The Sicilian's Bride. Carol Grace
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She paused to admire a well-preserved wall mosaic that pictured dolphins flanking a vase and a central rosette with a knot motif.
“Even the Romans loved dolphins,” she murmured.
“Why not? They’re intelligent, acrobatic, and they seem to like us humans. If you leave by ferry, you’ll see them in the waters off Messina.”
She stiffened. “Why do you assume I’m going to leave? I’m not. I’m staying.” What did she have to do to prove to him how determined she was to stay? And why?
“Shall we go?” he asked without answering her question. Maybe he sensed her frustration. Maybe he even enjoyed pushing her, watching her respond, hoping she’d tire of fighting back. But she wouldn’t. Her heart was hardened and her will power intact. She’d had years of practice.
She didn’t even waver when he drove to the coast where white sandy beaches contrasted with the clear blue sea. There above the beach was a small cottage for sale with a balcony overlooking a garden. Standing on the stone terrace she caught her breath at the stunning beauty of the view.
The scent of lilies and wild herbs filled the air. The contrast to her own run-down house was striking and he knew it. This was the kind of place you could move into and never have to worry about a hole in the roof. She imagined a garden full of tiny tomatoes bursting with flavor, a kitchen with sauce simmering on the stove. For a moment she felt her heart longing to have all that and more.
Once she had wanted love too, but no longer. It was folly to think of having a family and sharing her life with them. She’d tried that and it hadn’t worked. In the past, every time she thought she’d found a family, they’d sent her on her way. When she grew up and finally fell in love, she’d thought her life had turned around. Her mistake. One she would never make again. She was on her own again and always would be. Now more than ever.
“The best part is that it’s only a few kilometers from our largest archeological site. It was built by the Greeks and has the best example of Doric columns you’ll see anywhere. If you’re interested in that kind of thing.”
What could she say? She didn’t care about history? She was indifferent to archeology? On the contrary. She’d love to visit the site and study the relics of the past, but she had to make a living. No, it was better to say nothing negative, just tell him she’d think about it.
“How much is it?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Let’s just say it would be an even trade.”
“But how would I earn a living?”
He didn’t have an answer for that. She knew what he was thinking, that she wasn’t likely to make a living from her grapes either. But she’d show him. She’d make wine and she’d sell it if it was the last thing she did.
Instead he looked at his watch, which appeared to be a Swiss collector’s timepiece with multiple dials and a view of the precision movements through the face. How like him to have a watch that matched his car—expensive, luxurious and well-appointed. He obviously had never known what it was like to need money the way she did. Except for that glitch when they had to sell her uncle their vineyard. She still didn’t understand how that had come about. When she’d asked if it was a drought or fungus he’d said yes. But what had actually happened?
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