So focused on not missing the turnoff, I don’t realize I’m practically on top of the castle I saw in the distance. That’s when I spy the gates toTenuta delle Ombre—Estate of Shadows.
I now understand why it was named that way as I drive up the long drive flanked by those magnificent chestnuts. They act as sentinels as the gravel crunches beneath my tires. Off to the west, the castle ruins lay in shadow. But as much as I want nothing more than to turn my vehicle in that direction to explore, I know I have plenty of time. For now, I need food and rest. So, it’s not without some regret, I head toward the stone villa built on the property.
Once I park on the pristine cobblestones, I slide from the vehicle and take in all that isTenuta delle Ombre. In the fall Italian sunshine, the last vestiges of stress I’ve been carrying slips away. “This is where I’m meant to be.”
Footsteps approach. That’s when a voice that’s too familiar for my own good murmurs, “I was hoping you’d feel that way.”
Whirling around, my lips part in shock when I study the handsome dark-haired man in front of me. It’s not his gorgeous face that has me stunned speechless, but the fact I recognize it.
He hasn’t reached out once since everything went down. Not once.Here I thought we were building a friendship.I remember catching him when he fell, only to wonder some days if he would reach out to do the same for me. My heart aches at the idea that our friendship was so one-sided. That this is the face I see at what is supposed to be my Italian retreat makes me want to jump back into my vehicle and find another villa to decompress in.
My jaw clenches. I don’t say a word.Let him speak first.
Unfortunately for me, he comes closer. “Hello Maya.”
For at least half a minute, I stare into his dark brown eyes before I grit out, “Troy.”
His mouth quirks in a self-depreciating manner. “Can’t even manage the usual pleasantries?”
“Such as?”
“It’s nice to see me?”
My chin jerks up. “I’m not a liar.” Unsaid is,Not like you and your buddies are.
His lips firm. I guess my thoughts are easy to read. “Regardless of your opinion of me?—”
I jump in, “You don’t want to know what I think about you.”
A light dims in his eyes, but he plows on. “Welcome toTenuta delle Ombre.”
I twist my head left and right in confusion. “Why are you welcoming me here? Why not the owners?”
That’s when he reveals a truth that sets off an earthquake, with him standing at the epicenter. “I am the owner.”
8
KICKOFF RETURN: RECEIVING TEAM RUNS BACK THE KICKOFF.
Well, at least Maya didn’t get back in her car and book it out of here once she found out I owned the vineyard. I’ll take any W in the win column.
Especially after the way her personal life has been public fodder for the last few months.
What was Bryce thinking?Since I already know Bryce is a fuckup of the worst magnitude from having played on the sameteam with him, I don’t credit him with thinking. But I have to wonder if our offensive line let him get tackled a few too many times on the field that disassociated his cognitive thinking. After all, Maya is beautiful much in the same way the vineyard is—quiet and peaceful at first glance, but the longer a person stands among the rows of rich vines, the more the details take their breath away.
The way her intelligence shines through her deep blue eyes reminds me of the rich soil that runs through the Piedmont region—complex and full of layers to be uncovered if you’re blessed to dig deeply enough. The stories she shared about her travels were captivating. That is, what I heard of them before Bryce would turn the attention back to himself.
Selfish prick.
Still, it looks like I’ll be wearing a hair shirt of guilt by association until I can convince her to have an actual conversation with me about the events of her engagement party. Her body language says more than her clipped words ever could—stiff shoulders, rigid movements. Like every time our eyes meet, it costs her soul something. She leans back against her vehicle, arms crossed, and gives me the kind of look that strips a man cleaner than an early frost hitting the vines in October.
I can’t blame her. Not when she has no idea what I did or didn’t know before that dumpster fire of a video. Using my words won’t be enough this time. I’ll have to earn every ounce of her courtesy, starting with assuring her I’m not the enemy she’s convinced herself I am.
It’s time I suit up for the game of patience.
Because I know I’m going to need it.
“The villa rarely has visitors at this time of year because of harvest,” I explain to Maya when she realizes dinner is limited to a few of us. I greeted her at the foot of the grand staircase, dressed casually in slacks, a jacket, and a button-down.
