Lucia (The Bonaveras)

by Paris Patricia

  She took the vintage, white French water pitcher from the top of the antique bureau and filled it with water from the adjoining bath. She wanted to make an arrangement that would be as full and lush, as dreamy and romantic, as one in a Parisian oil painting.

  Selecting twelve pink and twelve white roses from the three dozen Marcella picked up in town, she began inserting them into the pitcher, trimming some of the stems so they weren’t all the same height, then rearranged and fluffed until she got the effect she wanted. She positioned the arrangement in front of the bureau’s mirror so the lustrous display would reflect in the sparkling glass along with the flickering candles she intended to light just before the Swans returned to their room.

  After a quick search online earlier in the day, she’d discovered lilies were the traditional flower for a thirtieth anniversary, but Mr. Swan told her roses were his wife’s favorite, so Lucia had foregone tradition. The woman should have what she loved most, and really, did anything beat roses for romance?

  Stepping back, she angled her head left, then right, studying the arrangement with a critical eye.

  “Perfect.”

  Next, she filled the clear glass votive holders she’d brought up with fresh candles. She put a few on the bureau, the fireplace mantle, and a couple on each night table. Taking the remaining roses, six pink and six white, she pulled off the flower heads, scattered a handful of petals across the bed, and then, while walking backwards toward the door, tossed them into the air, a few here, a few there, to fall where they would, like blossoms scattered on a breeze.

  Before going back down to the main level, Lucia took one final look from the doorway, and smiled at the results. Happy Anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Swan.

  WHEN SHE GOT back down to reception, Lucia poked her head into the solarium to see how things were progressing. Caterina hovered over the dessert table, checking to make sure the presentation met the same exacting standards her sister insisted on with whatever came out of one of her kitchens.

  “Everything looks delicious, Cat.” Lucia sidled up next to her. She plucked up a miniature cheesecake that had been topped with burnt sugar, a small piping of crème fresh, and a slice of kiwi, split and arranged just so on the crème, and took a bite. “And tastes amazing.” She licked a stray speck of the decadent cream from her upper lip.

  Her sister promptly rearranged the remaining cakes to fill the hole left by Lucia’s pilfering.

  “Thanks. The waitstaff’s clearing dinner now. Dessert’s self-serve, and Carlos will be on hand if anyone wants more wine.”

  “Okay. How’d things go?”

  “Good. We only had one minor incident when a guest knocked his wine over and spilled it on a woman’s dress. Fortunately, it was white and cleaned up with some club soda.”

  Cat leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I think the guy had too much to drink; unfortunately, it’s made him think he’s a ladies’ man. It doesn’t seem like he’s had much practice, though; he’s not very smooth—hey babe.”

  Lucia arched a questioning brow.

  “We dubbed him hey babe. That’s been his come-on line with all the female staff.”

  Lucia gave her an eye roll and popped the rest of the miniature cheesecake into her mouth, finished it off. “I’ll let the group know they can help themselves to dessert and then—”

  “Hey babe.”

  The two sisters turned in tandem to face the man who’d spilled the wine. Lucia recognized him from when he’d checked in—Bill Riley. He’d seemed quiet and shy, and, although she was doing exactly what she’d accused Marcella of by stereotyping, he’d fit her preconceived notion of someone who analyzed paper trails for a living, right down to the two mechanical pencils he’d had in his shirt pocket when he arrived.

  He looked between the two of them and did some weird thing with his lips and eyebrows.

  Lucia suspected the wiggling brows and quirking lips were an attempt to look sexy, but in his inebriated state he’d taken it beyond slightly amusing to ridiculously comical. She covered her mouth and faked a cough to disguise the laugh that slipped past her lips before she could stop it.

  Cat cleared her throat and faced Lucia. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen.” Humor danced in her eyes but she kept her composure, at least until she walked away and Lucia saw her shoulders shaking.

  Hey babe still stood in front of her.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” Lucia asked.

  Riley wore a goofy-looking grin, likely the result of an alcohol-induced brain fog. She didn’t think he was a bad guy, or a letch. He was just Bill, a forensic accountant who’d had one too many drinks and would regret it in the morning.

  “It’s Mr. Riley, correct?” Lucia gave him a pleasant, but professional smile.

  “You can call me Bill, babe. I was just going to get another drink. Why don’t I get us both one?” He leaned toward her and she leaned away.

  “No drinks for me, Bill. I’m working. In fact, I need to make an announcement about dessert.” She stepped sideways, picking up a plate as she did, and held it between them. “Here, you can be first in line. Help yourself to some coffee to go with it.”

  She left him standing there, and after addressing the group, made a beeline back to reception.

  MARCELLA LOOKED UP from her book as Lucia approached the large antique desk that served as command central for the inn. Lucia had refinished the ornately carved piece, a family heirloom that had belonged to their great-aunt Rosa whose parents had built the original house in the 1930s.

  Rosa had travelled to Italy the summer she turned twenty-eight, supposedly to visit a childhood friend who’d moved there a number of years earlier.

  Their parents told them the real reason was that Rosa was having doubts about her fiancé, a local Virginia man she was to marry that fall, and the trip was an excuse to put distance between them while she tried to figure out what was in her heart.

  While in Italy, Rosa met their great-uncle Gino and the two fell deeply in love. He returned with her to the States, where she broke her prior engagement and shortly afterward married Gino.

  The newlyweds lived with Rosa’s parents, inheriting the house when the older couple died. They lived there five more years, and by all accounts were very happy. Unfortunately, their happiness ended abruptly when Rosa’s former fiancé snapped one day and murdered them both in what was believed to be a crime of passion.

  Lucia’s parents, who’d come from Cortona to help her grandparents settle the estate, fell in love with the area and remained in Virginia to start a new life. Had it not been for Rosa marrying her uncle and the tragic consequences of that action, her parents might never have left Italy, and her life would probably be very different.

  Her parents built on to the house in the mid-nineties, adding the large solarium where they did wine tastings, and removed the wall between the original parlor and study, opening the rooms up to each other. At that same time, their mother, who’d always loved a house full of people, converted the second floor of their family home into guest rooms and opened a bed and breakfast.

  The current reception area had little in the way of furniture: the main desk, a tall wooden swivel rack that held brochures of local attractions and restaurant menus, and next to the solarium doorway, a large buffet with storage cabinets on the back side and a wide marble countertop that served as a refreshment bar.

  When guests were in residence, they could help themselves to complimentary coffee, tea, fresh fruit, bagels, as well as Caterina’s homemade muffins or scones. From noon to four, there were cookies, tea, and the inn’s signature lemonade with fresh mint.

  “The group finished dinner,” Lucia told Marcella. She thought of Riley and frowned. He was a guest, and she always tried to make every guest’s experience with them a positive one. It was clear he’d overindulged and she had a suspicion he’d probably regret his actions when he sobered up. She was hopeful that she wouldn’t have another encounter with him when she went back
into the solarium. She didn’t want to have to say or do anything that would add to his embarrassment tomorrow if she could avoid it.

  She gathered her long hair and twisted it into a loose braid, securing it at the end with a hair band she had in her pocket. “I’ll need to run up to the Swans’ room before they break up to light the candles. Are you good here until the group wraps up?”

  “I’m fine.” Marcella gave her a quizzical look. “Everything okay? You seem distracted.”

  “I was just thinking about one of the guests.” Lucia told her sister about hey babe. “I’m pretty sure it’s the alcohol doing the flirting, though.” She sighed lightly. “If he persists, I’ll need to find a way to discourage him without making too big a deal of it. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  “Why not use your trump card? It’s usually effective when you’re trying to turn down someone gently that you’ve just met.”

  “I’ve never used it with a guest, but I suppose I could.” Lucia slapped a hand over her heart and drew the other across her forehead. “I’m flattered, Bill, I am, but alas, I can’t get involved with you. I’m betrothed—promised to another—I’m sure you understand.”

  “Are you going to get all breathy and sigh like that?”

  “Too heavy on the drama?”

  Marcella sniggered.

  “Okay.” Lucia switched gears. “I’m back in there to watch over things, and if need be, try to salvage a man’s pride for when he comes to his senses.”

  Just before she reached the solarium, Lucia heard the front door swing open and looked back over her shoulder. A man stepped inside, looked around, and then approached the front desk.

  Everyone staying with them for the conference had checked in, so if he was with the forensic accountants, he must be staying at one of the other hotels they’d coordinated with to accommodate the rest of the group. If he was coming for this evening’s kick-off dinner, he was getting to the party late since the main course had already being cleared.

  Marcella set down her book. “Good evening, how can I help you?”

  “Good evening,” the man returned, and Lucia detected a slight accent.

  He was tall, with dark hair that was pushed back over his forehead, a little longish—black silk, straight and thick, roguish as hell—hair that made a woman’s fingers itch to run through it and muss it up.

  He was angled toward the desk so Lucia didn’t have a good view of his face, just a partial glimpse of a patrician profile. She hoped he didn’t want a room because they were fresh out.

  Marcella glanced at her and hiked a brow, as if to ask if Lucia wanted something. The man turned his head, his gaze following Marcella’s. His eyes connected with Lucia’s and she tumbled into them.

  Everything around her blurred. The rest of the room faded. There was only he, only she, staring at each other as if seeing something they couldn’t believe existed. A ripple of energy shot through her, unexplainable, unsettling, yet as real and undeniable as the air around her.

  Lucia looked away, a bit dazed. She turned back toward the doorway and, shaking the residual haze from her head, walked into the solarium.

  She spotted Caterina across the room, but as she set off in her sister’s direction, her thoughts remained on the man in reception. Who was he…and what had caused that bizarre, overpowering attraction to a man she didn’t even know?

  “UMM, EXCUSE ME? Can I help you?”

  Antonio forced his eyes from the woman walking into the adjoining room. He turned back to the one who greeted him. She bore a strong enough resemblance to the one who just left to guess they were related…probably sisters. She looked slightly younger, but had the same chestnut hair and dark eyes.

  Fortunately, when he looked at this woman, the floor didn’t seem to give way and make him feel like he was free-falling the way it had when he’d locked eyes with the other one.

  “Yes, hello.” He extended a hand and she took it, gave it a firm, no-nonsense shake. “I’m looking for Lucia Bonavera. Are you she?”

  “No, I’m her sister Marcella.”

  “And the other one, she’s one of your sisters as well? You resemble each other.” From what he knew, there would be four of them, four sisters who owned and operated Bonavera Winery and Guest House.

  “Yes, she is.” Marcella seemed to be fighting a smile. No doubt she’d observed whatever that was that just happened between him and her sister and found it amusing. “That was Lucia, the person you said you were looking for.”

  And that’s what he’d been afraid of.

  He hadn’t wanted to come to Virginia to search her out, but his grandfather had him over a barrel. He’d been planning a visit to the States for months, and since DC was on his list of places to visit anyway, he’d agreed to stop by the winery to meet the Bonaveras with the hope he could debunk the old man’s superstitions and convince him to see reason once and for all.

  He hadn’t anticipated he might be attracted to Lucia. Physical…it was purely physical. It had nothing to do with fate or any other nonsensical notion.

  Marcella cleared her throat, bringing him back to the moment. When he looked at her again she asked, “Are you with the forensic accountants group?”

  “Forensic accountants?”

  “I didn’t think so,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Then, how can I help you?”

  “I’m travelling through the area and was hoping to get a room.” He didn’t know if the Bonaveras had ever heard of him or their grandfathers’ ridiculous betrothal contract. Either way, when he told them who he was, they were bound to wonder what he was doing here now.

  Marcella pulled a large leather registry from the desk drawer. “There’s a group here for a two-day conference and I think we’re booked tonight and tomorrow, but I don’t usually work in reception so I’ll double-check. If we don’t have anything, I can call around to see if someplace nearby has availability.” She flipped open the book. “What’s your name?”

  “Antonio. Antonio DeLuca.”

  She started to write it down on another piece of paper. Her hand froze midstream and her eyes flew up to his face. “Antonio De-DeLuca?” Her lips parted, her expression mirrored disbelief, and he had his answer—they knew who he was.

  Marcella started to laugh, and then slapped a hand over her mouth. “Did you know that was…before you asked…that she was—?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, this is too rich. Wait until Cat and Eliana find out.”

  “Your other sisters, I presume?”

  “Yes.” She eyed him a moment. “What are you doing here? Did she know you were coming?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m in the States on holiday. My grandfather asked me to look up your family and give you his regards while I was here. He and your grandfather were very close, like brothers.”

  “Yes, I know.” The corners of her mouth twitched humorously. “Your visit doesn’t have anything to do with that old marriage pact they made, does it? I mean, you’re not…like…here to claim your bride or something, are you?”

  “Hell, no!” He assured her, dispelling the possibility. Claiming Lucia might be what his grandfather intended him to do, but Antonio had a different agenda.

  He pulled a frown. “I’d venture to say that agreement came about after our grandfathers consumed a couple of bottles of heady wine that took the wishful thinking of two old men too far. They got it into their heads that because your sister and I were born on the same day, the same one they both were, it was a sign of some kind. Fate, destiny, all that nonsense.”

  “You’re not a believer?”

  “No. Are you?”

  Marcella shrugged.

  “Is Lucia?”

  “God no! And she’d never let anyone dictate how or with whom she spent her life.”

  A wave of relief flowed through him. “That’s good. I wouldn’t want her to think…never mind.” If what Marcella said was true, maybe he could use this detour to his advantage. “Does it look l
ike you’ve got a room?”

  Marcella glanced back down at the registry. “No. I’m sorry, I don’t see anything.”

  “Well then, since I’m not familiar with the area, I’ll take you up on your offer. I’m sure it will be more efficient than me trying to find something else.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thank you. Would it be okay if I stepped into the other room and said hello to your sister? I promised my grandfather I’d look her up, and I may not have another opportunity to come by.”

  Marcella glanced toward the room where Lucia had disappeared into earlier. “She’s overseeing a function, but they’re winding down so there’s not much for her to do now. Go ahead. I’m sure she’d be disappointed if she found out her fiancé came all the way from Italy to see her and she missed him.”

  A MAN IN khaki slacks and a white dress shirt and holding two glasses of wine staggered up to Lucia. He pushed one forward, tilting it precariously toward her dress.

  “Hey babe, you’re back,” he slurred. “I saw you come in again so I got us each a drink.” He swayed, looking unsteady on his feet. “Did you miss me? I missed you.”

  Lucia stepped backward, toward a table with desserts that she’d been straightening when Antonio entered the room. She hadn’t seen him yet, and he held back to gauge the situation.

  “I’m working, so I can’t drink, remember?” he heard her say. She took both glasses before he could object and set them down next to the desserts. “But I’ll tell you what, let’s just leave these here and I’ll get us both a cup of coffee.”

  She gestured toward an empty table a few feet from where they stood. “Why don’t you go sit at that table and I’ll bring it over.”

  The man leaned in again, closer than appropriate if he was a guest, and wagged his head mere inches from her face. “Why don’t you bring it up to my room instead, babe? We can have our own party, just you and me.”

  Antonio took a few steps forward but stopped again when Lucia placed a hand against the man’s shoulder, holding him at bay. “I can’t do that, Mr. Riley. No fraternizing with the guests. House rule. You do understand, don’t you?”