The wheels were turning the earth, and it smelled like grape season inNel Cielo.A muddy, earthiness with a hint of burning wood that perfumes the air in autumn. Uncle Tito was reveling in it, a mixture of pure joy on his face—an old man remembering for a moment what it feels like to run free.
A knock came at the door, and Scarlett stood straighter, fixing her clothes. She took me by the hand. “It’s time to get cooking in your kitchen.” A wide smile spread on her face. “It’s time to prepare manna for the people you love—give themsomething that will not only nourish their bodies, but their souls with the love that extends from your heart to your hands, then to the food.”
I squeezed her hand, an excited light inside of me brightening to almost fire pitch. “I’m ready.”
We laughed all the way to the door, then to the kitchen, where a group of women and I banded together over stoves and tables, and cooked all day—the love in my heart pouring from my hands into the food.
I clasped the cross, even with flour still stuck to my skin, and knew without a doubt—Nonna was proud, and for the first time in years, I was determined to give my great-aunt the ending she always deserved.
One that would be just as happy as mine.
Chapter 16
When Life Gives You Grapes, You Make Wine
Aria Amora
The morning of the harvesting celebration, it felt like a romantic movie score about Italy and its grapes was setting the tone to the day, if the music my husband had playing was any indication. The music was, in fact, a romantic score Maestro, Brando and Scarlett’s youngest son, had written for us.
The sun was not far off, that time when the air is starting to become softer as the glow chases away the darkness. I knew that, once it took over the sky, it was going to clear most of the fog, and our entire room would be filled with golden light. The same light that shined through the amber grape leaves, highlighting their veins, and touched deep purple figs, plumping them up with a sweetness only the sun could accomplish.
Maybe because of the theme of the celebration—vintage roots—and all the talk about my great-aunt Avelina, the era she had been a young woman in, I felt as if the world had taken on a different hue, maybe sepia, and I was waking up in a different time.
A simpler time, but no less dangerous.
I pushed all thoughts of danger aside, focusing on what the land had offered us, and my husband’s hard work to bring its bounty from grapes to wine.
We stared at each other through our reflections in the mirror, maybe both of us imagining the same thing—another time, another place. He wore a suit from a different time, one his grandfather owned. It had suspenders, a cap, and my favorite accessory of all: my husband’s rough hands, and the wedding band he wore on his left ring finger.
I’d done my hair in thick waves, sweeping one side up, securing it with the pin Rocco had given me. It was a casting of a bunch of grapes and their leaves. I went light and soft on the makeup, allowing the sun to give me a natural gold warmth to add to the pinks and purples.
The dress I wore…my husband ran his hands down it, caressing every curve. He’d surprised me by having another version of my great-aunt’s dress custom made for me. This one was longer, had buttons down the center, but was the same color with the same flower design. The perfume he designed for me to wear reminded me of bursting figs in the autumn sun. It was warm with earthy undertones, which perfectly complimented the woodsy scent he wore.
After he looked over our bathroom counter, filled with all the things I used to get ready, he took a deep breath in and sighed it out. He set his nose against my neck, and without him having to, I tilted some to give him easier access. He breathed me in. “A woman,” he whispered in Italian. “A woman who keeps me fulfilled and starving at the same time. Mine.”
My eyes closed at the intensity in his voice, the passion, and if it wasn’t for his hands keeping me on my feet, I would’ve been too weak to stand.
I’d taken away a lot of recipes from the time I’d spent in the kitchen with all the women, including Scarlett’s neighbor in Tuscany, Apollonia, whose daughter was married to Violet and Mitch’s son, but I also took away what seemed like a universaltruth among the women who were married to a Fausti—these men had the power to bring a woman to her knees with a look.
A touch? Forget about it. The war was already lost.
In a move so smooth, it barely felt like he’d done it, he lifted me off my feet and carried me back into our bedroom from our ensuite bathroom. He set me down on the bed, and after he slipped my flats on my feet, he slid his feet into a pair of boots. He took my hand and led me downstairs. After breakfast, he took my hand again and led me outside.
I inhaled a breath of fresh air and slowly released it, and it seemed like clouds purled from my mouth. The sun was hiding behind the hills, only lending its glow to the fog moving across the valleys and peaks, and the entire world seemed infused with its glow.
We were surrounded by iridescent air.
From my viewpoint, miles of rolling hills unfurled around me, rows and rows of pruned grape plants relaxing until it was time to work on next year’s harvest. A breeze gently stirred the air around us, and the earthy smell of plants, wood, and the bitter scent of the oncoming cold gave me a hug.
Rocco wrapped his arms around me, and before he could take his shirt off and offer it to me, I stopped him.
“I’m good, my love.Grazie.” Keeping his hand, I lifted on my toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
He shook his head and pointed to his mouth.
“Even better,” I whispered as I touched his mouth with mine. It was a soft kiss that left tingles behind, but it went deep, as deep as a kiss could go.
His eyes were closed when I pulled away, and for a moment, all he did was breathe. Then his sea-green eyes opened, and my breath caught at the way the light was swimming in them. This time, I was dazed when he brought my hand to his mouth, placing a warm kiss on each of my knuckles.
