“I didn’t imagine all this study was behind it.”
Bull’s-eye! “Do you also imagine we still stomp the grapes with our feet?” I tease him, pondering whether to deliver a final blow by explaining spurred cordon cultivation.
“I wouldn’t go that far, but seeing you stomp grapes would be an interesting sight.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“What a shame,” he replies with a strange half smile, which makes me wonder if there was a subtle mischief in his suggestion.
At midday, with the sun shining and the cicadas chirping, we get hungry and take a break in the middle of the olive grove.
Michael unfolds the rough cotton mat in the shade of one of the trees with the thickest foliage, and I unpack the basket that I had secured to the saddle.
“I haven’t asked you yet if the ride bothered you,” I say, sitting down next to him. “You know, after the incident with Pompilia ...”
“Those diced frozen veggies worked miracles,” he announces, uncorking the bottle and pouring the wine. “Let’s toast.”
“To your newfound virility,” I exclaim, holding out my glass to him.
“It was never lost, just momentarily tested,” he says after we down our glasses in a single gulp.
I set out all the treats prepared by Mamma: focaccia withfinocchionaand pecorino, an egg-and-artichoke tart, and a pie with ricotta and candied orange. “You can relax today; there’s nothing spicy here.”
“Will you stop bringing that up? It wasn’t a good experience.”
“Oh no,” I exclaim with mock regret. “Does that mean you won’t be asking Pompilia on a second date?”
“No. Not her, or Regina, or Intemerata.”
“Was I too horrible to you?” I ask, taking a bite to hide a satisfied smile.
“Quite. Maybe I wasn’t the epitome of gallantry that night we met again, but I don’t think I deserved that much suffering.”
“Look at it this way: You’ve earned a credit for the next time you’re rude to me,” I warn him.
“I have no intention of being rude. In addition to apologizing for what I said, I take it all back and repeat: In reality, I find you rather beautiful.”
Okay, maybe the glass of wine on an empty stomach is talking for him. “Don’t be a cad, Michael.”
“It’s the truth. I think you’re the most beautiful woman in all of Belvedere.”
“Giada is the most beautiful,” I reply, my basic sense of reality preventing me from accepting the compliment.
“It’s not just a question of looks. You’re not exactly one to be without words.”
“Is that a polite way of saying I can’t keep my mouth shut?”
“I’ve always known you have no filters, but that’s not what I mean. You’re one of the few people who always has something interesting to say.”
“Oh, so you liked my lecture about the cultivation of Chianti?”
“I don’t know if I’ll retain any of it, but I can say that today I know more than I did yesterday. You’re a beautiful person, Elisa.”
I shrug, stuffing my mouth with tart so I don’t have to talk. “Oh, um ... thanks!” I stumble.
“For what?”
“I don’t know how to respond to compliments. I’m not very used to it.”
