doing well,” Dani continued. “Business has been up all around the village. Donatella told me sales at the boutique are up over 40 percent from last year.”
Louisa wasn’t surprised. Over the past nine months, Monte Calanetti had gone from sleepy Tuscan village to must-see tourist destination. Not only had they been selected to host Halencia’s royal wedding—considered the wedding of the year in most circles—but art experts had recently discovered an unknown fresco masterpiece hidden in the local chapel. Now it felt as if every person in Italy, tourist or resident, made a point of driving through the town. That they arrived to discover a picture-perfect village and an Italian Good Food rated restaurant owned by one of Europe’s premier chefs only enhanced the town’s allure.
“Quite a change from when you and I arrived here, huh?” she noted. It’d been an early spring day when the two of them had met on the bus from Florence. Two expatriates, each on her own quest to the Tuscan Valley. For Dani, the tiny village represented a last adventure before deciding on her future. Louisa, on the other hand, had taken one look at the terracotta roofs rising from the valley and decided luck had granted her the perfect place to escape her past. A place where she could heal.
“I knew as soon as I stepped off the bus that Monte Calanetti was special,” Dani said. “There’s something magical about this town. You can feel it.”
More like her friend felt the attraction between her and the man she eventually married; there’d been sparks from the second Dani and Rafe had laid eyes on each other. Louisa kept the thought to herself. “The royal wedding planner certainly thought so,” she said instead.
“Unfortunately, we can’t ride the wedding momentum forever. Once harvest season ends, people will be more interested in the ski resorts.” Rafe said.
“People will still seek out Mancini’s,” Louisa said.
“Some, yes, but certainly not the numbers we’ve been enjoying. And they certainly won’t spend time visiting other businesses.”
True. So much of Monte Calanetti’s appeal revolved around being able to stroll its cobblestone streets during the warm weather. It would be hard to make a wish in the plaza fountain if the water was frozen. There was a part of Louisa that wouldn’t mind the crowds thinning. She missed the early days when she could walk the streets without worrying that some American tourist would recognize her. Another part, however—the practical part—knew the village needed more than a seasonal income. Prior to the wedding, several of the smaller businesses had been on shaky ground.
A third part reminded her she needed income, too. Till now she’d been surviving on the money the royal family had paid her to use her property, and that was almost gone.
“It won’t matter if Mancini’s is the best restaurant in the world, if it’s surrounded by empty buildings,” Rafe was saying. “We need something that will encourage people to spend time here year-round.”
Funny he should say that. Louisa sipped her coffee thoughtfully. The practical part of her had also been kicking around an idea lately. It was only a germ at the moment, but it might help the cause. “It would be nice to see the village continue to prosper,” she had to admit. Even though she, like Dani, was a relative newcomer, she’d already come to consider the place home, and nobody wanted to see their home suffer economically.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked him. He obviously had something up his sleeve or he wouldn’t have put on this breakfast.
Pushing up his sleeves, the chef rested his forearms against the edge of the table and leaned close. “I was thinking we could start some kind of committee.”
“Like a chamber of commerce?” Did they even have those in Italy? They must.
“Nothing so formal. I’m picturing local business leaders brainstorming ideas like the harvest festival that we can put on to attract traffic.”
“And since the palazzo is such a big part of the village...” Dani started.
“You’d like me to be on the committee.” That made sense, especially if she carried through with her own idea. “Count me in... What?”
Her friend and her husband had suddenly become very interested in their breakfast plates. “There’s one problem,” Dani said.
“Problem?” Louisa’s fingers gripped her fork. “What kind of problem?” As if she didn’t know what the problem would be. Question was, how had they found out?
“I want Nico Amatucci on the committee, as well,” Rafe answered bluntly.
Oh. Her fear vanished in a rush, replaced by a completely different type of tension. One that started low in her stomach and moved in waves through her. “Why would that be a problem?”
“Well,” Dani said, “we know the two of you haven’t always gotten along...”
Memories of wine-tinged kisses flashed to life. “That’s in the past,” she replied. “We worked together on cleaning up the plaza, remember?”
“I know, but...”
“But what?”
The couple exchanged a look. “At the wedding, you two looked like you’d had a falling-out.”
Louisa would have called it a momentary loss of her senses. “It’s no big deal.” And it wasn’t. Beneath the table, her fingers tapped out a rhythm on her thigh. In comparison to what she thought they were going to say, her “falling-out” with Nico amounted to nothing.
She barely remembered, she thought, tongue running over her lower lip.
“Working together won’t be awkward, then?” Rafe asked.
“Don’t be silly—Nico and I are adults. I’m sure we can handle sitting on a committee together.”
“What committee?”
As if waiting for his cue, Nico Amatucci strolled into the dining room. If he were someone else, Louisa would accuse him of waiting to make a dramatic entrance, but in his case dramatic entrances came naturally.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “We’ve been working around the clock since the wedding. It appears people can’t get enough of Amatucci Red.” The last part was said looking straight at her. As Louisa met his gaze, she forced herself to keep as cool an expression as possible and prayed he couldn’t see how fast her heart was racing. This was the first time she’d seen him since the wedding. The vintner looked as gorgeous as ever.
He’d come straight from the fields. The ring of dampness around his collar signaled hours of hard work, as did the dirt streaking his jeans and T-shirt. Louisa spied a couple smudges on his neck, too, left behind after wiping the sweat from his skin. She’d say this about the man: he worked as hard as his employees. Something he, as the owner of one of Tuscany’s finest boutique wineries, didn’t have to do. Probably did it to make up for the fact he was arrogant and presumptuous.
A frown marred his Romanesque features as he pointed to the coffeepot. “American?”
“That a problem?” Rafe asked.
“No.” His sigh was long and exaggerated.
Rafe rolled
