AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Never had he met a woman who was so difficult to read. Cold one moment, warm and tender the next. He’d thought they’d turned a corner at the wedding. A very satisfying corner at that. He smiled, remembering the press of her mouth against his. So soft, so receptive. Then suddenly—poof!—everything changed, and they were back to those frigid early days when she barely gave him the time of day.
“Signor Amatucci?”
Mario was staring at him, obviously waiting for a response of some kind. “Nico,” he corrected. “Not Signor.”
“Sorry. Nico. I was wondering what you wanted to do next.”
Figure out what’s going on in my blonde American’s head. He doubted that’s what Mario meant, though. “I want to gather a few soil samples from the southern fields,” he said. “Why don’t you head back to the winery and begin testing the grapes we’ve collected?” It was standard practice to double-check the field readings using the equipment at the lab. Unlike his mentor, Nico liked to have solid data to corroborate his taste buds.
“Are you sure?” Being on the field must truly be making him nostalgic, because the way the kid straightened with the prospect of responsibility brought back memories of the first time Carlos had given him a task to complete on his own. Had he looked that earnest? “I suggested it, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Of course. I’ll leave the results on your desk.”
“Along with your recommendations. I’m eager to hear your suggestions.”
The kid nodded again, wide-eyed and serious. “Absolutely.”
Of course, Nico would repeat the tests himself later on—the crops were far too valuable to trust to a university student—but there was no need to say anything. Better for Mario’s confidence if he believed he was operating without a safety net.
He started packing his test gear back in his canvas satchel. The faded bag had been with him since his days with Carlos, and looked older than that. “If you have any problems, talk to Vitale. I’ll be back later this morning.”
“How are you getting back? Do you want me to come back for you?”
“No need. I’ll hop the wall. There’s a low spot,” he added when the student frowned. “The Amatuccis and the Bertonellis have been cutting back and forth through these properties for years.” At least this Amatucci had. His brother and sister had found other ways to escape.
Once Mario’s taillights disappeared in the dust, Nico shouldered his bag and headed south. Above him, the sun lit a cloudless blue sky. The air was ripe with fruit and olives, and if the breeze hit just right, you could catch the faint undertone of lavender. Another perfect day, he thought, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
He was by himself, walking the terraced hill. Back when he was a little boy, these fields had been filled with workers. He remembered the first time he ventured through the archway that divided the properties, a stressed-out, scared boy looking for a place where doors didn’t slam and voices were calm. Stepping into the fields of Comparino had been like finding paradise. There was a tranquility in the steady tick-tick-tick of the sprinkler, the low hum of the insects. And it never changed. Oh, there were storms and blights. Natural disasters that caused temporary disruption, but no matter what, Nico knew that come summer, the sounds would be there. Grapes would grow and wine would get made the same as it had for hundreds of years. How he loved the predictability; so unlike the world on his side of the arch, where he never knew from one day to the next whether his parents were together or apart.
Such is the price of grand passion, Carlos said once, after one of his parents’ explosive breakups. It’s either sun or storm. No in between.
Nico wouldn’t know. His passion didn’t run that deep.
The vines in the south garden had grown thick and tangled with neglect. Left unmolested, insects had nibbled holes in the leaves. Ignoring the bee buzzing near his ear, Nico knelt in the shade. Using his utility knife, he churned the hardened topcoat, unearthing the moist soil beneath. Then he carefully shoveled several inches of the rich black dirt into collection jars. He was wiping the residue on his jeans when a flash of white caught the corner of his eye. He smiled. Part of the reason he’d picked this morning to test the soil was because the southern fields abutted the verandah. This time of morning, Louisa would be having breakfast outside, the way she always did, and while she might be avoiding him, she wouldn’t be able to resist spying on what he was doing. Pretending to study the overgrown rose bush marking the end of the row, he kept his back to her. “Careful, bella mia,” he said, breaking into English, “people might think you are interested in what I am doing.”
