So, here I am in Tuscany, fun all set to commence the moment I can get away from this damn party. A wedding in Italy is still a wedding, and events like this are just not for me. Touring monuments and looking at art in museums? Trying new food and wandering unfamiliar streets? Now that I could get on board with. And just as soon as the sun sets and rises once more, I’ll be on my way.
Stripes of orange slash across the sky, promising a beautiful sunset over the summer green of the hills. When I reach the end of the drive, I walk over to a wire fence and drape my coat over the top, leaning on one of the wooden posts to watch. Green and brown stretches out in front of me, the orderly rows of grapes broken up here and there by trees. Only the buzz of insects disrupts the quiet. This is better. No fake smiling for the camera, or introducing myself to people who will forget me the momentI’m out of eyesight. This is what fun in Italy looks like for me—silence and solitude and a beautiful view.
“Hello again.”
Niilo’s voice startles me and I jump in what I hope is a manly, dignified sort of way. I turn to find him a couple paces behind me.
“Hi.”
“Tired of the party?” he asks, taking a step toward me and holding up a bottle of water for a sip. He’s even shorter than I’d first thought—probably no taller than 5’6”, narrow and lean in his black-and-white uniform. I have to tuck my chin to meet his eyes.
“I was tired of the party before it even started,” I admit, making him laugh. I glance behind him, up at the villa. “Are you on a break?”
“Mm,” he agrees, moving to stand beside me at the fence. I force myself to look away from the smooth curve of his neck, and back at the sunset. “Are you with the bride or the groom?”
“Bride. We work together for an advertising company. I’m in sports, she’s in fashion. This is the first time we’ve met in person.” Niilo looks at me, eyebrows raised in surprise and question. I shrug, arm brushing against his. “We’re both remote workers, so we’re at home, not an office.”
“Wow,” he comments. “You must be good enough friends to have come all this way for her wedding, though?”
“I’d love to agree, but, Niilo, I’ve got to be honest—I’m mostly here for an excuse to see Italy.”
He laughs again, sending a pair of dimples and a smile up my way. I’m pretty sure the venue knew precisely what they were doing when they hired this man to work the bar. It takes a lot to put an Italian sunset to shame, but he’s managing just fine.
“You remembered my name,” he muses.
“The name you gave me less than an hour ago? I’m not likely to forget.” Not in this lifetime, anyway.
He smiles, pleased, and takes another sip of his water as he looks out across the vineyard at the sunset I’m supposed to be enjoying. A little hard to care, though, when Niilo is right there.
“You’re from Finland,” I say, repeating the information he’d given earlier. “So, does that mean you live here? Or are you just here for…” I trail off, hoping he doesn’t mind my nosiness.
I’m not a particularly outgoing person, and this wedding is far beyond any socialization I would usually partake in. Especially since I know exactly one person here, and her only through virtual means. But Niilo is as beautiful and exotic as a tropical bird; it’s impossible to look away and even more impossible to tamp down my curiosity. I want to know anything he wants to tell me.
“Travel. Work. Fun,” he intones, lifting one narrow shoulder in a casual shrug, the movement as fluid as a dancer’s. He takes another sip of water from his bottle before holding it out to me, a question in his eyes.
Gaze locked on his, I take a long drink and hand it back.
CHAPTER 2
Niilo
How unexpectedthis big American man is. Handsome enough to have heads turning his way as he walked by, and humble enough not to notice. He stuttered through the most awkward introduction I’ve had in a long time, and blushed like a schoolboy when I touched his hand.
Oh yes, Roman is a lovely surprise.
Although it would be a crying shame to take him out of that suit, I can’t imagine the view underneath is a hardship on the eye. Roman looks a little like a Viking—all messy dark hair, scruff, and arms a man could sink his teeth into. He’s got chest hair, I just know he has.
I hate working weddings, but the universe is apparently kind to those who bartend. I smile at my Viking, catching him checking me out again and earning another pretty blush.
“Have you enjoyed much of the country?” I ask, gesturing toward the green hills of Tuscany, washed out by the golden light of sunset.
“I only flew in yesterday,” he admits sheepishly, as though he’s committed a punishable offense by not having already completed a full holiday itinerary.
“Only staying for the wedding?” I ask. “What a shame to only see Tuscany. To only see the villa.”
I gesture vaguely behind me. The villa and surrounding vineyard are stunning, but they are also intended to appeal to rich people who can afford a wedding that costs more than most people make in a year. It would be like only seeing Italy from the comfort of your couch and the television. Pretty, but some things are better with your feet on the ground.
“Oh, no. Actually, I’ve got a couple weeks here. Staying here tonight—well, notherehere, but in Tuscany—and then off from there.”
