“There’s nothing like fresh pasta.”

“I’ll bring some over as soon as I figure out how to make it.”

“I’ll look forward to it. It’s not that hard to make.”

“You’re talking to a man who considers TV dinners a challenge.”

“That will change here.”

“It’s already started. I didn’t realize how serious the Italians take their cooking. My first week in Italy I was in a ristorante and I committed a major faux pas.”

“What happened?”

“I ordered fettuccine noodles with shrimp; then I asked for Parmesan cheese. The waiter asked what I needed the cheese for. I said, For my pasta. His eyes got really big; then he shouted out to the entire restaurant that I was putting Parmesan on my shrimp fettuccine. Then he handed me the cheese and a grater, looking the other way as he did, so he wouldn’t be an accessory. After he left my table, the couple next to me told me that I should never put cheese on seafood. I realized then that food in Italy is a religious rite and I had committed sacrilege.”

She laughed. “I have also defiled many a dinner.” She looked at his plate. “I’ll get the next dish.”

She cleared their plates then brought back two plates of carefully sliced meat, garnished with rucola leaves.

Ross speared the meat with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. Eliana watched expectantly as he chewed. When he swallowed, she raised one eyebrow. “Well?”

“You are as fluent in the kitchen as you are in the language.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How about a toast?”

“Oh yes. What shall we toast? We could toast your new life in Italy. Or the wild boar.”

“How about your son’s health.”

Her mouth rose in a gentle smile. “Thank you.” She raised her glass. “Alla salute di Alessio.”

“Salute.”

They touched glasses then drank.

“It’s good wine.” He held up his glass, turning it to the light. “L’incanto?”

She nodded.

“What’s it like being in the wine business?”

“For me it’s one of the good things about being in Italy. If you’re here in October you can join us for the Vendemmia, the harvest. Then, after it’s all done we have a big feast in the winery. All of the workers dress up in their Sunday best and come by with their wives or lovers”—she stopped herself—“not both of them, of course . . .”

Ross grinned. “Of course.”

“. . . and then we have a big Tuscan feast.”

“Anna was telling me about it. How long does the harvest last?”

“It depends on the weather, but usually a couple weeks.”

They ate a moment in silence. Ross finished his meat then laid down his fork. “How long have you lived here?”

“In Italy?”

“The villa.”

“The same. We’ve lived here since we came to Italy.”

“You seem to have plenty of room. How big is your apartment?”

“I don’t know how big in meters or feet. It’s big. We have six bedrooms and four bathrooms.”