The Year of Luminous Love (24 page)

Enzo had asked Ciana to dress casually, and he took her to his family estate that adjoined the acreage of the rolling vineyards. The sprawling house was set back on a manicured lawn that stretched between flowering gardens and bubbling fountains. He drove past the house, took a winding road, and braked at
an outbuilding, a pristine stable where horses poked heads over stall half-doors. In the courtyard, grooms were walking, washing, and brushing horses tethered to poles.

Ciana was out of the car before it came to a complete halt. “Oh, Enzo! They’re beautiful.”

He came quickly to her side, his expression pleased over her reaction. “You told me you owned horses. Come. I will show you mine.”

She approached a horse in a stall and held out her hand, curling her fingers under so that the animal could sniff the back of her hand. Its warm, soft muzzle examined her, then turned toward Enzo, ears pricked forward. “You never said a word about owning horses when we were together, but you told us everything about the winery.”

He scratched the horse behind its ears. “Wine is my business. Horses are my passion. A man does not discuss his passion with just anyone.”

“How many do you own?”

“Twelve here. I breed them for dressage competition. For the Olympics. But they also are fine for leisure riding.” He tipped his head toward her. “Would you care to ride?”

“Would I ever!” Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she missed Firecracker and the feel of leather over the broad back of a horse.

“Wait here,” Enzo said. He walked over to one of the grooms and spoke rapid Italian. In no time, the groom appeared, leading two horses, one a dark chestnut, the other a bay. Both horses were big, a few hands taller than either Firecracker or Sonata, both saddled with English saddles—no horn. She’d never ridden in this type of saddle before.

“I usually ride Western,” she told Enzo, nibbling at her bottom lip.

“Only minor adjustments to make. You will have no trouble.” Enzo led the horse to a mounting block, where Ciana stepped up and threw her leg over the big bay’s back. She was used to mounting from the ground, but she needed the extra height with this horse. “Her informal name is Venus because she is so beautiful,” Enzo said while making adjustments to Ciana’s stirrups. “Oh, and she only understands Italian.” He primed Ciana with necessary phrases to speak to the horse.

The saddle felt odd at first, but as the horse cantered around the courtyard, Ciana got the hang of it. She communicated with the animal in her sketchy Italian and with her knees, heels, and reins, and the horse settled into a long, smooth gait. It reminded her of Olivia’s stories of Grandfather Charles’s famed Tennessee walking horse. The memory made Ciana smile.

“See? What did I tell you?” Enzo said, bringing his horse up alongside hers. “You are a natural. And Venus clearly recognizes your authority.”

They rode through a field on a simple dirt trail lined with tall browning grass. Cyprus trees flanked the field, acting as a natural fence. Ciana was in her element with the heat of the sun on her face and the power of the horse beneath her, yet twinges of homesickness nipped at her heart. By now the trees would be bright with fall colors. Pumpkins and winter squash and rhubarb would be selling in the farmer’s market, and bundled straw would be rolled up in fields and looking like giant sausages.

“Where are you,
bella
Ciana?” Enzo asked.

“Oh, sorry. Just thinking of home.”

“Tell me.”

She told him about Bellmeade and then about Olivia and their shared love for their land. She told of her grandfather’s
and father’s sudden deaths and of how Olivia ran Bellmeade until she died, omitting the difficulties of Olivia’s final years.

“Your nana sounds like a special woman.”

“She was. I miss her and always will.”

As they rode and talked, Ciana lost track of time. When Enzo wove a trail through the grass and a clump of whispering trees, she was surprised to see a lake as the tree wall thinned. “What’s this?” she asked as they emerged from the woods.

“A place of beauty.” Soon they came upon a grassy area beneath shade trees near the water’s edge. A blanket had been spread and on it rested a large basket and a small cooler.

“A picnic? For us? Did you do this?”

“I thought we might enjoy some food and wine together. And the horses can use the rest.” He dismounted.

Ciana’s surprise gave way to suspicion. She stayed seated on her horse.

“A little surprise,” Enzo said, flashing his smile and offering up his hand to her. “I have pure motives—hunger and thirst.”

She swung her leg over the horse’s withers, slid down, and found herself pressed between the solid side of the horse and Enzo’s hard, lean body. Gazing up into his dark eyes made her pulse race. He was devilishly handsome, but she shoved her back hard against the horse, making Venus move to one side.

Enzo bowed graciously and motioned for her to move forward in front of him.

She went to the blanket and sat cross-legged, recalling Eden’s warning about him being a serial dater and being way older than her. “So what’s for a snack?”

“An Italian feast.” He opened the basket and removed china plates, polished silver utensils, linen napkins, and fragile wineglasses.

“Elegant,” she said.

He uncorked a wine and handed her a glassful. She drank a gulp, allowing it to relax her while he took out food. This reminded her of eating with Jon by candlelight in her stable. The memory unnerved her. Why couldn’t she wipe thoughts of that man from her brain? Why did he always surface when she least expected or wanted it?

While the horses grazed, she and Enzo talked, him telling of arduous hours of training Olympic dressage champions. She was enthralled. He was easy to talk to; Olivia would have described him as
charming
. Ciana heard her grandmother’s voice:
Be careful of the charming boys, child. Before you know what’s happening, they’ll talk you right out of your underpants
.

Enzo leaned on his elbow to clink his wineglass to Ciana’s. “To other long afternoons together.”

“We leave for Rome in ten days.”

“Ah, Roma, our eternal city. I would show you our city, but I have to oversee the harvest a while longer. How long will you be gone?”

“A week.”

“Only a week? This is not enough time to see Roma.”

“I wish it could be longer.” Truthfully her money was going fast, much faster than she had anticipated when she’d planned the trip.

“Where will you be staying?”

She named the hotel. “Arie’s birthday is October twenty-fourth, and going to Rome, seeing the art treasures, has been a wish of hers for many years.”

He raised his wineglass to her. “May you have the best of times. I will make a list of wonderful places to eat.” He kissed his fingertips. “Until you leave, I shall take you riding and beg you to spend as much time with me as the vineyard harvest permits.”

Again, she was flattered that he wanted her company, and the chance to ride was a genuine gift.

He stared out at the lake, at the sun sliding low on the horizon. “We must go,” he said with a regretful sigh.

Together Ciana and Enzo packed the basket and rode the horses to the stables where a groom took them. It felt odd to Ciana not to groom the horse herself—she thought she owed it to the big bay. Still Enzo issued orders and ushered her to the car. The wind made it impossible to talk in the convertible as they returned to the villa. By the time they arrived, dark had fallen. The outside light was on, but Eden and Arie were gone.

“We have friends in town,” she told Enzo. “We all meet most nights for late suppers.”

“Shall I drive you to Cortona?” Enzo asked.

“No, I think I’ll just crash.” At the doorstep, Ciana’s case of nerves attacked again. She wasn’t sure what he was expecting from her—a hug, a kiss, an invitation inside? The good feelings from the wine had worn off, and she reminded herself of her lack of sophistication, of their differences—over ten years and two cultures. “Thank you for a wonderful day. The horseback ride, the food, the scenery, and most of all, your company.”

He smiled, more reserved than he’d been all afternoon. “I will call you.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her forehead.

Her knees went a little weak.
“Ciao,”
she said. Ciana watched him drive away and unexpectedly felt a void when he was gone.

A chirping sound kept nagging at Ciana. The sound was annoying. In a Herculean effort, she struggled to rise through
darkness, finally opening her eyes and realizing that she had been sound asleep and the chirping noise was really the phone beside her bed. Groggily she fumbled to turn on a lamp and grope for the receiver. “Hello.”

“Darling! How’s Italy?”

Ciana sat up. “Mother?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

Alice Faye sounded so cheerful that Ciana hardly recognized her voice. “What time is it?”

“Four in the afternoon. I’ve been waiting all day to call you.”

Eleven o’clock in Italy. “Is everything all right?” She shook her head to clear the cobwebs and the vestiges of the wine from her picnic with Enzo.

“Everything is wonderful,” her mother said with uncharacteristic liveliness. “I have the most wonderful news.”

“I give up,” Ciana said tentatively.

“Our money problems can be over forever.”

“How so?”

“An investor from Chicago named Gerald Hastings wants to buy Bellmeade. Isn’t that marvelous? All we have to do is agree to sell it to him.”

Arie and Eden patiently watched Ciana pace the floor, listening to her rant about Alice Faye’s phone call.

“Sell Bellmeade! Can you believe it? She wants me to sign off on paperwork to sell our land. Our heritage! What’s wrong with her?”

“Calm down,” Eden said. Twice the two girls had tried to rein in Ciana and failed. “She can’t sell anything without your approval and signature. You told me that years ago.”

“Did you ask any questions?” Arie ventured.

Ciana stopped and turned toward her friends, seething with fury. “I hung up on her.” Ciana twisted around and started pacing again. “Maybe I should fly back home.”

Arie shook her head and Eden stood up. “Do we need to throw cold water on you? Stop shouting and talking crazy and sit down.” She dragged a chair over and pushed Ciana into it.

Ciana buried her face in her hands. “She’d never have suggested selling out if Olivia were alive.”

Arie crouched by the chair. “Please don’t drop out on us,
Ciana. I owe this trip to you and I want us to see Rome together. We can’t celebrate without you.”

“Or wade barefoot in some fountain,” Eden added. “We’re tourists. I want to do all the tourist things we’ve read about—the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, Gucci, Prada, Fendi—”

Arie shot Eden an impatient look and jumped in with, “St. Peter’s Basilica, the Sistine Chapel, the works of Michelangelo—”

“Sure,” Eden said. “And all that old pretty stuff too.”

Ciana sniffed, leaning her head against the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling and feeling like a deflated balloon. “I’m just mad. I won’t leave Italy without the two of you.”

“That’s more like it,” Arie said, knowing how important Bellmeade was to Ciana. The land was sacred ground, despite hard work, bad weather, even crop failure.

“Well, shame on her for dropping this bomb on you when you’re so far away,” Eden said. “She can’t make a move without you. Forget about her for now.”

Ciana had grown up with a baffling relationship with her mother. She had sometimes felt like a chess piece, moved on an invisible board by Alice Faye and Olivia, her loyalties divided. When a checkmate occurred, she felt like taffy, pulled between their opposing wills. Her mother’s retreat into alcohol had made Ciana feel guilty for years. As if she lacked something, as if she sported some flaw that drove Alice Faye into a place governed by gin and sweet tea, where maternal love faded to black. Only Olivia’s love had saved Ciana from self-loathing. If Olivia loved her, then she must be all right. If Olivia considered her worthy to shepherd Bellmeade, then she was honor-bound to do so. Yet beyond honor was her pure, clear sense of purpose to hold on to her family’s land. She
loved the land. It was part of her DNA. Perhaps that was why she got on so well with Enzo. They both found purpose in their land. She sighed, telling her friends, “All right, my tantrum’s over. Let’s go conquer Rome.”