a bear of a man. He was reliable and provided safety and security, but Dario had awakened feelings of passion in her, which she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt for Tom. Holly tried to blot out this disloyal thought from her mind. She felt unfaithful just feeling like this. With a sigh of exasperation, she realised she was heading in the wrong direction. Glancing briefly at the map, she dropped it on the passenger seat and navigated a u-turn.
You can find Sign of the Times on Amazon.com
Table of Contents
THE DATING GAME
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Note from the Author
Excerpt: SIGN OF THE TIMES
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The Dating Game Page 36
