Ross had taken a small group through the Uffizi that morning and arrived at the winery a full hour after the festivities had gotten under way. He climbed the stairs and walked into the room alone, wearing slacks and a sports coat with a black T-shirt underneath. There was music playing in the hall, a band of elderly men with an accordion, a recorder and a guitar, playing cheerful Tuscan folk songs. Laughter and conversation filled the room.

Anna was the first to notice Ross’s entrance, and she walked to the doorway, escorted by a portly gentleman, moon-faced with a curt tuft of hair on his chin. Anna greeted Ross affectionately, kissing both of his cheeks.

“Good evening, Mr. Story. How are you today? So glad you could come.” They were the only three lines of English that she remembered verbatim from Eliana’s lessons, and she had recited the lines so formally that Ross had to fight the impulse to laugh.

“Ciao, Anna. You said that very well. You have very good English.”

She flushed. “No, my English is poor.”

“Looks like the festivities are in full swing.”

She looked at him blankly, not understanding what he said. Ross switched to Italian. “Thank you for inviting me. Is this your friend?”

The man reached out his hand. “I’m Andrea.”

“Piacere, Andrea. I’m Ross.”

“Piacere mio.” My pleasure. “And I don’t speak a word of English.”

Just then Maurizio walked up to Ross, wearing a loose-fitting beige Armani suit. Eliana was at his side, holding his hand, her eyes softly following him. She was made up for the occasion. Her cheeks were lightly rouged, accenting the deep crimson of her lips. She wore a sheer dress, orchid in color, that fell to her knees, with an open top that was slit down the middle to her waist. The two halves of the blouse were brought together with string, laced up, yet still open, exposing the pale, smooth skin of her breasts. He guessed Maurizio had bought the dress for her, dressing her up for show. If so, he had done a good job of it. She had never looked more beautiful, and it made Ross ache inside.

Maurizio raised both his hands to shoulder height, as if in surprise. “Mr. Story, you made it after all.”

“Yes. I had to work this morning. Thank you for the invitation.”

“This is your first Vendemmia?”

“Yes. Well, I don’t recall going to any in Minneapolis.” He looked over at Eliana, who was silently gazing at him. He tipped his head. “Mrs. Ferrini.”

“Hello, Signore Story. I’m glad you could come.”

“Thank you.” There was a momentary pause—a tension between them that Eliana hoped Maurizio would not notice.

“Where’s Alessio?” Ross asked.

Maurizio spoke. “He’s out playing with the other children.”

Ross rubbed his hands. “Well then, I’m new at this; where shall I sit?”

“Wherever you like. We’re at the table up near the front, but I’m afraid it’s full already.”

“There are plenty of other tables.”