“Lil ... did you hear what I just said?”
She shook her head as if to clear it. “I did. I think the sun has melted my brain.” She strode forward and set her hands on his shoulders. “That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
“Proud ofus,” he replied. “We did this together. You and me both, because I never could have finished it without all your help. Coming here was the best thing ever. I know I wasn’t keen at first, but I’m glad you pushed me, because it turned out to be the spark that lit a fire under me to actually get it done. So thank you.”
She had never seen Freddie look so proud, which caused an ocean of guilt to wash over her, because she was about to flatten that happiness with a confession that she had been unfaithful to him. Worse ... that she was in love with another man. Deeply, profoundly in love.
“You’re welcome,” she murmured, hesitantly.
Freddie unzipped the backpack and withdrew a thick wad of paper held together by elastic bands and plunked it on the table. “There it is. All four hundred and thirty-six pages. There’s probably room to cut some stuff, but I’ll let an editor take care of that.” He gazed at her imploringly. “Will you read it, Lil?”
Baffled, she could do nothing but stare blankly at him.Nowhe was asking her to read it? They had been married for five years, and not once had he ever permitted her to read a single word, not even when she begged.
“Of course,” she replied, robotically. “You know how curious I’ve been.”
“I do, and I’m sorry for keeping so much of this hidden from you. I think ... I was just afraid that you’d hate it, and if you did, it would have derailed me because I respect your opinion so much.”
Another wave of guilt washed over her.
He sat down at the table, pushed his plate back, and smiled up at her. “Now, we can go home,” he said. “I feel like celebrating. We should go out for dinner tonight in Montepulciano and order a bottle of wine.”
She frowned. “What do you mean, go home?”
“I mean, Ididit. I finished the book, and now I want to get home, because that’s the address on my cover letter to the agent. I’ll need to be checking the mailbox every day.”
She gestured toward the telephone. “Couldn’t you have given him the phone number here?”
“Well ... no. That would be an overseas call. I didn’t want to put any obstacles in front of him.”
She stiffened with annoyance. “But Freddie, I’ve committed to the whole summer here. They spent time training me, and they expect me to stay until after the harvest in September. I can’t just quit on them.”
“Oh.” He sat back, looking dumbfounded. “Are you worried about references? Because it won’t matter after I sell this book. You’ll be able to stop working.”
She struggled to cling to her patience. “Do you realize that not once since you walked in the door have you asked whatIwanted? You never do.”
“I thought you wanted me to finish my book.”
Frustrated, she spoke in a rush. “Maybe I like working. And you don’t even know if a publisher will make an offer on your book. Even if the agent accepts it, it could take years to find a home for it and start earning royalties. And not all books get published. Most of them get rejected. I know this because I read yourWriter’s Digestmagazine all the time.”
Silence. All the color drained from Freddie’s face. It was the first time Lillian had ever stuck a pin in his dream bubble.
“Don’t say that. Not today, when I’m feeling on top of the world.”
She put her hand over her eyes. “It’s not my intention to bring you down. I’m sure your book is great and the agent’s going to love it.” She lowered her hand and looked at him directly. “But your dreams of publication aren’t going to put food on the table while you wait to hear back from him, and that could take months, maybe even a year. Besides, I love working here. I’ve never enjoyed a job so much in my life. I’m passionate about all this, and I want to learn more about wine making. I’m even toying with the idea of taking a sommelier course.”
“What?” Freddie frowned and scratched at his jaw. “A sommelier? You know you can’t drink when you’re pregnant, right? Does that mean you don’t want to start trying?”
The look on his face left her frazzled. She wasn’t sure if it was disappointment she saw or relief. She honestly had no idea.
A deep frown set into his features, and she waited for him to elaborate—to tell her that a career in the wine-making industry was a pipe dream, that a sommelier course would cost too much, or that he was happy with a career plan for her because he didn’t want to have children after all—he’d never wanted that—and he had been stringing her along all this time. She almostwantedhim to say those things sothat they could fight and shout at each other. Someone might even throw something. It would be a first for them, but maybe it might feel good, for once, to vent her frustrations about their marriage. After five years, she felt like a pressure cooker.
Freddie stood up and walked toward her. He pulled her into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing her back. “You’ve been supporting my dreams ever since the day we met, so if you want to stay here and finish out the season, we can do that. And if you want to take a class about wine tasting, we can do that too. I’m just so happy that I finished my book. Now that it’s done, we can start living. We’ll do whatever you want.”
She should have been relieved. Finally, her husband was thinking of their life together, not just his own personal dreams and goals. More importantly, he had proven yet again that he was not the sort of man who shouted or smashed things, which was why she had chosen him as a husband in the first place. In that way, he had never disappointed her.
Why, then, was her stomach churning with exasperation?
