undertaking a project of massive proportion whose success is by no means guaranteed. And by your own admission, you are anything but expert.”
“Well, I didn’t expect it would be easy,” she floundered, so mesmerized by his brilliantly blue eyes that it was all she could do to string two words together. “But I meant what I said. Succeeding in this venture is very important to me for all kinds of reasons, not the least of which is that there are others whose welfare depends on it. I am determined to go through with it, regardless of the difficulties it entails.”
“Very well.” He leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair and cradled his jaw in his hand. “In that case, take out your pen and let’s get started on what you need to know at the outset.”
In the half hour before their lunch arrived—cold Mediterranean lobster in a creamy wine sauce, avocado and tomato slices, and bread warm from the oven, followed by a fruit and cheese platter—she wrote rapidly, stopping every now and then to ask a question and trying hard to focus on the subject at hand.
Despite her best efforts, though, her mind wandered repeatedly. The questions he fielded from her were not those she most wished to ask. Whether or not she might have to rip out all her old vines and start over from scratch, which varietals she should plant in their place, how much it would cost and how long before she could expect to recoup her losses and make a profit, didn’t seem nearly as engrossing as how he’d come by his very remarkable eyes, where he’d learned to speak such excellent English, how old he was, or if there was a special woman in his life.
Although she made copious notes of every critical scrap of information he tossed her way, her rebellious gaze repeatedly returned to his face. To the slight cleft in his chin, and the high slash of his cheekbones which seemed more Spanish than Italian. To the tawny sheen of his skin and his glossy black hair. To the dark sweeping elegance of his brows and the way his long, dense lashes so perfectly framed his vivid blue eyes.
“So, I have not managed to discourage you?” he inquired, as they sat down to the meal.
“You’ve made me aware of pitfalls I might not otherwise have recognized,” she told him, choosing her words carefully, “but no, you have not discouraged me. If anything, I’m more determined than ever to bring my vineyard back to life.”
He considered that for a moment, then said, “Tell me more about this great-uncle of yours. Why, for example, did he allow his vines to fail so drastically?”
“I suppose because he was too old to look after them properly. He was eighty-four when he died.”
“You suppose? Were you not close to him during his lifetime?”
“No. I didn’t even know of his existence until his lawyer contacted me regarding his estate.”
“He had no other relatives? None better equipped than you to rescue his property from ruination?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
She stared at him, frustrated. I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions, not you! she felt like telling him. “Because he was from my father’s side of the family.”
“You did not care for your father and his kin?”
Kin. An old-fashioned word which, coupled with his charming accent, gave one of the few indications that English wasn’t his mother tongue. “I barely knew my father,” she said, wrenching her mind back to the matter at hand. “He died when I was seven.”
He raised a lofty brow. “I remember many relatives and events from when I was that age.”
“Probably because, unlike mine, your family stayed together.”
“Your parents were divorced?”
“Oh, yes, and the war between them never ended,” she said, remembering all too well her mother’s vitriolic outpourings to Arlene’s hesitant requests to visit her father or speak to him by phone. “I was four at the time, and my mother made sure I lived too far away from my father to see him often.”
Domenico Silvaggio d’Avalos shook his head disapprovingly. “I cannot imagine such a thing. When a man and a woman have created a child together, his or her welfare comes before any thought of the parents’ personal happiness.”
“A fine philosophy in theory, signor, but not so easy to live by, I suspect, if the couple in question find themselves irreconcilably opposed to one another’s wishes and needs.”
“All the more reason to choose wisely in the first place then, wouldn’t you say?”
She laughed. “You’re obviously not married!”
“No,” he said, and turned that unsettling gaze on her again. “Are you?”
“No. But I’m realistic enough to know that if ever I am, a wedding ring provides no guarantee that the marriage will last.”
“I do not call that realistic,” he said flatly. “I call it defeatist.”
“Then that makes you an idealist who’s more than a little out of touch with the rest of the world.”
“Hardly,” he replied. “My parents have been happily married for thirty-nine years, as were my grandparents for almost half a century. And I have four sisters, all blissfully happy in their marriages.”
“But you’re still single.”
“Not because I have anything against marriage. My father’s health isn’t the best and I took over the running of this company sooner than I might otherwise have done, which has kept me fully occupied and left little time for serious romance. But I’ll know the right woman when she comes along and I will commit to her for the rest of my life, regardless of whatever difficulties we might encounter—and they will be few, I assure. I’ll make certain of that before putting a ring on her finger.”
“You have a list of requirements she must meet, in order to qualify as your wife, do you?”
“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Happiness, like sexual compatibility and physical attraction, will run secondary to suitability.”
“You make it sound as if you believe in arranged marriages.”
“I don’t disbelieve in them.”
“Then I pity the woman who becomes your wife.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Pity yourself, signorina,” he declared, tossing down his napkin. “You’re the one willing to sell her soul to a lost cause.”
“On the contrary, signor. I’m doing exactly as you claim you will, when you take a wife. I’m sticking with my decision, regardless of the difficulties I’m facing. The only difference is, I’m taking on a vineyard instead of a husband.”
He regarded her for an interminably long, silent minute. Finally he said, “Well then, since you refuse to let me deter you, I suppose I must do all I can to assist you.”
“I think you’ve already done that.” She indicated her notebook. “You’ve given me some very valuable pointers.”
