"You're leaving."
"Yes."
He glances past me, toward the gardens. "You're not staying the night?"
Does he want me to? Are we going to have our wedding night tonight, ninety days too late? I am not remotely prepared for that kind of intimacy with a stranger.
I shake my head. "I have to be up early."
"It's late."
"It's green harvest," I reply gently. "You know how it is."
"Can't you take a break?" he asks. "Just for one night?"
I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. "If you want something from me, Nico, I need you to say it."
His brow furrows, surprised.
"We're married," he says after a moment. "I don't think it's unreasonable to expect that we spend time together. To…get to know one another."
I nod. I have no idea what to say.
"I can have a room prepared for you," he answers the question I haven't asked.
Oh, he doesn't want me to sleep with him. He just wants…what?
"I really must go, Nico. I…we start early in the morning to beat the heat," I explain.
He nods, his hands tucked in his pockets, his eyes on me.
"But, I would love to have you come stay at the mansion at Pietra Alta," I offer with a smile. "I'm considered a fairly decent cook. I could make dinner."
His eyes flicker with surprise, and he arches an eyebrow. "You want to cook for me?"
I lick my lips. "I like to cook."
"I'm busy." He hesitates and then adds, "That's why I haven't accepted any of your invitations to visit."
"I understand." I feel gauche now. Rejected and small. "Just like you have to be here to work, I have to be in Bolgheri. My vines determine my geography."
"How convenient." There is something harsh in his tone, and it grates on my already shot nerves.
"If you want to spend time with me," I interject carefully, "come to the estate."
I don't know this man. I don't know his moods well—and what I do know is that he can be volatile. I don't do well with raised voices or harsh words directed toward me. I've had a lifetime of that with my father—one would think I'd be adept at dealing with them.
His jaw tightens slightly. "You want me to make all the effort, is that it?"
I am truly lost. I don't know what he wants. I don't know how to give him what he wants if I can't understand him.
"What kind of effort?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
"Nico, I have invited you several times. I have messaged. I have received no responses. And, you haven't…you haven't—"Come to see me. Reached out to me. Made a single overture toward me.
"You came tonight."
