Free The Sicilian's Bride by Carol Grace Page B

possibly be. She was as good as on her way home. He felt the guard he kept up around his heart and soul start slipping away. And why not? How threatening an adversary could she be? None at all.
    So he stayed for dinner. And allowed himself to look at her between bites of the food, which looked delicious and probably was, but he didn’t seem to be able to appreciate it the way he might have if she’d been a plain fifty-year-old spinster, which is what he’d hoped for when he’d heard about her inheritance.
    It was late. He was hungry. The veal was tender and the sauce appeared to be exceptional. At the family home the talk would be all about the harvest which could be repetitive after a while. Truthfully, he hadn’t seen much of his family in a long time. For one thing, his sisters always had some unmarried woman friend they wanted him to meet. He’d explained over and over why he wasn’t interested, but they kept trying. Then he disagreed with them about the same issues, which they rehashed over and over. They just couldn’t understand why his working so hard now was his way of making up for his past mistakes, so he gave up trying to explain and just tried to keep to himself. Having someone new in town, even someone he didn’t want there but who needed his help, was like an unexpected shot in the arm.
    Here was a woman who knew virtually nothing about wine, his family or their problems. He felt as though he’d been dropped down into a little part of America. He felt stimulated and refreshed and challenged for the first time in months. What had happened? Was it just her?
    He saw no harm in having dinner with her. All he had to do was play along with her plans for a few days, a week or two at most. He’d even help her pick her grapes and make her wine. When she realized how hard it was and that it wasn’t going to work, she wouldn’t blame him, she couldn’t. She’d just accept the fact she wasn’t cut out to be a vintner, sell him the property and go home where she belonged. No hard feelings.
    “I’m not sure how this happened,” she said, indicating the food on the plates at the table.
    “Did you order dinner in your room?”
    “Yes, but just for me. I had no idea…”
    He shrugged. “I stopped at the desk and asked for your room, maybe they thought…”
    “I see,” she said. But she looked confused. Maybe she thought he’d told them to make it dinner for two. If he’d known her skin was glowing, her toenails were painted pink and she was fresh from her bath and smelling like a fragrant essence of sweet-smelling herbs, he might have. What was the harm in dining with an attractive woman once in a while? No strings. No obligations. No anxious sisters asking him for a report: Did he like Signorina X? Did he want to see her again? And if not, why not? This was just dinner. A business dinner actually. It didn’t happen that often. Not to him. Not anymore. Not since Magdalena.
    “The food here is quite good,” he said. As if that was a good enough excuse for him to stay. “Why would you want to move to the Azienda? No hot baths, no bathrobes. No sauces.” He allowed himself still another frank yet leisurely look at the shapely body across the table from him.
    “I told you—it’s my home and I intend to live there. I didn’t come here to stay in a hotel, however comfortable it is.”
    “Your home isn’t quite set up for cooking either.” That was the understatement of the year.
    She looked around. “I’ll miss the comforts here, but I don’t need them. I want to live like the natives do. I believe there’s a fire pit outside near my pond. I’ll have picnics and cook over an open fire.”
    “Speaking of the natives, my grandmother is very grateful to you. She told me that you chased her peaches down the street for her. She didn’t get a chance to thank you properly so she wants you to come to dinner at the house tomorrow night.”
    “Does she know who I am?”
    “I told her.” He