“Gian is Camilla’s son.”
“Now he is, but he was Rosella’s. Rosella married a vineyard owner. Do you remember?”
Nona’s eyes darkened. “I told her to keep Gian. What kind of mother leaves her babies? No daughter of mine.”
“Because family is all that matters.”
“Yes. Yes. Family. In the end only family matters.”
“Gian wants to meet you, but my mother tells him not to come. She thinks you can’t love her son because he is also Rosella’s son. When Gian heard I was here, his first question was if you wanted to see him. He belongs here, Nona. Papa would want him here.” I had no idea what Papa would or wouldn’t want, and maybe people went to hell for putting words in the mouths of the dead, but this was too important.
My grandmother’s hand shook between mine; a spark of clarity shone in her eyes. “Christof?”
“Yes, Nona.”
“Papa does want that.”
Thank God. “Then that’s one of the reasons you can’t leave us. You don’t know this, but Gian learned Italian, Nona. He learned it so he could speak to you. Could I put him on the phone with you?”
“Yes.” It was all she said, but I didn’t need more than that to dial Gian’s number. It was still early there. He might be sleeping, but at least he wouldn’t be in class yet. If he wasn’t still furious with me, he’d pick up.
He did. “Four a.m., Christof. Most people wait until at least eight to apologize.”
I didn’t have time to waste, so I dived right in. “Gian, there’s someone here who would like to speak to you.”
I hit speaker and handed my phone to Nona, then sent up a request to Papa that he stay with her long enough for her to not say anything that would upset him more.
“Gian?” Nona asked.
In a thick, emotional voice, Gian answered in perfect Italian. “Yes, this is Gian.”
When neither said anything more, I interjected, “Gian, Nona would like to speak to you.”
There was an audible gasp from Gian’s side. “Nona?” What other old woman did he think I’d put on the phone with him?
“Yes, Gian,” I said. Then decided to give their connection a nudge. “Nona, Gian is studying to be a doctor.”
Nona made a scoffing sound. “I don’t like doctors. All they do is tell me what’s wrong with me. I know what’s wrong. I feel it every day. Don’t be such a downer; tell me what my body is still doing right—it’s a shorter list.”
Gian answered, “I’ll make sure not to be a downer of a doctor.”
Nona nodded. “A doctor. We don’t have doctors in the family. We have a butcher. It’s the same thing, I guess.”
This time Gian chuckled. “Hopefully not the same thing at all.”
“Your Italian is good, Gian.”
“Thank you, Nona.”
“Good enough to come to Montalcino, you think? And get my radio back from the man who has been fixing it for a month? Take a week to fix something, you’re a hero. Take a month, you’re a thief. I bet he listens to my radio every night and loves it too much to return it.”
“What do you think, Gian? Would you like to come and help me find Nona’s radio? We’ll go shake down this repairman together,” I said.
“Don’t shake him,” Nona said. “Alberto is two years older than me. Old bones don’t need rattling.”
“I would love to come,” Gian said. “I could be there by tonight. Mauricio and Wren have a rental plane readied here in case I wanted to go.”
“Mauricio,” Nona said with excitement. “And my Wren.” She gave me a long look. “Christof.”
I smiled and nodded. “Christof. Except when you catch me doing something wrong; then it’s okay to call me Mauricio.”
Nona cackled.
Gian laughed as well.
From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of McKenna in the doorway of the kitchen. I rose and joined her there. “Nona’s talking to Gian. He’s flying over to meet her.”
She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around my waist, and gave me a full-body hug that moved me in a way not many things in my life ever had. “I knew you could do it.”
I hugged her against me, tucking her head beneath my chin. “I had help.” I looked skyward. You did good, Papa.
“Me?” she asked, tipping her head up so she could see my face.
Sure. I nodded. I wasn’t about to tell her I’d been referring to a more divine intervention. The talk she’d given me that morning had definitely played into how I’d approached speaking to Nona. Because of McKenna, I’d known what I wanted, and that had allowed me to break the goal down into achievable steps.
Even a mountain was not insurmountable if you took it one step at a time. That was all I was doing: putting one foot in front of the other as I continued toward my goal of getting my family beyond this.
I studied her face. Beautiful, but she always was. She was dressed in casual slacks and a conservative top, with her hair and makeup freshly done. Perfect for visiting with family, but I wasn’t surprised. I thought of all the women who might have worn something much more revealing, thinking it would please me, but really all it would have done was make things awkward with my family. McKenna naturally picked up on the vibe of a situation. There was no mystery about why she was as successful in business as she was. “We have the day free; how would you like to spend it?”
She arched an eyebrow, then said, “But I’d settle for a tour of your hometown.”
Most of my blood left my brain and headed south. “You should never settle for less than you want. Last night one of my cousins gave me this.” I took an old-fashioned key out of my pocket. “It’s a guesthouse at the bottom of the hill, cleaned and stocked with food in case our visit requires breaks from Nona’s.”
She laughed with delight. “Are you serious?”
I repocketed the key. “We’re not the first couple to stay here, and if anyone understands the impatience of new lovers—it’s Italians.”
We spent a heated moment simply breathing each other in. I bent my head until my lips hovered over hers. I was flying high off the breakthrough with Gian and my nona. What better way to celebrate?
“Ouch!” I exclaimed as the wooden spoon cracked across my lower back.
“Out,” Nona said in a raised voice while waving my phone in one hand and the long spoon in her other. “Go play outside.”
I winced but laughed and retrieved my phone from her hand before translating to McKenna. “She says we should take this out of her house.”
She was laughing as well. “I gathered that.”
Nona continued chastising us. I was about to repocket my phone when I realized Gian was still on the line. I took it off speaker. “Be on your best behavior while you’re here, Gian. This is where Mom learned her ninja moves.”
He laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” In a more serious tone, he said, “Hey, Christof. Thanks. I mean that. It was a lot to process, but I know you’d never lie to me.”
“It’s a highly charged situation, Gian. When you get here, you’ll understand why Mom made the decisions she did. She might have been wrong, but everything she did was because she loves you.”
“Mauricio and Wren helped me see that. I wasn’t happy that you sent them, but now I’m glad you did. I would have still been upset with you this morning if they hadn’t come, and I would have missed the gift you just gave me.”
I met McKenna’s gaze as I answered. “All I did was what you would have done for me. We’re brothers.”
“I love you, Christof,” he said. “I’ll be there tonight.”
“Love you too,” I answered. “Now I have to go because Nona is getting a bigger spoon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MCKENNA
Hand in hand with Christof, I stepped out of Nona’s villa and squinted as my eyes adapted to the bright Tuscan sunlight. After my shower, I’d called Ty to update him. I left out all the parts of the trip that were confusing and focused on how st
rong homemade wine was. I told him about Christof’s many cousins, his hilarious grandmother, and how warmly I was being accepted.
“I’m half expecting you to return married. I’ve never heard you talk like this,” Ty said.
I laughed his comment off, told him he was confusing my newfound love of travel with something else. Still, his words stuck with me. Especially each time I looked down at the ring on my finger. He still regretted not taking a leap for love. I’d not only leaped—I was still free-falling. I wasn’t ready to talk it out with Ty yet, though. I wanted a little more time to pretend this could all work out.
Ty and I had moved the conversation on to business, and the call had ended with a request from him that I call again the next day. I’d promised to.
Realizing that Christof and I were walking rather than getting into a car, I asked, “Where are we headed?”
He spun me to his side, pulled me close, then growled into my ear, “Guesthouse?”
My breath quickened. Oh yes. “Is it far?”
“A few miles. We could bike there, but you said you wanted to see some of my hometown as well, so I thought we’d walk, at least until the edge of town.”
“Then?”
“Then someone will give us a ride to the guesthouse.”
“Someone? Like a taxi?” I didn’t see any.
We started walking again. “No need for one here. Worst case, we could make it down the hill on foot. But I’m confident we’ll come across enough family along the way that we’ll be offered more rides than we need.”
As we walked along, I was transported back in time. We stopped at the entrance of the towering medieval fortress. Surrounded by a roped-off lawn, the pentagon-shaped fortezza stood tall and proud in impressively good condition. Its towers still looked accessible, and I could only imagine the view they would provide of the area. I wanted to see the inside but was torn. I also wanted to get Christof alone and didn’t want to risk anything that would change how he was looking at me as if I was everything to him.
“Would you like to go inside?” he asked.
“Would you?” I parried and then hated how much I sounded like every weak-minded woman I’d ever mocked.
His smile warmed me down to my toes. “I do and I don’t. I want you in my arms, right now, but then I also want you to have a chance to fall in love with this town as I did. I don’t believe you can if you treat its history like a profile on Tinder, swiping past whatever isn’t instantly pleasing.”
I put a hand on my hip. “Oh, so you’ve swiped?”
His cheeks flushed. “Hasn’t everyone?”
“And here I thought you were a good boy.”
“I don’t know why. I never said I was.”
I searched his face. “You keep talking about waiting.”
“With you. I want what my nona had with Papa—what my parents have.” I listened in fascinated silence as he told me a confusing story about farms and cow dung and how when something was meant to be, it worked itself out. “Times have changed, but some things don’t. My parents love each other, but the respect they have for each other shines through as well. If I ever do marry, I want that.”
If he ever does marry.
If.
Oh yes, because regardless of how real the ring on my finger feels, it doesn’t represent a promise of anything. “I want the same thing with someone I don’t have to give up being me for.”
He nodded. “So I’ll ask you again, and this time tell me what you want instead of asking what I do. Do you want to see the inside of the fortress?”
I threw my arms around his neck. “I do. I want to see the museum, taste whatever it is they’re selling from that shop over there, then make our way to the guesthouse the long way . . . stopping at whatever we both see of interest.”
He claimed my mouth then, but I met that kiss with just as much passion as he brought. Could he be as right as he felt? I didn’t know, but I let myself stop questioning and just enjoyed the taste and feel of him.
We toured the fortress, then stopped at craft shops and a clock tower, but we passed on stopping in at any wine bars. We were too eager to be alone to spend much time at any of the places, but I loved seeing the town through his eyes. Each time Christof came across someone he knew, he introduced me as his fiancée with pride, as if our engagement were real—both confusing and wonderful at the same time.
I met so many people that day, but there was one who would always stand out in my mind. Her name was Gianna. She looked about Nona’s age, with a toothless smile and gray hair piled on her head in a loose bun. She met us at the door of her home with a smile and fresh pastries. It didn’t take more than that to lure us in.
When Christof told her I renovated old cars, she kissed the cross around her neck and said she had the perfect wedding present for us. Like a good marriage, it would require some work, she said, but she wanted us to have it.
She led us down a narrow driveway to a small garage where a bright-red convertible two-door 1949 Alfa Romeo Super Sport sat on four flat tires. She said it had belonged to her husband. They’d hoped to leave it to one of their children, but he’d died before they’d had any. So there it sat, waiting to be loved again.
It was dust covered, clearly neglected, and fucking amazing. Forgetting for a moment that Christof and I were not actually headed down the aisle, I ran my hand over the hood of it and said, “We’d name him Chris.”
Christof put an arm around my waist and kissed me on the cheek. “I like that. Think he could beat Mack? At least it’d be a fair race. Your father’s car would blow Mack away.”
I imagined Christof and me doing laps around the tracks at Decker Park. “Wouldn’t it be fun to find out?”
“It would.” He kissed me on the cheek again then. I would have loved to see the car’s engine before we left, but Gianna began to look tired from our visit.
And I came to my senses enough to remember Christof and I were not in need of a wedding gift. I pushed those thoughts back, though, refusing to let myself ruin the rest of our day. After thanking Gianna and promising to invite her to the wedding, we continued our walking tour.
At the end of town Christof flagged down a car that was—surprise—driven by one of his cousins. I was beginning to think the term was used more generously here than back in the States. When he explained where we were going, the man put a hand to his heart and said, “Young love. I would miss it if my babies did not bring me so much joy. I have six now. It’s a good number, Christof.”
“Six?” I asked, eyes widening. “I was thinking one or two.”
Christof shrugged. “She’s American, but I love her.”
His cousin laughed.
I jabbed Christof in the ribs with my elbow. “You’re American too.”
His cousin joked, “Not in the kitchen, and I hope never in the bedroom.”
Christof laughed along but shot me a silent request to not say—what? Oh, that he could cook. Luigi knew, but apparently, it wasn’t something Christof was proud of. Was cooking not considered macho? I held my tongue. He was a man straddling two worlds, and I could respect that.
Respect. I’d never put much thought into what a rare commodity it was. People tended to give it to those they thought were the same as they were, but it quickly dissolved when differences appeared. That was what Christof was acknowledging about this cousin he obviously knew and liked. Christof didn’t think he’d still be respected by his family if they knew the other sides he’d shown me.
Did his brothers know he cooked? I hoped so. How sad that Christof couldn’t be himself with so many of the people he loved.
We climbed into the back of Christof’s cousin’s car and sped down a long, winding road. When we stopped, Christof shook hands with his cousin, I thanked him, and a moment later we were left standing in the driveway of a small stone house on the edge of an olive orchard. In classic Tuscan style, it had a tiled roof, vines growing up one side, and stone walls that looked as if they’d weathered ma
ny storms.
Perfect. Romantic.
I met Christof’s gaze, and my body warmed with anticipation. I licked my bottom lip and let out a shaky breath. “It’s beautiful.”
Desire shone in his eyes, but there was also a twinge of sadness. “All of this used to belong to my family. Now it belongs to a foreign buyer . . . or maybe even Dominic already. I don’t know. Salvatore leases this land, but not for long if I mess any of this up.”
I caressed one of his cheeks and turned his face toward mine. “You won’t.”
He gathered me to him for a hug that at first was more about comfort than sex. “You don’t know how much it means to me to have you here.”
Against his chest I mumbled, “I feel the same about being here.”
He swept me up into his arms then and carried me toward the door of the guesthouse. Only when we were on the stone landing before the door did he say, “The key is in my pocket. Hang on.” He juggled me in his arms while fishing around in one pocket.
“Don’t you dare drop me,” I said.
“Dammit, I just had it.”
I brought my hand around to the back pockets of his jeans and stuck my hand inside. “Thought so,” I said as my hand closed around the key, then waved it triumphantly in the air.
He stepped closer to the door. “Well, use it; you’re not getting any lighter.”
My mouth dropped open in surprise. I would have said something scathing, but laughter glinted in his eyes, and he kissed my retort clear out of my head.
Between kisses, I fumbled to unlock the door.
The door crashed open. Christof carried me through it, kicked it shut behind him, then lowered me to the floor in front of him. Our hands feverishly pulled at each other’s clothing. I untucked his shirt. He pulled mine clear over my head.
My bra hit the floor a second later.
His mouth worked magic from my neck down to kiss the tips of my breasts, which his hands cupped, before returning to my mouth. That tease sent a shudder through me. I undid his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders.
The Secret One Page 17
