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Oh, I promise, princess.
I’ve been wanting that kiss since the first moment I laid eyes on her, and now I’ve had a taste, I need more. I can already feel my fingers grazing over her smooth skin, exploring every satiny inch. It took every ounce of self-control to pull back once my lips touched hers. She’s infected me with a sweet hunger that makes me want to kiss her until she’s breathless and panting for more.
So much more.
We walk to the piazza del campo, talking about everything but the kiss, but I’m so aware of it, I can still taste her lips on mine. In the ancient square, we have a long lunch. Cora is animated, telling me about her art program, the foods she loves, her life back home…
I would gladly watch and listen to her for hours.
With no regrets.
It’s a scary thought. I barely know this girl, but I feel like I’d gladly shelve things that have been important to me my whole life just to be around her.
“What are you thinking?” She’s smiling at me, head cocked to one side. Her eyes are alive and curious.
“I’m thinking that you’re perfect.”
Her laughter is self-conscious, yet full. “I’m not perfect.” Her eyes meet mine and she lets out a sigh. “You, on the other hand…”
“Me?”
She doesn’t reply, instead she rolls her eyes.
Laughing, I settle the bill. “Come on,” I tell her. “This trip isn’t over yet.”
We walk back to the car, then make the short drive to Monterrigoni, lingering there with the other tourists and taking pictures until late in the afternoon before heading to the last stop, a vineyard in the Chianti region.
I’d enlisted Nick’s help with planning the day, and while Sienna and Monteriggoni had been my idea, the vineyard, owned and managed by one of his many uncles, was his suggestion.
It’s set among beautiful, rolling hills, with a weathered stone villa at the end of a gravelly driveway with citrus trees and green fields on either side. The air is fresh and rich with the smells of nature. When we reach the house, a middle-aged man with a full head of white hair and deeply tanned skin meets us at the entrance.
“You must be Tristan,” he says in a deep, commanding baritone, giving me a friendly smile before turning to Cora. “And you, of course, are the lovely Cora.” He takes her hand and raises it to his lips. Cora blushes but doesn’t pull her hand away. “I’m Matteo Roverella and it is an absolute delight to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Cora replies. “Everything is so beautiful.”
“Beautiful weather, food and wine…music too, and laughter when we’re lucky,” Matteo says. “What more can we ask?”
What more indeed.
In the cool interior of the house, a gangly teenage boy joins us. Matteo introduces him as his son, Paolo.
“Paolo will assist me in showing you around. You can explore the vineyards and later, there’ll be dinner and wine.”
Paolo gives us both a welcoming grin, then takes my hand, his eyes dancing with excitement. “It’s so great to meet you, Tristan. May I call you Tristan? I have so many questions. Is it true that the sale of…”
“Paolo.” His father stops him before he can start talking about my company and my work. “Today is for wine, okay?”
Paolo nods contritely. “Yes, father.”
“Let’s begin,” Matteo says.
We spend the next hour visiting the stone cellar holding hundreds of casks of different wines. We taste the wines, snacking on bread and assorted cheese. Paolo leads us on a guided tour of the rows of vines, lemon groves and cypress trees that ring the property, but even though he still seems excited, he doesn’t mention my work again. Which is great. I want today to be about Cora having a great time, not explaining that I’m far more successful than I’ve allowed her to believe.
There’ll be time to come clean to her. Later.
CHAPTER12
CORA
