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Francesca walked down the manicured lawn and crossed the edge of the vineyard. The rows were straight, narrow, but not as filled with vegetation as they would be once the season progressed. The leaves were new, the vines still growing from the hardened, twisted stumps in the ground. It always amazed her to see a grapevine, to see how the roots were so gnarled and looked almost dead. But every year, faithfully, vines shot forth onto the wired rows meant to hold them. Without fail, beauty grew from the twisted, ugly stumps.
She walked deeper into the vineyard, emerging at a spot where the rows crossed into another direction. A lone tree stood at the center of the clearing. Another gnarled beast, she decided, recognizing it for an olive tree. But why a single tree in the center of the vineyard?
Something moved at the mouth of the row across from her. Her heart shot into her throat and she turned as if to run back toward the house.
“Who’s there?” a voice said.
Relief cascaded through her. And heat. Always, always the heat. “It’s me,” she said, “Francesca.”
She could make out the white of his shirt, the darkness of his jeans as he moved toward her.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “You?”
He stopped in front of her. Scraped a hand through his hair. “The same.”
He smelled good, like spice and citrus and outdoors. The warmth of his body reached out and enveloped her. Comforted her.
“Do you often walk at night?” she asked.
“Not in Buenos Aires. But here, yes. I like the quiet stillness of the vineyard.”
Her thoughts exactly. “Why is this tree here? It seems rather lonely.”
“I’m not sure,” he replied, turning his head toward the olive tree. “It was always here. It is very old, I believe. We have a grove, but this tree stands alone.”
“Maybe it’s a special tree.”
“Perhaps.” He took a step closer. “And how is your head? Are you feeling better?”
“A bit, thank you,” she said. “Did Armando finish his dinner?”
She could see the flash of his teeth in the moonlight. “Sí, he ate everything. And then he had a small slice of cake.”
“You were very good with him.”
He shrugged. “He is a child. It’s not hard to please them really.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t married and had tons of kids by now,” she said. “I’d have thought that would be one of your priorities.”
“And what made you think that?”
“The Navarre Dynasty, the Corazón del Diablo. Who will you leave all this to?”
“There is Magdalena and her children. The Foundation.”
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “So you don’t want children then?”
“I didn’t say that.” He took another step toward her. “What is all this about, Francesca?”
She shrugged, pushing her hands into her jeans pockets. “Just curious, that’s all.”
“I’m curious about something, too. I’m curious about why your engagement didn’t work out.”
“Robert decided marriage wasn’t for him.” She shrugged again. “C’est la vie.”
“And you have not been with a man since. I find this extraordinary.”
