Free The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding by Jennifer Blake Page A

everything
about Nicholas de Frenza, from his looks and manner of dress to his home and
lifestyle, were so near perfection, exactly as he’d decreed they should be
arranged. The tragedy of it seemed doubly poignant now, while Carita lay in a
hospital bed with a head injury from which she might or might not recover.
    Amanda summoned a smile, taking the girl’s small, soft hand
in her own as she acknowledged the introduction. But Carisa, staring at her
with downturned lips and hardly a blink of her colorless lashes, did not return
her greeting.
    “Shall we?” Nicholas gave his hand to his grandmother to
help her rise, and then walked beside her to seat her at the table.
    Amanda saw no need to wait, but pulled out her own chair and
sat down. That independent gesture earned a quick frown from Nicholas, who had
turned to seat her next as his guest. Swinging away, he saw his aunt and his
sister into their chairs then took his place at the head of the table.
    The food was wonderful, fresh and savory. Amanda ate slowly,
trying to find appetite for it. It wasn’t easy, considering the knot of nerves
in her stomach.
    The others ate with every appearance of relaxed enjoyment of
each other and the food. They talked non-stop, waving their forks and hands for
emphasis, and leaning to include her in frequent asides. Now and then they
offered some choice morsel to tempt her appetite, commenting upon it with
gusto, or else pointed out some bird or feature on the horizon they thought
might interest her. If a somber expression crossed their faces now and again,
it soon passed. More than once, they leaned back in their chairs to gaze around
them with contentment.
    A pottery jug of chilled white wine sat in front of Nicholas.
He lifted it as the meal advanced, topping off everyone’s glass as a matter of
course. He paused as he came to her full one.
    “You don’t care for the wine? You would prefer another
vintage?”
    “No, no, I just don’t drink it.”
    He lifted a brow. “I noticed you left it untouched on the
plane. You are perhaps allergic.”
    “By no means. It’s simply a choice.” The look she gave him
held finality.
    “But it’s one of life’s rare pleasures, and has been proven
to have benefits for the health.”
    “Nevertheless.”
    “To have a glass or two is far better than taking
tranquilizers.”
    “I am aware.”
    “Just a drop then?”
    Exasperation touched her that he felt it necessary to turn
everything into a challenge, especially after accusing her of the same thing.
“I don’t want it, all right?”
    “Possibly she is what they call in the States a teetotaler,
Nico,” Aunt Filomena said, looking at Amanda with a charming smile. “This is
the word, no?”
    “Yes, but that isn’t it,” she answered, aware that his
grandmother and Carisa had also stopped eating to watch the by-play.
    “It’s an excellent vintage,” Nicholas coaxed, “made here at
the villa from our own grapes.”
    She could feel her resolve slip a notch. That added fire to
her resentment. “My mother died from mixing drugs and alcohol. I promised
myself I would never chance—”
    “Ah, certo ,” he interrupted, his face clearing. “ Mi
dispiac e, I apologize.” Turning to Erminia who had emerged from the house
with more bread, he ordered mineral water to be brought for her.
    “I’m sorry to be extra trouble,” she murmured in her turn.
Nicholas de Frenza became more Italian when moved by emotion, she thought,
whether anger, desire or, as now, chagrin. It was an interesting discovery.
    His grandmother leaned forward at that moment, asking a
polite question that allowed the conversation to return to normal. Her English
was polished yet formal, as if it had been learned at some finishing school
decades ago. Aunt Filomena, by contrast, spoke with an American accent, one she
had apparently gained in the States while married to her second husband — or
was it her third? — who had been from California. She had apparently