Luscious (22 page)

The sun was merciless and the bugs were biting. Her father hadn’t been kidding about the amount of work that needed to get done. She felt like she’d peered beneath every leaf in the vineyard, looking for mold, signs of bugs or anything that might damage the vines. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and examined a bunch of purple-black Corvina grapes.

Her father dropped another box of sparkly ribbon at her feet. She picked up a trailing strand and tied it to the trellis to scare the birds away. He watched her work for a minute, nodding his approval. When she glanced over at him, his eyes were serious. “Do you know why we dry the grapes for Amarone?” he asked.

Olivia stopped working and frowned. “No, actually. I never thought about it.”

He nodded. “Part of the reason is to concentrate the sugar, but there is something special about the Corvina. Dehydration stresses the grapes and brings out flavors and aromas that are found in no other varietals.” He touched her shoulder. “Like you,
figlia
. Your stress has made you strong. Unique. Valuable.”

She turned back to the vine. She didn’t know what to say.

He patted her shoulder again and headed back down the row to the tractor. Her brain buzzed with the heat, the mosquitoes, her father’s words. She wanted to believe him, but she didn’t feel strong.

She felt used, worn out, and broken. How could Sean have left her here—just like that? How could she have been so wrong about what was happening between them? He’d wanted a week, and she had wanted…more. Given another few days, she might have been thinking in terms of marriage and babies and building a life together. She had already begun planning her return to New York. She grasped a post, afraid this last failure might take her down to her knees again, and if it did, she wouldn’t be able to find the strength to get up this time.

Hadn’t she learned anything from her marriage? She had nearly run Chameleon into the ground by allowing her ex-husband to make decisions she didn’t feel capable of making herself. She sucked in a harsh breath as she realized she had wanted Sean to guide her too. God, she was such a weakling, hoping for a man to ride in with answers, waiting for Romeo, sad sack that he was, to rescue her.

The blame wasn’t entirely hers this time; she hadn’t asked Sean to come to Italy with her. However, she had certainly allowed him to take charge of her state of mind once they got here. Well, not anymore. Now he was gone and she could go back to figuring out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. She had felt strong, secure, and capable with him, and she refused to believe he had taken her strength with him when he left.

You
let
him
go
, the voice that had been getting louder over the last few weeks declared.

She grabbed more ribbon and tied it, taking stock of her life. Her marriage was over. Joe and Marlene had Chameleon covered. Sean was gone. What was left for her?

Her heart throbbed. She missed him. How was that even possible? Tears ran down her face. She lifted her shoulder to wipe the moisture out of her eyes and continued to move through the vineyard, examining the vines one leaf at a time.

***

Sean stood as he spotted Russo striding into the airport. “Thank you for meeting me here,” he said as his client stopped in front of him.

“Not a problem,” Russo replied. “I was glad to get away from Marilyn. She planned to drag me to Venice today.” The older man led the way to the ticket counter where the same woman was waiting. “Let’s make the changes to your ticket, and then I’ll give you some traveling money.”

Sean handed his passport across the counter with a smile. “Let’s try his card now.”

She tapped numbers into her keyboard. “I’m sorry, sir, but the ten thirty is full. I can get you on the seven o’clock flight tomorrow morning.”

Too late for Colin. Damn it. “Are there any other options?” he asked, trying to hold his patience.

“I could check flights leaving Venice.” She looked hopeful, probably wishing to avoid the scene he was about to cause. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“There’s a direct flight to New York City leaving Venice at ten o’clock tonight, and from there you can take a connection that arrives at eleven thirty tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll take it,” Sean said. “What’s the quickest way to Venice?”

“The train,” she began, pointing toward a sign.

“Nonsense,” Russo interrupted. “We’ll get a taxi and I’ll go with you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go to Venice.”

“Not with Marilyn. I can’t go to the most romantic city in the world with my wife.” He shuddered and leaned against the counter.

Sean stared at him for a moment before he shrugged, figuring it didn’t matter how he got there or with whom as long as he got on that plane tonight. A few minutes later the woman handed him an updated itinerary and Russo signed for the charges. “Thank you very much for your help,” he said before he followed Russo toward the airport exit.

Russo had already caught the attention of a taxi driver and was opening the door. Sean climbed into the back with him, fastening his seat belt as Russo leaned into the front seat and said, “Take us to Venice.”

Sean checked his phone for messages and sent Colin another text. Why the hell wasn’t his brother contacting him? He tried his mother again. No answer. Again. God, what if Colin was already in jail?

“How are things going with your wife?” Sean asked, trying to distract himself.

“Fine.” Russo’s voice was curt.

Sean looked out the window, doubting that Russo was telling the truth but reluctant to pry. Beautiful scenery passed at a fast clip, and after about an hour, the driver dropped them off at a curving bridge.

“Let’s see what Venice has to offer,” Russo said with an almost manic gleam in his eye.

Sean followed him over the bridge to a narrow footpath, watching Russo check his phone again, as he had every few minutes during the ride. The last time Russo had been avoiding his wife, she had called or texted every few minutes. Mrs. Russo must have changed her tactic. Grudging admiration made him wonder again if he was on the wrong side of this battle.

Russo bought pastries for them and continued to walk, dodging an aggressive street vendor intent on selling him an elaborate gold watch. “No
grazie
.”

Russo seemed lost in thought and that suited Sean perfectly. They made a damn fine pair tramping all over Venice, glaring at their cell phones and making polite comments about churches and architecture. After about two hours, they paused to rest in a square that housed an enormous clock with a bell on top. “Gondola?” Russo asked.

Sean nodded and they were off again. As they traveled down the Grand Canal in a gondola draped with Persian rugs, all Sean could think about was the night he and Olivia had eaten at Trio.
There
aren’t any gondolas in Verona. The canals are in Venice
. He wished she was here with him now.

Russo looked as morose as Sean felt as he called to the gondolier to take them to shore. After paying their fare, they headed toward one of the many restaurants that lined the canal. Russo looked in at the display of fresh crab in the window and cursed. “No matter what I do, I can’t escape her.”

Sean raised an eyebrow.

“Marilyn loves fresh crab.” Russo scowled.

Sean followed him inside, offering no comment as they were seated and allowing Russo to order for both of them. He sipped his wine and tried to reach Colin again, unsurprised when a great mound of chopped crabmeat piled high in its shell arrived at the table. He picked up his fork and dug in, frowning when the smell of fresh herbs made him think of Olivia.

“You left her, huh?” Russo shoved his plate away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He refilled their wineglasses. His eyes, when he met Sean’s gaze, were fierce. “Better now than in thirty years when it’s too late.”

“We wouldn’t be sitting here now if it were too late. You’ll get your divorce.” He couldn’t keep the rancor out of his tone.

Russo shook his head and glowered. “It’s no use.”

Sean crossed his arms, glaring back at him.

“My wife is demanding. What do they call it these days? High maintenance? Everything has to be done a certain way, at home and at work, or there’s hell to pay. She insists we drive to work every morning, even if I have to wait for her to get ready, sitting in the car, fuming. She stays up late at night, reading, although she knows I hate the light in my eyes. She’s everywhere—at her desk every time I leave my office, in the kitchen every time I want a snack, in bed before me every night, and now…” He trailed off, staring into his glass.

“Now?” Sean prompted.

“Now that she’s gone, I’m confused when I come out of my office and she’s not at her desk. I can’t sleep without her reading light shining in my eyes.” He sighed, seeming to shrink a bit in his chair before he gained steam again. “I sat in the car for fifteen goddamn minutes the other morning, waiting for her to come out of the house. I do things my way now, at home and at work, but when I do, I think of her, every time, with every change, and I don’t feel the satisfaction I thought I would. She’s still driving me crazy every single day.” He downed the rest of his wine and gave Sean a belligerent look. “Her absence is driving me crazy. All these years I wanted to get rid of her but now that she’s gone I’ve discovered something horrible. I love her more than I loathe her. Go figure.” Russo’s mocking chuckle turned into a sob and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

Sean looked away, giving the man a moment to compose himself. The gilded gondolas gleamed in the light of the setting sun. When he turned back, Russo’s eyes were watery and his expression was haggard. There was defeat in the sag of his shoulders beneath his expensive suit.

Russo spoke softly, as if he were talking to himself. “All day, I thought of her. In the taxi. On the bridge. In the gondola. I think of her every time I take a step, every time I take a breath. I can’t stop thinking about her…”

Sean cleared his throat. “Then what the hell are you doing with me?”

“Because I’ve ruined everything!” Russo grabbed his temples, making his thick hair stick out in sharp tufts.

Sean shook his head. “No, you haven’t. The woman loves you, God knows why. Don’t waste it. Go back to Verona and tell her how you feel.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“What am I going to say? ‘Sorry, darling, I forgot I loved you’? ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a bastard for, oh, twenty years’? She must hate me. Can’t you tell her for me?”

“Coward.”

Russo gave him another imperious scowl. “Don’t forget, you work for me.”

“Not anymore.” It was way past time to step out of the middle. “I quit.”

***

The sun was beginning to set when her father patted her on the shoulder and said, “
Finito
.” The day had passed in a blur of sun, sweat, grapes, and tears. Her fingers felt sticky. Her shoulders ached from raising her arms to tie the shiny ribbons. She had taken no breaks except to help her father get the bins out of storage.

She was grateful for the exhaustion that made her mind as leaden as her muscles. She washed her hands and sat down with the guests in the dining room, ate her dinner without tasting it or hearing a word that was spoken around her until her father kissed her cheek.

“Get some rest,
cara
,” he said.

She nodded and watched the guests leave the table, noticing that Mr. Russo was absent. She thought about calling out to Mrs. Russo, who looked a little lost herself, but remained silent, not sure she could take any more misery.

She pushed away her untouched tiramisu and pillowed her chin in her hands, mustering the strength to climb the stairs in an upright position. Her arms had done most of the work today, but she had also spent time stooping and bending. Could her legs support the weight of her upper body? Or should she go sleep on a lounge chair on the patio?

As the thought crossed her mind, she knew she was in trouble. The last time she had considered such a thing, Sean had been here. She had been happy. They had kissed, almost made love, and she had fallen asleep in his arms. She swallowed thickly, feeling her mother’s eyes on her as she rose, hoping to get to the stairs before the tears began again. The vines could not comment on her emotional state, but her mother would have no compunction.

“When is Nonna arriving?” her mother asked.

Olivia shrugged.

Her mother consulted her watch. “I’ll call her.”

Remembering Nonna’s injunction about needing a break too, she said, “I’ll do it.”

“We need her help in the kitchen as soon as possible. The guests will spend part of every day cooking traditional festival foods. Alessandro will have his hands full, and I’m not sure you…”

Olivia appreciated her mother not saying what she was thinking for once. Her mother must have realized the fact that liberal doses of wine and low standards had made the first cooking class a success. She probably had doubts that Olivia could pull off food preparations for the entire extended villa family. All of Verona, the grape pickers, their families and friends, the cheese man, the rice man, the mailman, absolutely everyone who was anyone was invited. “I’ll tell her, Mamma.”

Her mother still looked concerned, but she allowed her husband to draw her back to the head of the table.

“Wait.” Olivia walked to stand in front of her parents. She’d been thinking about it all day, rehearsing what she was going to say until the words no longer took effort. The growing grapes had been an excellent audience.

“I know I’ve disappointed you.” Her mother frowned, so she rushed to explain. “I married Keith and I let the restaurant fall apart. If it weren’t for Marlene, I don’t know what would have happened to Chameleon. She and Joe are the best people to run the business, and I want to sell it to them. I’m not going back to Norton. I came to Italy to tell you that I am finished.”

Her father put his arm around her.

Olivia was surprised that she felt none of the emotions she had expected to feel when she finally told her mother she wanted to quit. No guilt, no shame, no desire to apologize. She just felt empty. She waited for her mother’s response. Maybe then she would feel something.