Under the Sicilian Sky

by Alexia Adams

  “Dio no. Don’t you remember the last woman she convinced me to take to dinner?”

  They both laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls in the tiny cottage. Bella sipped her wine and stared over the rim at Cristo. He’d been a friend for so long she hadn’t seen him as a man. Their gazes locked again and she was the first to look away. What the hell?

  “She was definitely special,” Bella said, forcing aside the moment and trying to get back to their regular camaraderie.

  “If your definition of special includes stalking me for three weeks after a single date, then I guess you’re right. But you can’t be all that socially awkward. You must have dated Matteo.”

  “Don’t you remember? I met Matteo when we crashed into each other. And then he sat beside my hospital bed for three days waiting to get my insurance information.”

  Cristo laughed again. “That’s not the real reason he waited at your bedside. He sent me an email to say he’d met an amazing woman and was going to ask her to marry him before she regained her senses. Next thing I knew I was best man at your wedding.”

  “He was never one to let the grass grow under his feet.” She caught herself using the past tense and sipped her wine to ease the tightening in her throat. “But I knew what I was doing. We had a good marriage.”

  “It’s time, Bella.” Cristo had been encouraging her to let go for the past year. She’d filled out the papers to have Matteo legally declared dead but so far hadn’t submitted them to the court.

  “I know. Even if he is still alive, he obviously doesn’t want to be found.” There, she managed that without choking up. Baby steps.

  Cristo put down his wineglass and stood. “I’d better be going. I have a 4:00 a.m. conference call with the Hong Kong branch.”

  She followed him to the door. Again the sense of being watched unnerved her. “Cristo, were you at the restaurant tonight, checking I was okay?”

  “No, of course not. You’re more than capable of looking after yourself. You don’t think your date is dangerous, do you?”

  “Nah, he was harmless. But make sure you lock the gate behind you.”

  “Of course.” He stared into her eyes and stepped closer. His body heat mingled with his Ralph Lauren aftershave. She inhaled deeply of the manly scent. “Are you worried? Do you want me to stay?”

  She forced her eyes from his and searched the yard. But with the moon behind a cloud and no lights beyond those from the cottage, there wasn’t much to see.

  “No. I’ll be fine.”

  He hesitated a moment longer. She held on to the doorframe and stood on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye on the cheek, as she’d done a thousand times before. Except this time his arm slipped around her waist and unbalanced her. Her hands landed on his chest, and the cheek she’d intended to touch ended up being his lips. His kiss was gentle, nondemanding, a friend asking if they could be more. Before she could figure out a response, he’d already pulled back, setting her on her feet.

  “Good night, Bella.”

  “’Night, Cristo.”

  He disappeared into the dark within seconds. She glanced again at the yard, but aside from Cristo’s feet crunching against the gravel all was quiet. Must just be her nerves overreacting. She bolted the door and then leaned against it.

  What had Cristo meant by kissing her? Could he be the one to replace Matteo? She always figured Cristo’d go for a glamorous woman, one able to move among the exalted banking circles he was destined for. Funny how that was the life she’d been planning, before she’d crashed into Matteo. With Kai, who like his father was a cardiothoracic surgeon, her life would have been filled with charity events and opening nights at the opera. Now, much to her parents’ disgust, she was a widowed sheep farmer in Sicily.

  She poured herself another glass of wine, figuring she’d earned it, and flipped to where she’d stopped reading The Sheep Farmer’s Journal.

  Glamour. That was so ten years ago.

  Chapter Two

  Matteo took several deep breaths and slid his jaw side to side to give his molars a break from being ground to dust. The doctor had only cleared him to fly provided he get plenty of rest and avoid stress. As if facing my past isn’t the epitome of stress. Bits and pieces of his memory had returned but not the full picture.

  What was clear was that Bella had moved on. First going to dinner with one man then kissing another. It should have made his mission easier: tell her he’d had amnesia then request a divorce. However, he hadn’t been prepared for the punch in the heart he’d felt just seeing her again.

  Now he had no idea what to do.

  His chest was still tight as he saw the taillights of Cristo’s SUV disappear down the drive. His best friend. That Lothario had kissed her. His wife! He forced his fists to unclench.

  She thought you were dead, his head tried to reason. But his heart wouldn’t accept that. At least he’d be able to discover she was still Bella Vanni. For how much longer?

  Matteo knocked on the door. His door. His house. His wife. Everything so familiar but so strange.

  “Did you forget something, Cristo?” Bella asked as she opened the door. The glass in her hand fell to the floor, shattering on the stone tiles.

  “Matteo.” His name exhaled from her lips.

  “At least you remember me.” He tried to keep the anger in his voice, but being so close to her after so many years made the words catch in his throat. Sensations ricocheted through him too fast to identify, scrambling his insides. She was so beautiful. His fingers itched to ease the worry lines around her eyes, caress the furrow between her eyebrows until she smiled. Then the image of her lips on Cristo’s returned.

  “Matteo,” she said again. “You’re dead.”

  “No, I’m very much alive. And you seem to be enjoying yourself. Too bad your game of merry widow is over now.”

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe this.”

  “Believe it, bellissima. I’m home.”

  “How . . . why . . . what?” Her whole body began to shake. He took her elbow and steered her toward the sofa in the next room, his shoes crunching on the glass on the floor. His head told him to take things slow, hear her out. His body demanded he pull her into his arms and crush her against him. Hold her until he regained all his memories or this ache in his chest lessened.

  She stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth open. He retreated to the kitchen and got her a glass of water, not sure if he should dash it in her face or give it to her to drink. Returning to where she sat, he let his gaze scan the room, at once familiar and foreign. The recollections he expected never materialized. Had she redecorated? He couldn’t remember it with this light, homey feel.

  “Where have you been? My God, Matteo. Where have you been for six years?” Her voice was full of anguish. For his disappearance? Or his return?

  “In Tunisia mostly. I woke up on the beach with no clothes, no documents, and no memory. It wasn’t until I was concussed again earlier this week that I remembered who I am. I raced back to Sicily to find my wife . . . going to dinner with one man then kissing another in my house.”

  “I thought you were dead. I waited . . . years and years.” Pain clouded her eyes, and for one heartbeat he expected the words, “I missed you,” to come from her full lips.

  “Six years, Matteo. It’s been six long, excruciating years without a word from you. So if I want to go out with a hundred men and kiss each and every one then I damn well will. And you will not stroll back into my house and tell me different.”

  He handed her the water and she drank it all at once, her hazel eyes never leaving him. He had to get control of himself or he’d be out on his ass before he could remember if what they’d had was worth fighting for. His body’s response to her was off the charts. That had to mean something, didn’t it? The pounding in his head amplified.

  Kneeling in front of her he searched her face. “I know this is sudden. I’m still adjusting to things myself. But we obviously loved each other once. Don’t you think
we should see if that’s still the case?” He reached for her, but she retreated into the sofa.

  If he were a clay pot, the heat in her gaze would have shattered him with its sudden intensity. “That’s it? ‘Hi, honey, I’m home’ and you expect to just waltz back in here and pick up where you left off?”

  He stumbled to the hard chair next to the fireplace and gripped the armrest just to remain upright. Hadn’t they been happy before he left? The pounding of his pulse, his longing to touch her, indicated that he, at least, remembered their passion. Was Bella just in shock at his return? Or was there something more sinister going on? Was she angry because now she’d have to find some other way to get rid of him?

  “Are you in love with someone else? Are you in love with Cristoforo?”

  “How dare you ask that? You were gone for six years without a word. I thought you were dead.”

  She hadn’t answered his question, and his stomach roiled. “I didn’t stay away deliberately. I had amnesia. I didn’t even know my own name. Did you think anything less would make me walk out on our life?”

  “I don’t know. This is such a shock.”

  He stood and paced the tiny room. What had he expected? For her to just throw herself in his arms and make him promise to never let her go? Instinct screamed, Hell, yeah! The reality of the years apart, years when Bella had had to cope on her own without him, knocked him back.

  “Where’s Papa?” At least he had one uncomplicated relationship.

  Her voice softened. “I’m sorry, he’s dead. He passed three years ago from pneumonia.”

  Matteo swallowed the information like a bitter pill. But he’d partially been prepared for it when he saw that Bella was the registered owner of the farm. Tomorrow he’d grieve for his father. Tonight he needed answers.

  “And you’ve been alone here since then? You’ve run the farm by yourself?”

  “Yes. I hired help when I needed. And I’ve made some changes so it’s not so labor-intensive. It’s been tough, but Vanni Farms made a small profit last year.”

  Amazing. He and his father had barely managed to keep their heads above the poverty line. Bella had accomplished this and more on her own? Incredible. Still, he knew vegetable farming was a lonely business. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. I can look after things now.”

  Bella stood, the anger in her face intensifying. “I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into this land for the past six years. I’m not just going to stand aside and let you take over. I don’t know what you’ve done, where you’ve been, or who you’ve been with. Until I do, until I decide if I want you back, our marriage is on hold. And you keep your mitts off my farm.” Her hands were on her hips and her eyes flashed fire.

  “This land has been in my family for generations.”

  “And would now belong to the tax man if I hadn’t been here to pay the bills.” She took a deep breath. “Matteo, this is too sudden for me. I’m too mixed up. Please, give me the night to think. We can talk in the morning.”

  “You want me to leave?”

  She nodded. “I turned the old barn into a guesthouse. You can stay there tonight.”

  Tonight, as in tomorrow she’d be over the shock and they could be together again? Or as in tomorrow find someplace else to live? But he could see that arguing with her now would only harm his case. Plus he had his own quagmire of reactions to sort through. So much for explaining his disappearance and then asking for a divorce. Now even the thought of leaving again felt like he was tearing his soul in two. And his body seemed to remember more than his brain. He couldn’t bear for her to go to bed with another man’s kiss on her lips.

  “We both have a lot to think about, Bella. Will you at least let me kiss you hello?”

  He stepped into her space and put his hand on her cheek, giving her a moment to pull back if she insisted. As much as he wanted her, he’d never force himself on her. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned in. Maybe he should have started with a kiss and not an accusation. When his lips touched hers, the sigh that escaped came from him. At first he traced the line of her lips with his tongue, savoring the feel of her. She parted them and he slid his tongue inside, tasting the wine she’d had. Grazie a Dio, he hadn’t remembered how good this was or he’d have gone insane missing her.

  Too soon, she broke the contact and took a step back.

  “The key to the guesthouse is hanging beside the door. There’s a flashlight on the floor next to the fridge. Good night, Matteo.”

  No “welcome home.” No “I remember now how good we were, come into the bedroom.” Her cool reception burned in his gut. Patience had never been one of his strong points, but he needed it now.

  She folded her arms across her chest and he picked up the key and flashlight. He was barely out the door before he heard the thunk of the deadbolt being put in place.

  Welcome home, Matteo.

  • • •

  Bella pulled off her dress and flung it into the closet. She’d dreamed of Matteo’s reappearance for so long, she’d never once thought he’d walk through the door and accuse her of adultery. Damn the man.

  Matteo was back. She wanted desperately to believe that they could return to what they had. But life had made her a realist now. She was no longer the sweet, biddable woman anxious to do whatever was needed to keep her man happy. And Matteo was obviously no longer the peasant farmer she’d married.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and her scalp tingled. Matteo had definitely changed. There was a hard glint in his eye she’d never seen before. The watch he wore had cost more than her vehicle and she’d seen him take a bag out of some sleek sports car. Were the rumors true?

  He’d always had a presence; it had been one of the things that had first attracted her. He never stooped or apologized for who he was. She’d known he would become something one day. Now it appeared he had.

  At what price?

  There was no way she’d sleep tonight, and the questions in her head, coupled with the wine she’d drunk, were making her dizzy. Work had kept her sane in the past—it’s what she had to concentrate on now. She changed into her jeans and an old T-shirt, pulled her hair up into a ponytail, and grabbed her fleece jacket. There wasn’t a lot she could accomplish in the dark, but she’d inspect the fences and note any places that needed repairs.

  First, she swept up the broken glass in the kitchen and washed the wine off the tile. Matteo was back. How long would it take to sink in? More importantly, why had he returned?

  God, I thought a blind date was the worst thing I’d have to worry about today.

  She slipped out the door and went to the shed. She chucked off her running shoes and pulled on her rubber boots, grabbed a large flashlight, and headed out to the paddocks. What would Matteo say when he discovered she’d turned his vegetable farm into a sheep ranch? Or that she’d sold a huge tract of land and bought the access to the beach so the tourists could enjoy a swim in the sea? What if he had no intention of staying? Had he returned to sell the farm and take his share?

  Jesus, the endless questions were driving her mad. She should bang on the guesthouse door and demand answers. Except she wasn’t prepared to face him again. Not until she could control her body’s reaction to his presence. Like that was ever going to happen.

  She hauled in two deep breaths of the clean night air and followed the fence line down to the cliff edge, checking each post and the tautness of the wire. She didn’t have the physical strength to build a stone fence, the norm in this part of Sicily. Nor had she the money to hire someone to erect it for her. So she’d had to install a cheap timber one, and it was proving true that you get what you pay for. The winds and salt spray from the sea had rotted many of the posts after only two years.

  Unfortunately, the task wasn’t sufficiently stimulating, especially in the dark, to keep her mind off Matteo. Or his kiss. Especially his kiss. It was still as potent and incredible as she remembered. If she hadn’t stopped him when she
did, well, she wouldn’t be out checking fence posts in the dark, that was damn sure. Her body tingled and infused with heat. Yeah, he’d been a fabulous lover. Maybe they could keep that part of their marriage alive, have some kind of booty call system. Her groan echoed through the night, startling something that scurried in the long grass in front of her.

  She was a damn fool. She’d probably step in a hole and break her ankle in the dark. The lapping of the waves against the shore drew her to the beach. Sitting on one of the chairs she left there for the tourists, she watched the moonlight play on the water. For a long time she’d cursed the sea for taking Matteo from her. Now its rhythmic flow and ebb were mesmerizing.

  If only the secret of what to do was whispered in the gentle stroke of the water against the sand.

  Chapter Three

  As soon as a hint of pink lit the eastern sky, Matteo threw back the sheets and dressed. The bed had been surprisingly comfortable, although he hadn’t slept much—too many memories now flooding his brain. The whole guesthouse was beautifully appointed. He and Bella had talked about turning the barn into their private house, as living in the cottage with his father had never been a long-term solution. But money had always been an issue. It seemed Bella’s fortunes had also turned around in the past six years. How much of it had to do with Cristoforo? He’d always had money.

  Matteo’s stomach muscles clenched again. He needed answers. His knock on the door was ignored. Trying the handle, he found it unlocked. Perhaps Bella changed her mind in the night. The day was looking up.

  But she wasn’t in the kitchen or anywhere else in the cottage. He glanced into his father’s old room. Bella should have moved in there following Papa’s death, as it was the largest bedroom. Although large was a misnomer; the pantry in his place in Tunis was bigger than this. But his father’s room sat empty. She still occupied the room he’d shared with her. That had to mean something, right?