by Nora Roberts
It irked as she recognized how petty it was for her to sulk in silence on the drive.
And it added one more layer of temper that he seemed so sublimely unconcerned.
“We’re taking separate bedrooms,” she announced. “It’s time we put the brakes on that area of our relationship.”
“Okay.”
She’d already opened her mouth to skewer him and his carelessly agreeable response had it hanging slack. “Okay,” she managed. “Fine.”
“Okay, fine. You know, we’re weeks ahead in the growing season back home. Looks like they’re just finishing up the new plantings. Talked to the operator yesterday. He tells me the weather’s been good, no frosts for weeks, and they’re seeing the beginnings of new bloom. Keeps up warm through the bloom, we’ll get a normal set. Oh, that’s the conversion of flower to grape.”
“I know what a normal set is,” she said between her teeth.
“Just making conversation.”
He turned off the highway and started the drive through the gentle hills. “It’s pretty country. I guess it’s been a few years since I made the trip over. Never seen it this early in the spring.”
She had, but had nearly forgotten. The quiet green of the hills, the pretty contrast of colorful houses, the long, sleek rows riding the slopes. Fields of sunflowers waiting for summer, and the shadow of far-off mountains that were a faint smudge against a blue sky.
The crowds of Venice, the urbanity of Milan were more than highway miles from here. This was a little heart of Italy that pumped steadily, fed by the earth and rain.
The vineyards here were the root of her destiny, had ordained it when Cezare Giambelli planted his first row. A simple dream, she thought, to grand plan. A humble enterprise to international empire.
Now that it was threatened, was it any wonder she’d use whatever came to hand to defend it?
She saw the winery, the original stone structure and its various additions. Her great-great-grandfather had placed the first stones. Then his son had added more, then his son’s daughter. One day, she thought, she might place her own.
On the rise, with the fields spreading out like skirts, the castello ruled. Gracious and grand with its colonnaded facade, its sweep of balconies, its high arching windows, it stood as a testament to one man’s vision.
He would have fought, she thought. Not just for the ledgers, not only for the profit. For the land. For the name. It struck her here, more deeply than in the fields at home, more than within the walls of her offices and meeting rooms. Here, where one man changed his life, and by doing so forged hers.
Tyler stopped so the car faced the house, its entrance gardens in young bud. “Great place,” he said simply and climbed out of the car.
She got out more slowly, breathing in the sight of it as much as she breathed in the lightly scented air. Vines spilled over decorative mosaic walls. An old pear tree bloomed wildly, already shedding some of its petals like snow. She remembered suddenly the taste of the fruit, sweet and simple, and how when she’d been a child the juice trickled down her throat as she walked down the rows with her mother.
“You wanted me to feel this,” she stated, and with the hood of the car between them turned to him. “Did you think I didn’t?” She pressed a closed fist to her heart. “Did you think I didn’t feel it before?”
“Sophie.” He leaned on the hood, a friendly, companionable stance. “I think you feel all sorts of things. But I know some of them can get lost in the worry and the, well, the now. Focus too hard on the now, you lose sight of the big picture.”
“So you badgered me out of the penthouse in Venice so I’d see the big picture.”
“That’s part of it. It’s blooming time, Sophie. Whatever else is going on, it’s blooming time. You don’t want to miss it.”
He walked back to the trunk, popped it.
“Is that a metaphor?” she asked as she joined him, reaching by to grab her laptop herself.
“Me, I’m just a farmer. What do I know from metaphors?”
“Just a farmer, my ass.” She hitched the strap of the laptop on her shoulder, plucked out her briefcase.
“Excuse me, but I’m no longer supposed to think about your ass.” He pulled his suitcase out, then studied hers in disgust. “Why is your suitcase twice as big as mine, and three times as heavy? I’m bigger than you.”
“Because.” She fluttered her lashes. “I’m a girl. I suppose I should apologize for being snotty to you.”
“Why?” He hauled her case out. “You wouldn’t mean it.”
“I’d sort of mean it. Here, let me give you a hand.” She reached in, picked up the little tote that held her cosmetics, then slowly strolled away.
Pilar opened the door to the police. At least this time, she thought, she’d been expecting them. “Detective Claremont, Detective Maguire, thanks for coming.”
She stepped back in welcome, gestured to the parlor.
“It’s a beautiful day for a drive,” she continued. “But I know you’re both very busy, so I appreciate the time and trouble.”
She’d already arranged for coffee and biscotti, and moved to serve the moment the cops were seated. Claremont and Maguire exchanged looks behind her back, then Maguire shrugged.
“What can we do for you, Ms. Giambelli?”
“Reassure me, I hope. Which, I know, isn’t your job.” She passed out the coffee, impressing Maguire by remembering how each of them took it.
“What reassurances are you looking for?” Claremont asked her.
“I realize you, your department, is in contact with the Italian authorities.” Pilar took her seat but didn’t touch her coffee. She was jumpy enough. “As you may already know, my mother has some influence over there. Lieutenant DeMarco has been as forthcoming as possible with information. I’m aware that my cousin contacted Jeremy DeMorney yesterday, and that Jerry informed the New York police of the phone call. Jerry was concerned enough to call my stepfather to tell him directly.”
“If you’re that well informed, I don’t know what we can tell you.”
“Detective Claremont, this is my family.” Pilar let that statement hang. “I know that the authorities were eventually able to trace Don’s call to the Lake Como area. I also know he was gone when they arrived to take him into custody. I’m asking you whether, in your opinion, my cousin killed my . . . killed Anthony Avano.”
“Ms. Giambelli.” Maguire set her coffee aside. “It isn’t our function to speculate. We gather evidence.”
“We’ve been connected, you and I, for months. You’ve looked into my life, into the personal details of it. While I understand that the nature of your business requires a certain professional distance, I’m asking for a little compassion. It’s possible Donato is still in Italy. My daughter’s in Italy, Detective Maguire. A man I care for, very much, was nearly killed. A man I was married to for half my life is dead. My only child is six thousand miles away. Please don’t leave me helpless.”
“Ms. Giambelli—”
“Alex,” Maguire began before he could finish. “I’m sorry, Pilar, I can’t tell you what you want to hear. I just don’t have the answer. You know your cousin better than I do. Tell me.”
“I’ve thought of it, of little else, for days,” Pilar began. “I wish I could say we were close, that I understood his heart and his mind. But I don’t. A week ago I would have said, oh, Donato. He can be foolish, but he has a good nature. Now there’s no doubt he was a thief, that he and the man I was married to were in league together stealing from the woman who allowed them to make a living.”
She picked up her coffee cup to fill her hands. “Stealing from me. From my daughter. But even then, even knowing this, when I try to picture him sitting in my daughter’s living room, facing a man he’d known all those years and killing him. I can’t do it. I can’t put the gun in Don’s hand. I don’t know if that’s because it doesn’t belong there, or because I can’t bear to believe it.”
“You’re worri
ed he’ll go after your daughter. There’s no reason for him to do that.”
“If he’s done all these things, isn’t the fact that she exists reason enough?”
In her office, behind closed doors, Kris Drake raged. The Giambellis, headed by that little bitch Sophia, were still trying to ruin her. Sicced the cops on her, she thought as she pounded a fist into her palm. It wouldn’t do them a damn bit of good. They thought they could weasel it all around, pin her with Tony’s murder. Even tie her to the product tampering, to big-shot Cutter’s little accident in Venice.
Shaking with fury, she thumbed open a pill bottle, dry-swallowed a tranquilizer.
They couldn’t prove she’d been the one to give Sophia that helpful shove on the terrace. They couldn’t prove anything. So what if she’d slept with Tony? It wasn’t a crime. He’d been good to her, appreciated her, understood her and what she wanted to accomplish.
He’d made her promises. Promises the Giambelli bitches had seen to he couldn’t keep. The lousy cheat, she thought with affection. They’d have made a good team if he’d just listened to her. If he hadn’t let that whore talk him into marriage.
But it all lay down on the Giambellis, she reminded herself. They’d made certain that slut Rene Foxx knew about her, too. Now her name was being tossed around in the press, and she was getting smirking looks from coworkers.
Just as she had at Giambelli.
She’d come too far, worked too hard to let those Italian divas ruin her career. Without Jerry’s support, she might already be out on her ear. Thank God he was standing up for her, that he understood she was a victim, a target.
She owed him the inside information she was passing on. Let Giambelli try to sue her over it. La Coeur would fight for her. Jerry had made that clear from the beginning. She was valued here.
La Coeur was going to give her everything she’d always wanted. Prestige, power, status, money. By the time she was forty, she’d be listed as one of the top one hundred women in business. She’d be the fucking female executive of the year.
And not because someone had handed it to her in the cradle. Because she’d earned it.
But it wasn’t enough. Not enough payback for the interrogations by the police, for the smears in the press, for the slights given her when she’d been at Giambelli.
Giambelli was going down, she thought. But there were ways to make the family tremble as it fell.
It was a long flight across an ocean, across a continent. He slept through most of it, and when he’d revived himself with coffee, called in for an update. Though he reached Eli and got filled in on what happened in Italy since he’d left, he was disappointed to have missed his kids and Pilar.
He wanted home. And by the time he landed at the Napa airfield, he resented even the short drive that separated him from it.
Then he crossed the tarmac to where he’d been told his driver would be waiting, and found it.
“Dad!”
Theo and Maddy sprang from opposite doors of the limo. The rush of emotion had him dropping his briefcase as he lunged toward them. He grabbed Maddy with his good arm, then had a line of pain spurting through his shoulder as he tried to hug Theo.
“Sorry, bad wing.”
When Theo kissed him, surprise and pleasure flustered him. He couldn’t remember the last time this boy, this young man, had done so. “God, I’m glad to see you.” He pressed his lips to his daughter’s hair, leaned into his son. “So glad to see you.”
“Don’t ever do that again.” Maddy kept her face pressed against his chest. She could smell him, feel his heart beat. “Not ever again.”
“That’s a deal. Don’t cry, baby. Everything’s okay now.”
Afraid he was going to blubber as well, Theo pulled himself back, cleared his throat. “So, did you bring us something?”
“You’ve heard of Ferraris?”
“Holy shit, Dad! I mean . . . wow.” Theo looked toward the plane as if he expected to see a sleek Italian sports car unloaded.
“Just wondering if you’d heard of them. But I did manage to pick up a couple things that actually fit in my suitcases, which are right over there.” David jerked his head.
“Man.”
“And if you haul them for me like a good slave, we’ll go car shopping this weekend.”
Theo’s jaw dropped. “No joke?”
“No Ferrari, but no joke.”
“Cool! Hey, why’d you wait so long to get shot?”
“Smart-ass. It’s good to be home. Let’s get out of here and . . .” He trailed off as he looked back toward the car.
Pilar stood beside it, her hair blowing in the wind. As their eyes met, she began walking toward him. Then she was running.
Maddy watched her, and took her first shaky step toward adulthood by moving aside.
“What’s she crying for now?” Theo wanted to know as Pilar clung to his father and sobbed.
“Women wait until it’s over before they cry, especially when it’s important.” Maddy studied the way her father turned his face into Pilar’s hair. “This is important.”
An hour later, he was on the living room sofa being plied with tea. Maddy sat at his feet, her head resting on his knee while she toyed with the necklace he’d brought her from Venice. Not a little-girl’s trinket—she had a good eye for such things—but a real piece of jewelry.
Theo was still wearing the designer sunglasses, and occasionally checked himself out in the mirror to admire his European cool.
“Well, now that you’re settled, I’ve got to get going.” Pilar leaned over the back of the sofa, brushed her lips over David’s hair. “Welcome home.”
He might have been handicapped, but his good arm was quick enough. He reached back, grabbed her hand. “What’s your hurry?”
“You’ve had a long day. We’re going to miss you guys over at the main house,” she said to Theo and Maddy. “I hope you’ll keep coming around.”
Maddy rubbed her cheek on David’s knee, but her eyes were on Pilar’s face. “Dad, didn’t you bring Ms. Giambelli a present from Venice?”
“As a matter of fact.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Pilar gave his uninjured shoulder a squeeze. “You can give it to me tomorrow. You need to rest now.”
“I rested for six thousand miles. I can’t handle any more tea. Would you mind taking that into the kitchen, give me a minute here with the kids?”
“Sure. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, see how you’re feeling.”
“Don’t run off,” he said as she began to clear the tray. “Just wait.”
He shifted on the couch, tried to put the words he wanted to use together in his mind as she took the tray out. “Listen . . . Theo, you want to sit down a minute.”
Obligingly, visions of sports cars dancing in his head, Theo plopped down on the couch. “Can we look at convertibles? It’d be so cool to tool around with the top down. Chicks really dig on that.”
“Jeez, Theo.” Maddy turned herself around until she was kneeling, her hands resting on David’s knees. “You don’t score a convertible by telling him you’re going to use it to pick up girls. Anyway, shut up so Dad can tell us how he wants to ask Ms. Giambelli to marry him.”
David’s grin at the first half of her statement faded. “How the hell do you do that?” he demanded. “It’s spooky.”
“It’s just following logic. That’s what you wanted to tell us, right?”
“I wanted to talk to you about it. Any point in doing that now?”
“Dad.” Theo gave him a manly pat. “It’s cool.”
“Thank you, Theo. Maddy?”
“When you have a family, you’re supposed to stay with them. Sometimes people don’t—”
“Maddy—”
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “She’ll stay because she wants to. Maybe sometimes that’s better.”
. . .
A few minutes later, he was walking Pilar home, across the edge of the vineyard. The moon was beginning its slow
rise.
“Really, David, I know the way home, and you shouldn’t be out in the evening air.”
“I need the air and the exercise and a little time with you.”
“Maddy and Theo are going to need a lot of reassurance.”
“And how about you?”
She laced her fingers with his. “I’m feeling considerably steadier. I didn’t mean to fall apart at the airport. I swore I wouldn’t.”
“You want the truth? I liked it. It’s good for the ego for a man to have a woman cry over him.”
He brought their joined hands to his lips, kissed her knuckles as they stepped onto the garden path. “Remember that first night? I ran into you out here. Christ, you were gorgeous. And furious. Talking to yourself.”
“Sneaking a temper cigarette,” she remembered. “And very embarrassed to have been caught at it by the new COO.”
“The new, fatally attractive COO.”
“Oh yes, that, too.”
He stopped, pulled her gently into an embrace. “I wanted to touch you that night. Now I can.” He skimmed his fingers down her cheek. “I love you, Pilar.”
“David. I love you, too.”
“I called you from St. Mark’s, talked to you while the music played and the light faded. Remember that?”
“Of course I do. It was the night you were—”
“Ssh.” He laid a finger over her lips. “I hung up, and sat there thinking of you. And I knew.” He took the box out of his pocket.
She stepped back. Pressure dropped onto her chest, leaden weights of panic. “Oh, David. Wait.”
“Don’t put me off. Don’t be rational, don’t be reasonable. Just marry me.” He struggled a moment, then let out a frustrated laugh. “Can’t open the damn box. Give me a hand, will you?”
Starlight glittered on his hair, bright silver on deep gold. His eyes were dark, direct and full of love and amusement. As her breath jerked, she could smell a hint of night jasmine and early roses. All so perfect, she thought. So perfect it terrified her.
“David, we’ve both been here before, both know it doesn’t always work. You have young children who’ve already been hurt.”