‘Youdid?’ Margherita asked, not having expected the twist.
Sarah turned to smile at Matthew. ‘Yes. Who could resist such a gorgeous face?’ She playfully caught his chin and gave it a gentle tug. ‘The rest is history.’
‘Hang on a second,’ Matthew demanded, raising his right hand mid-air to stop Sarah. ‘I wasnotlooking for the bathroom. That’s just the excuse I used to talk to you.’ He leaned over the makeshift table and said, ‘Truthfully, I saw her across the marquee and decided then and there that she would be my future wife. When you know, you know. Full of grace, confident and so beautiful.’ Turning to Sarah he stared into her cinnamon brown eyes. ‘It was that easy.’
‘You’re so gorgeous,’ she said. ‘How did I get so lucky?’ Without thinking, Sarah wrapped her left arm around Matthew’s neck and drew him close, planting a gentle kiss on his lips.
As their mouths parted, Matthew’s breath caught momentarily in his chest. ‘I’mthe lucky one,’ he replied, noting how an unexpected tingle lingered on his lips.
‘Quanto siete carini!’ Margherita said, her hands clasped together at her heart.
As the conversation continued, Matthew’s mind replayed the kiss on loop. There was nothing sexual at all about it; closed-mouth, warm and sweet. And yet, something about it seemed familiar, as if they had done it many times before.
He drew his lower lip behind his front teeth and gave it a nibble. There was justsomethingabout that kiss.
‘Isn’t that right, hun?’ Sarah ran her hand up his arm, coaxing him from his reverie.
‘Sorry, what?’
‘I was just saying how lucky we are to have Margherita, Angelo and now you, Riccardo, in our new Italian family.’
‘Yes. Absolutely.’ He sat upright. ‘So lucky, in fact, we should make a toast.’
‘Sì!’ Margherita cheered, as they all charged their glasses.
‘To us, to Convento delle Viole and to surviving this absolute mess!’
‘Cin cin!’ Riccardo piped up.
As Sarah downed her final mouthful of wine, she looked across the table at their new friends.We’re going to be just fine, she told herself.
As their lunch progressed, they made their way to the courtyard to enjoy coffee and the last of yesterday’s ‘Only Pav’ in the valley-facing courtyard. Matthew and Riccardo disassembled, moved and reassembled the dining room table. It was simply a door which had come off its hinges, dressed in a bedsheet, propped up by stacks of bricks at either side. Sarah and Margherita followed, carrying the chairs.
‘We’re great at improvising, as you can see,’ Sarah laughed as they tried their best to lay the door flat on the brick platforms, its water-damage-induced buckle making the task quite difficult.
Margherita and Riccardo shared a knowing look they hadn’t intended Matthew to see. Sensing an uneasy apprehension, as if they wanted to say something but chose not to, he asked, ‘What are you two thinking?’
Riccardo paused for a moment. ‘If you needmobili– chairs, beds, porcelain-ware, bookcases, a new door –’ he gestured to their table, ‘I may have what you’re looking for. We have a whole barn of reclaimed furniture, some vintage, lots of antiques, some rare pieces, too. We just don’t have space in the store for it all.’
Sarah, who had joined them carrying the moka of hot coffee, had caught the tail-end of his offer. ‘When can we come take a look?’ She set the moka down on the uneven surface of the door’s wooden panel. ‘Tell me you have a table.’
Riccardo laughed. ‘More than we know what to do with!’
Matthew’s eyes turned to assess Convento delle Viole to his left. ‘Actually, you might be able to help with something else.’ He quickly darted inside, and returned with the list of contractors Saverio had left them. ‘Your brother left us this list of “preferred” local tradespeople.’ He passed the list across the table, and both Riccardo and Margherita studied it closely. ‘I’ve called all of them. Dead ends. Issues. A nightmare. Can you think what’s going on?’
Margherita drained her glass of wine and muttered something Italian under her breath, the tone of which Sarah used to infer its meaning.
Riccardo’s eyes filled with pity. ‘This is sabotage.’ He held up the list so that Sarah and Matthew could read the names. ‘Some of these people are the worst in the area. I wouldn’t trust them with a handshake, let alone a renovation.’ Riccardo’s eyes narrowed on the final name. ‘Ma, non è morto lui? Almeno cinque anni fa?’ he asked Margherita.
‘Oh, yes. He’s very dead.’ Her eyebrows raised, and she cocked her head to the right. ‘Did he answer your calls?’
‘That guy, no.’ Matthew chuckled.
‘Thankfully.’ Riccardo smiled and his face brightened. ‘I have just the person you need.’
‘Chi?’ Margherita asked.
‘La Petunia.’
