“This one’s just started.”

She ran her fingers across the base of his neck, causing goose bumps to rise on his skin.

“You have no idea how good that feels,” Ross said.

“Hmm. I think I do.” After a few more moments she sighed. “I better go.” She rubbed her hands back through her hair. It was matted on one side and Ross also ran his fingers through it. He stood, took her by the hand and lifted her. “When will you tell Maurizio?”

“He doesn’t come home until Friday.”

“Do you want me to be with you when you tell him?”

“No.”

“Will you call me right after you talk to him?”

“You can be sure of that.” He took her hand and they climbed around the fence and up to the street. The streets were still quiet and they walked the four blocks to her car. They kissed at length at her car. Finally she sighed and unlocked her door. “What about your painting? Do you want to take it now?”

“No, just bring it when you move out. This way you can still have me around for a few days.”

“Good idea.” She smiled and they kissed again.

“I love you,” she said.

He smiled. “I love you too.”

Then she reached her hands behind her neck and unclasped her necklace. She held it out to him. “This is for you until you can have the rest of me.”

He looked at the medallion then back at her as he slowly closed his hand around it. She started the car, then blowing him a last kiss, drove off. Ross stood in the street watching her until she turned the corner and was gone from sight. Then he looked again at the medallion. It reminded him of her words. He would have hope just one last time.

CHAPTER 32

“In premio d’amor, amor si rende.” Love is the reward of love.

—Italian Proverb

Eliana rolled down her window and let the cool morning wind rush by her. The ecstasy of being in love was far more potent than she imagined it could be, and she felt new. It had been a long time since she had indulged in passion or even the pleasure of hope.

She imagined their life together, and, ironically, the pull of family, the belief that they—she, Alessio and Ross—could be a family was powerful too. The drive home seemed short.

She pulled her car into the long drive of Rendola. The dash clock said seven twenty-three. She wouldn’t go in. Not yet. Not when she still felt like she could fly. She parked the car short of the villa, just outside the winery, and walked down to her secret place, where she and Ross had met after the vendemmia. From the low wall she could see the villa silhouetted against the morning sky. It seemed more like a prison to her now.

Her mind played out a thousand summer days and cozy, winter evenings to come. To be loved again, what could be so unimaginably sweet? The crisp, new autumn wind played with her hair, and she closed her eyes and imagined it was Ross running his fingers through it. She did not want the night to leave her. She relived their conversation, savored the memory of his voice. She thought of how her hand fit in his, his gentle touch as they kissed, his hand caressing her body, his lips against her skin, even how he had responded to her painting and how it filled her with pleasure.