“I wish she’d learn to make friends,” I sigh. “She’s so lively and expressive with adults but very shy with her peers. They aren’t really drawn to her.”
“It’s a shame, because she has plenty of personality. Have you ever thought about finding a different school for her? Maybe she’d find it easier to socialize in a more competitive environment that can nurture her skills.”
“And what school would that be?”
“There aren’t any options besides the village school? What about in Milan? Or in Switzerland? In London, there are high schools that would give a scholarship to a student like her.”
“If there are options, they’re either too far away for a thirteen-year-old girl or too expensive for me,” I reply. “Plus, the idea of sending her who knows where kills me inside. Linda and I grew up together. She slept in my bed until she was ten. Next year she’ll be in high school; maybe another year will bring her out of her shell.”
“I thought perhaps she needed to broaden her horizons.”
“Everyone’s a good parent with other people’s children.”
“You’re right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to come between you and Linda.”
“No problem. If you ever want to be a father, you’re welcome to take her for a few weeks.”
“Thanks but not for me. So, what did you want to show me today?” he asks when I stop the cart in front of the long brick building that until a few centuries ago was the farm workers’ quarters.
“How harvested grapes become Chianti.” I invite him to follow me inside, where the machines are now stopped, though in a month, they will be running at full capacity. “We select the bunches based on theirquality, after which we run them through these machines that separate the grapes from the stalks.”
“And from the peels,” he adds.
“The skins are precious: They contain the polyphenols that lend color, aroma, and structure to the wine,” I say, entering the next room.
“These polyphenols pack a punch.”
“They do. Plus, they contain flavonoids, which are now known for their numerous properties, including as an aphrodisiac.”
“Aphrodisiac?” He winks in a way that makes me feel as if the buttons on my dress might explode out of their buttonholes. “And you say this because you personally experienced it?”
“Harvard, which conducted the study, says so.”
“I feel a sudden need to know more about enology.”
“I won’t leave you hanging. Here,” I say, moving on to the next room, “the grapes are pressed to extract the must.”
Michael looks at the machine I’m pointing out to him. “I much prefer the image of you crushing grapes with your feet, the old-fashioned way.”
“And why is that?”
“It happens in a lot of Sophia Loren films, super sexy.”
“Sophia Loren?”
“No, you.”
His response, as direct as it is unexpected, leaves me shocked. Does Michael seriously see something sexy in me? Not that I don’t consider myself sensual. I can be very sensual when I want to be, but I was convinced—and I still am—that if there is one man on earth incapable of seeing sensuality in me, it’s Michael.
Nearly breathless, I continue my explanation of the winemaking process. “The must then passes into these steel vats for fermentation. Our wine is organic. We don’t add sulfites because reds are naturally protected from oxidation by tannins, another gift from the precious skin.”
“This professor’s dress of yours is also rather interesting, you know.”
Wham! Another blow below the belt. This time, however, I manage to respond with a worthy joke. “And make sure to stay in line; otherwise, I’ll have to punish you.” For added authority, I grab a long blackthorn twig that we use to turn the must and tap it on my palm.
A thin, mischievous smile tugs at the left corner of his mouth. “Really interesting.”
“Careful, there will be a quiz later,” I threaten him, turning my back to him and proceeding at a brisk pace between the vats. With a quick and shameless little shimmy ... He started it, right? Rise to the challenge or succumb. And this dress I stole from my sister accentuates my every movement. “After two weeks, we filter the impurities out of the wine and ... follow me.” With a pirouette that flares my skirt, I enter an arched passage carved into a wall at least half a meter thick, “We transfer it into these oak barrels.”
