“We rent out rooms occasionally. For people who want to experience a working vineyard. I teach cooking classes, and Santini sells the wine.”

“Serves the wine. The vino sells herself.” He winked.

Tessa raised her glass, her gaze finding his. Smiled, and the heaviness lifted. Then Tessa turned to RJ. “We’re glad you’re here. Stay as long as you’d like.”

They’d have to kick her out.

Tessa helped RJ lead a sleepy Hana to a room on the third floor, small, single bed with a yellow coverlet. They tucked in the kitty next to her.

“Don’t worry about her,” Tessa said. “She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Then Tessa showed her to the room next door. The wooden floors creaked as she entered. The window overlooked the pool area, the furniture had to be antique, but freshly polished, but a crisp white duvet covered the double bed, and fresh yellow roses filled a vase on the bedside table.

“Sleep well,” Tessa said as she let herself out.

Not a chance. RJ didn’t know if it was the buzz of the past couple days, but as she climbed into the double bed, under crisp white sheets, she stared at the wooden beams of the ceiling, the glass chandelier catching the moonlight and knew she should be on her honeymoon.

She finally got up, wrapped the sheet around her. And now stood at the window.

Find me, York.

A knock on the door turned her. “Come in.”

The door eased open, and Ziggy came in, wearing a pair of track pants and a tee-shirt, her hair down. “I heard the floor creak and thought you might be up.”

“I’m exhausted, but my brain won’t shut off.”

Ziggy was carrying a book. “I get that.” She held out the book. Worn blue cover, the spine loose. “It’s a memoir, written by my Nonna Angelica. Published in Italian in the 1980s, then translated into English in the early nineties. It’s the story of Fred and the Italian resistance and…I thought you might enjoy it. It’s actually been optioned for a movie, so we’ll see. But that was years ago, so, probably nothing will come of it. Still. Like Mamma Tessa said, it’s worth telling.”

RJ took the book. Opened it. A signature was scrawled in black ink on the front page. To Sigfrid, love Nonna. “This is your copy?”

“One of the few that remain. It was a small printing.” Ziggy came to stand by the window. “I love it here at night. The wind in the trees, the smell of the vines. It was a beautiful place to grow up, especially after my parents died.”

RJ frowned. “What?”

Ziggy turned to her. “Tessa and Santini are my aunt and uncle. My parents were killed in a car accident when I was four. Mamma Tessa and Papà Santini adopted me. Tessa was my father’s half-sister.”