by Amanda Usen
Nonna Lucia nodded. “I hadn’t seen her for fifty-four years, a lifetime. Her betrayal changed the course of my life, and yet I couldn’t deny her last wish. She wanted to make sure you’d be provided for, Alessandro. She wanted my help.”
“I don’t need your help,” he said.
“Yes, clearly,” Nonna said in a kind voice. “There’s a crack in the Conti family,” she continued, “a certain arrogance, a rashness. Too quick to action, the whole lot of you, and not particularly stable. I believe your mother’s death broke Sofia’s heart. She hadn’t wanted her own child, but now her daughter was dead and she had you to raise too.” Nonna shook her head sadly. “She cracked.”
“She sold my birthright.” His voice vibrated with suppressed fury.
“You weren’t here to accept it, and she didn’t want you to be alone, living your life in the shadow of her grief and a grudge that had already shaped the lives of too many in our families. Your grandmother made mistakes, and it was too late for her to fix them. She was ashamed. I forgave her. She didn’t want to leave you alone with a run-down winery and more debt than she wanted to admit. Her spirit was broken.”
Alessandro’s fury seemed to disappear, leaving the husk of a dispirited boy. “So is my heart,” he said softly.
“But you aren’t alone.” Nonna Lucia reached up to bracket his face in her weathered hands. He blinked at her. She grabbed the hand of the man who hovered behind her. “This is how I knew you.” She took Alessandro’s hand, connecting the three. “The cheekbones, sharp like the edge of a knife. The nose, so proud. I just knew. So many lives changed by a moment’s indiscretion.” She reached up to touch his cheek again. Sean saw Alessandro tremble beneath her hand. “It is said that age brings wisdom, but no. The gift of age is forgiveness. I regret I withheld my love and forgiveness from Sofia. I regret every year I could have helped raise your mother, every year I could have been there for you when your mother was gone. Now, it is too late, but you are mistaken to think you are alone in this world. You have Benito, your grandfather.”
Alessandro shook his head and pulled away from her. “No.”
The old man raised his head. The two men stared at each other, the resemblance undeniable. “Did Sofia tell you?” he asked Alessandro. The beseeching tone in his voice was startling. He was not a man to beg. “Did your grandmother tell you her secret?”
Alessandro’s chin dipped once, a nod. “I know her secret, although she never told me herself. I found the birth certificates when I was a child, but what does it matter? A bastard is a bastard, no matter who the father is.”
“Will you tell Lucia? Please?” Big Daddy’s voice held a note of anguish.
Alessandro nodded again. He turned to Nonna Lucia. “There is a part of your story that is not true. According to my mother’s birth certificate, this man is not my grandfather. My grandfather was Pasquale Capozzi.” He looked at Big Daddy. “I assume he was your father too?”
Big Daddy nodded slowly, his eyes on Nonna Lucia.
She cried out. Gently, he grasped her shoulders. “Amore mio, I never touched Sofia. My father did.” He switched to Italian. Sean couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but the fact that Nonna was listening gave him hope. If Big Daddy could get Nonna to forgive him, maybe Olivia would forgive Sean.
***
Olivia pressed her hands to her lips, unable to prevent her own sob. So many years, so much lost. She watched Big Daddy gather Nonna into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “We were so young, Lucia. And foolish. I couldn’t betray my father’s secret. He was so ashamed. It would have killed him. I know I am an old man now, but I have always loved you. I never stopped. Will you marry me?”
Lucia nodded, still crying.
“We’ll do it tomorrow. We don’t have any more time to waste.” Benito turned his face to Alessandro. “Grazie,” he said simply. “I hope you will forgive me for not contacting you sooner. I’ve been angry at my father for a very long time.”
Alessandro bowed his head. “I am the one in need of forgiveness. I brought Vincenzo to Villa Farfalla. I paid him to find your father, hoping the secret to La Farfalla would help me reclaim my birthright. When Vincenzo discovered Pasquale was dead, he threatened to expose my identity if I didn’t continue to pay him.”
Alessandro turned toward her, shamefaced. “I am so sorry, Olivia. I shouldn’t have tried to use you. I hoped that if we married…”
“I’d be stuck with you?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
His repentant smile reminded her of the night after the opera, the night she had begun to like him. “No harm done. You did save my life after all.”
A gruff chuckle drew their attention back to Big Daddy. “Vincenzo found more than he thought he did. I knew who he was as soon as he contacted me, of course. I didn’t want him anywhere near Lucia’s family here at Villa Farfalla. Men like Ferrari move in when they sense a weakness, but they aren’t smart enough to look behind them. I have built an empire in America, an empire that has nothing to fear from a two-bit con artist like Vincenzo Ferrari. He will be running from me now. You have nothing to fear.”
Gia strode over to Alessandro and punched his arm, hard. “You have plenty to fear from me. I can’t believe you let me date such a jerk after I kept your secret. I can’t believe I felt sorry for you. Once a punk, always a punk. I should have known.”
Alessandro hung his head.
Gia looked like she might hit him again so Olivia took her cousin by the arm and pulled her aside. “I want wine,” her cousin announced.
Abruptly, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Olivia looked at Big Daddy. “If Pasquale Capozzi was your father, does that mean you know the secret to La Farfalla?”
“Of course I do.” His smile held more regret than joy. He reached into his pocket and held up an old-fashioned brass key. “It was my birthright.”
***
Sean kept a tight hold on Olivia’s hand as the crowd moved toward the tasting room, afraid at any minute she would remember she was mad at him. Big Daddy seemed to know where he was going, moving slowly but with purpose. Anticipation wound its way up his spine and curiosity fought with his desire to pull Olivia away from the crowd, fall on his knees and beg forgiveness. After hearing Nonna Lucia and Big Daddy’s story, he didn’t want to waste another minute.
Big Daddy disappeared around the end of the last barrel. Sean heard a clunking noise, then a slow creak. Big Daddy disappeared into the wall. After a second, light shone around the barrel and into the tunnel.
Big Daddy’s muffled voice echoed into the tunnel as the crowd shuffled into the room behind him. “Barrels. Great big barrels the size of elephants. That is the secret of La Farfalla. Many kinds of wood have been used to make barrels for Amarone over the years. Light oak, heavy oak, charred oak, naked oak, but the secret of La Farfalla lies in the tradition of using enormous barrels. And not just made out of oak either. Cherry, chestnut, and beech were used, anything that was available at the time. Bigger barrels require longer aging, but they also give longevity to the wine. If you want a wine to improve with age, you can’t rush it when it’s young.”
“That’s it?” Sean asked. “The secret of La Farfalla is big barrels?” Surely there was more to it than that.
Big Daddy shrugged. “Big barrels and tradition.” He gestured around the room, where gigantic barrels lined up in rows, dwarfing the crowd. Sean could almost see wheels turning in Paolo’s mind as he looked around the room, balancing the variables, measuring the possibilities. Sean was doing the same thing as he watched Olivia’s face.
“How long?” Paolo demanded. “How long did your father age the wine in this room?”
“Ah, well, perhaps there is a little more to the secret.” Big Daddy clapped him on the arm and gave him a grin that made him look every inch the
mobster. The light bulb blew, darkening the room.
Big Daddy reached forward to flip the switch back down. “Better get the wires checked in here.” The sudden darkness was unsettling. Big Daddy was the last to leave the room, so he pulled the door back flush with the wall and turned the key, handing it to Paolo.
“This is the year of La Farfalla.” Olivia’s father’s nod was slow and certain.
Big Daddy put his arm around Nonna Lucia and led the crowd back down the long hall. Olivia pulled her hand away from him and followed them. Loneliness rose in a thin plume inside him. It poured from the edges of his soul, blinding him, choking him. He couldn’t speak. The possibility of happiness hung between them like the grapes on the vines, fat with possibility, filled with sweetness, ready for harvest.
“Olivia?” he called softly.
She stopped, looked over her shoulder. He raced to catch up with her and held her back until the crowd left the tunnel. He took a deep breath. “I wanted you to come back to New York with me. I only said I didn’t because you’re so happy here, so at peace and cheerful in the kitchen. I couldn’t ask you to go back to Norton. You were miserable there. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
She raised her hand to his face. “I was happy here because of you, silly. You made me happy.” Her green eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Until you rushed out of here like a bat out of hell and left me feeling cheaper than the manager’s special in the meat department.”
He pressed a kiss into her palm. “I never even considered that I might be the reason you were happy.”
“Well, you’re an idiot.” She crossed her arms.
“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that lately.” He fingered the bruise on his jaw. “Colin called me a martyr and told me to get a life too. He’s right. I never asked you what you wanted. I decided you were happy here, so I left. It was a stupid thing to do. If you’re happy in Verona, we’ll stay here. I don’t care where we live. I just want to be with you.” He felt like he’d been waiting fifteen years for a chance to say this to her. “I love you, Olivia. I hope it’s not too late for you to love me too.”
Olivia wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “It’s never too late for love,” she said.
Gratitude and joy made him clutch her tightly and kiss her again. It was several long minutes before he remembered he had bought her a present in town tonight. He yanked the T-shirt out of his back pocket and held it up. “I promise to be less stupid in the future.”
She burst out laughing and snatched the white T-shirt out of his hands. She held it up to her chest. “A perfect fit,” she declared and he grinned at the elaborately scripted “I hate Romeo” emblazoned on her chest. “A man who has the insight to buy a shirt like this deserves my forgiveness. And my love.” Her expression turned serious. “I do love you, Sean. So much.”
She wrapped her arms around him, crushing the shirt between them.
He held her tight. “So,” he began, “Verona or New York?”
“New York.” She looked up at him. “I took my house off the market. Joe and Marlene are going to buy Chameleon, and I’m going to open a bed and breakfast with Marilyn Russo. She’s going to handle the business end and I’ll take care of the kitchen. We’ll do cooking classes and wine tastings—something a lot like Villa Farfalla but smaller.”
“You’ve been busy,” he said, loving her plans and the excitement in her eyes, but most of all just loving her.
She nodded. “A month ago, the idea of starting something new would have terrified me. I would have been paralyzed by fear and indecision, but not anymore. Part of that is thanks to you. I’m not afraid to take control anymore and start doing the stuff I want to do. Being with you taught me things about myself that I had never suspected.” Her smile turned playful. “Some very interesting things.”
“Hold that thought.” He backed her across the aisle and boosted her up onto a barrel.
“There’s whole hotel over there with beds and everything if you’re looking to live out another fantasy,” she said, when he stepped between her thighs.
“You are my fantasy, Olivia,” he whispered, leaning down to give her a soft kiss.
He felt her smile against his lips. “Perfetto.”
Acknowledgments
The second book is a very different journey from the first! Scrumptious was inspired by my chef husband and fifteen years in the food industry. Luscious was a much more collaborative project. In fact, I kept a running list, lest I forget someone by the time I reached THE END.
Luscious was born when Dr. Michael C. Geraci walked into a patient consult room while I was editing the very first draft of Scrumptious. When I told him I was a writer and a chef, he spun tales of his fabulous Italian vacations. A year later, he and his wife, Dorie, graciously answered my questions and shared thousands of photos. I owe Villa Farfalla to their amazing memories!
My thanks to Robin and Duncan Ross of Arrowhead Spring Vineyards in Lockport, New York, for allowing me to help harvest the 2010 Chardonnay Vintage. I arrived at the vineyard and said, “I’m the chef who is writing a book.” And Robin said, “I’m the farmer who is distributing bins.” Sadly, I drove over one of those bins when they let me drive the tractor later that day. Sorry about that, guys!
I am grateful to Michelangelo of www.veronissima.com, who helped me place Villa Farfalla in Verona and whose lovely website educated me on Valpolicella and Amarone. It was my excellent fortune that my friends Molly and Dave Darnley toured Italy just as I was finishing Luscious, providing me with up-to-the-minute fact-checking resources. My heartfelt thanks to Anna Maria Park, a graduate of Universitá La Sapienza, Rome, Italy, who translated the Italian for me. Any errors are mine in revision!
Speaking of revisions, my editor Leah Hultenschmidt deserves daily cupcakes for the rest of her life for her insight, patience, enthusiasm, and excellent suggestions. It is a pleasure to work with her, Beth Pehlke, Aubrey Poole, Kristin Zelazko, and the rest of my awesome Sourcebooks team. A zillion thanks to my clear-sighted agent, Nalini Akolekar of Spencerhill Associates, for keeping me grounded. A lifetime of love to my husband and kiddies—for absolutely everything, especially the hugs.
My collaborative effort ends here, with you, the reader. Thank you for taking this Luscious journey with me. Arrivederci!
About the Author
Amanda Usen knows two things for certain: chocolate cheesecake is good for breakfast and a hot chef can steal your heart. Her husband stole hers the first day of class at the Culinary Institute of America, so she married him after graduation in a lovely French Quarter restaurant in New Orleans. They spent a few years enjoying the food and the fun in the Big Easy before they returned to Western New York to raise a family. Amanda spends her days teaching pastry arts classes and her nights writing romance. If she isn’t baking or writing, she can usually be found chasing the kids around the yard with her very own luscious husband. Visit her at www.amandausen.com if you’d like to chat about romance, writing, or recipes.