An Accidental Christmas (An Italian Romance Book 4)

by Diana Fraser

  “Why don’t you return to the kind of work you’re passionate about?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it in a long time. I guess I got caught up in all the politics and busyness of it all. Besides, life becomes more complex as you get older, doesn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t have to be. You can simplify it if you want to. Make one change and everything else will follow.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “That’s because it is. What’s hard is deciding if you want to take that first step.”

  She paused for a moment, reflecting on what he’d said. “You’re right. I have some serious soul-searching to do when I get home.”

  “Why wait until you’re home?”

  “Because I’m not sure I’m thinking very straight here.” She indicated the snowy scene all around. “With all this.” She bit her lip. “With you.”

  “Good. Because I’m not sure I want you to think clearly.”

  He stopped walking, but she didn’t. She was scared she’d agree to anything if she lingered in that idyllic spot and allowed his warm words to curl around her heart. She stopped walking a few feet away and waited until he’d caught up with her.

  She pressed her lips together and looked at him. “That’s enough about me. Tell me about your work.”

  They continued along the path. “Not much to tell. I grew up helping my father on the farm. I went away to Florence and studied to be a landscape designer and stayed on, working wherever I think I can make a difference. I’ve always worked with the land. I can never leave it, never be far away from it.”

  “So you don’t travel out of Italy very much?”

  “No.”

  “Not even the occasional trip, say, visits to Sweden?”

  He shook his head. “My future is here. I’ll never leave Italy. And, besides, I hate to travel. All those people, the traffic, the congestion, it drives me crazy.”

  “Of course.” She smiled. “You prefer to travel alone, driving a tractor along empty roads, with nothing but trees all around.”

  He didn’t smile back. “No. I prefer to drive a tractor down tree-lined, empty roads, with nothing but a beautiful woman wrapped in a blanket by my side.”

  “Ah, but maybe that beautiful woman feels she doesn’t belong on that lonely road?”

  “Then that is very sad, indeed.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a package. “And that beautiful woman might need reminding of that moment. Here, I have a gift for you. I wanted to give it to you when we were alone.” He handed her a small package. “It’s nothing special. Just something to remind you of us when you’re gone.”

  She bit her lip and took the gift from him, trying to suppress the emotions that his words had brought forth. The present was wrapped in plain white paper and tied with an extravagant silver bow. She slid the package from the bow and unwrapped the paper. Inside was a snow globe with a chestnut tree at its center. She shook it and snow clouded the globe, its flakes eventually settling on the tree. She had a vision of herself doing the same thing when she was back at her apartment in Sweden, and tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Ursula? Don’t you like it? I’m sorry, I know it’s small and inconsequential—”

  “No!” She looked up, not caring that he saw her tears, only wanting to correct him. “No, not at all. It’s wonderful. I love it. But you’re wrong about something.”

  He tilted her chin up. “What’s that?”

  “I don’t need the snow globe to remind me of here. Because I have a feeling I’m never going to forget a single minute of it.”

  “You’re crying,” he said, frowning. “Ursula?”

  She swiped away her tears messily with her gloved fingers. “I’m fine,” she said, betrayed by the cracked tone of her voice.

  He put his hands on her cheeks and lifted her face to his. “No, you’re not.”

  She licked her lips. “I am. Or I will be.”

  “Will be? When?”

  “After…” She hesitated, but why wait? “After you kiss me.”

  He smiled and brushed his lips against hers. She felt the catch of his breath against her mouth. Then he pulled her to him and held her close. She closed her eyes as she pressed her cheek against the warmth of his coat. “Oh, Ursula.”

  Oh, indeed. Demetrio didn’t need to say anything more to express how he felt. There was so much longing in the way he said her name—longing for something which one cannot have—and so much regret in the “oh,” that she understood perfectly. She knew all about longing. She was used to that. She could still do that. She pulled away with a regretful smile. “We’re two very different people, from two very different worlds.”

  “Are we? Are you sure about that? Are worlds really so different? Surely people have the same issues, the same problems, the same joy? Come…” He stepped away, her hand still in his. “I want to show you around the town, the parts you haven’t yet seen.”

  They re-entered the square, and instead of going along the main street, they turned off into a narrower street. They stopped outside an old building with steps running up to a battered front door. A sign revealed it to be an advice center for the youth of Abbadia.

  “There’s little here for young people, without resources, to occupy themselves. So they turn to the same distractions that urban kids have. You see, Ursula, we have the same problems as everyone else, despite the beauty of the place.”

  The building itself also looked like it had problems. While the timber around the windows was freshly painted and brightly colored potted plants were visible inside the building, the stonework and roof tiles looked like they were in desperate need of expensive attention.

  “The center doesn’t look like it’s thriving.”

  “It needs funds. It needs more good people to run it. The qualified people we need aren’t interested in staying here because it doesn’t help their career. They stay a year, two at the most, and then return to the cities where they can earn big money and have big careers.”

  “How do you know so much about it?”

  “I’m on the Board of Trustees and help out at a practical level when I can. I take kids who are interested in the land out and about, and show them how they can make a difference. Some come on sufferance, but a few have been inspired to go on to study and work in conservation.”

  “You make a real difference to people’s lives, don’t you?”

  “A few, maybe. Not enough. But I do what I can.” He glanced at her. “You look cold. Coffee?”

  She suddenly realized she felt chilled. “A coffee would be wonderful.”

  They walked around the corner and entered a cozy, low-beamed café that looked more like someone’s kitchen than a café, and ordered coffee and cake. Demetrio found a table by the window, and they stripped off their heavy coats.

  While they waited for their order, Ursula brought out her snow globe and shook it and placed it between them. “I wish I’d been able to buy you something better than the scarf.” She’d given Demetrio a scarf she’d picked up in Naples which she’d bought as a last-minute present for her father.

  “I don’t want anything else. The scarf is perfect!” He brushed his hand down its length. “Very perfect, and very fine. And, no doubt far more expensive than my snow globe.”

  “Nowhere near as good.” She had an idea and plucked a pen and paper from her bag. “Ah, I have it.” She wrote something, and pushed it across the table to him.

  “‘Ursula Adamssen cordially invites Demetrio Pecora to visit her and sample Sweden’s traditions.’” He grunted and pressed his lips together. “I’m afraid you’re safe, there. I never leave Italy.”

  A shadow fell over her happiness. “I was hoping you might make an exception to claim your Christmas gift.”

  He took her hand. “Thank you for your gift, but my place is here. Besides, your presence has been gift enough. It’s given me something I’ve not experienced in quite some time.”

  “An
d what’s that?”

  “Hope. Hope that I may have a future, after all.”

  She took his hand in both of hers. “Oh, Demetrio! How could you think you have no future? Your wife, Elisabetta, wouldn’t want you to stop living because she did. Not if she loved you. Because that’s not how love works.”

  “How does it work? Can you tell me? Because I’d like to know.”

  “I’m the last person who should be giving advice on love with my track record. But I can tell you one thing, if I loved a man and I died, I wouldn’t rest in peace if I knew he was mourning me instead of getting on with life.”

  He smiled. “But that’s you. I have a feeling Elisabetta would prefer me to remain single, and committed to her memory.”

  It was Ursula’s turn to frown. “Really? But…”

  “You thought Elisabetta was a saint?” He grinned. “She was a wonderful woman, and I loved her, as did my family. But she wasn’t perfect. And she never tried to hide her imperfections. In fact, they were a part of what made her so…”

  “Unforgettable?” suggested Ursula quietly.

  He nodded. Just then the waiter brought the coffees and cakes and began talking to Demetrio, leaving Ursula with the word echoing around her mind. Even if she could surmount their differences, how could she possibly compete with an unforgettable, incredible woman who would always stay that way in the heart and mind of her husband?

  Chapter 6

  The next few days flowed one into another as family, tradition, town, and country all blended into one harmonious holiday season, which Ursula could never have imagined in her wildest dreams.

  Her imagination definitely stopped short of conjuring up someone like Demetrio. She’d never met anyone like him. Their chemistry was undeniable but so was his commitment to his wife’s memory and love. And to the land, family, and tradition of which he was an integral part. Ursula had an uneasy feeling that if any one of these three things were taken away, then he would lose something of himself. She guessed that was how he felt about his wife’s death—something was missing and Ursula didn’t know if anyone could fill the gap his wife had left behind.

  But she pushed all her doubts to the back of her mind. She only had a few more days, and Demetrio had promised her an excursion to an unknown destination. She’d enjoy his company and not think about the future because that would come anyway, like it or not, and she had a funny feeling she wouldn’t.

  The road trip—thankfully not in a tractor and without a dog blanket in sight—only took fifteen minutes down the winding road, to the foot of Mount Amiata.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “There’s a sign up ahead. It should tell you everything you need to know.”

  Ursula read the road sign as it flashed by. “Bagni San Filippo.” She turned to Demetrio. “Baths? Here?”

  “Indeed. Mount Amiata is a volcano, you know, although it’s a dormant one. It has natural thermal springs flowing from deep underground. We’re going just outside Bagni San Filippo to Fosso Bianco.”

  “Fosso Bianco? White Bones? That sounds gruesome!”

  “It’s the sulfur. It bleaches the landscape and the trees, giving it an eerie look. But the water reputedly has great powers. It would be a shame not to see it while you’re here.”

  They parked at the natural spa, and the slam of the car doors sounded loud in the chill air. They looked over the fence, and Ursula gasped. Before her were spread white terraces, dotted with steaming blue pools. “Wow!”

  “You can bathe in some of the pools if you like. Marianna gave me her swimsuit for you, in case you wanted to.”

  “But all the notices warn people not to.”

  He shrugged. “They’re over-cautious. The council has to cover itself. But so long as you don’t put your head under, and know which pool to go in, it’s fine. Of course, the only problem is the lack of changing facilities.”

  She glanced at him shyly, as an idea formed. “We have the car.”

  He grinned. “I guess we do have the car, if you think that’s enough?”

  “Well, it’ll be a bit awkward but”—she looked at the bright blue steaming pools set amidst white stone—“I can’t pass this up.”

  They returned to the car, and Demetrio held up a towel while Ursula wriggled into Marianna’s swimsuit and then pulled a thick coat over the top. She jumped out.

  “Your turn!” She laughed, feeling more carefree than she’d felt in years.

  He handed her the towel. “But don’t worry about holding it up, no one’s passing by and”—he said, with a grin—“I don’t mind if you look.”

  In the end, she only had one quick inadvertent peek when he shifted in the seat, revealing biceps and broad shoulders that made her want to open the door and touch his bare skin. But then he turned and winked, and she lifted the towel once more into place.

  He helped her over the gates, and they stood by the side of the pool. Steps were carved into the rock. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “Of course. Are you ready to take off your coat?” She shivered at the thought, looked at the snow that lay thick on the fields only meters away, but inhaled the warm, humid air of the water and nodded. “On the count of three.”

  “One.” They began to undo their buttons.

  “Two,” he said, and they pushed off their trousers.

  “Three.” They both pulled off their coats, and Ursula cried out as the cold bit into her bare skin. Demetrio jumped in the pool, reached up and took her hand, and she was soon submerged up to her neck in the hot pool.

  “Oh, my…” She sighed and closed her eyes against the bright sunshine. “This is wonderful.” The stone was smooth where she sat, and she stretched her legs out in the milky blue pool and splashed her toes, sending ripples across the surface. “Your country is so strange! Frozen waterfalls on one side, and hot pools, the other.”

  “What can I say? We like variety.”

  “So do I.”

  He waded over and sat beside her. “Glad you came?”

  She closed her eyes. “Sure am.”

  “So am I. I thought the hotel spa would suit you better, but I was wrong.”

  She opened her eyes, suddenly thoughtful. “Yes, I can see why you’d think I’m a hotel-type of girl. I would have agreed a week ago. And it’s only now I can see what I’ve been missing.”

  Demetrio tilted his head towards her so she couldn’t help but look into his eyes. “And what can you see now?”

  She smiled slowly. “There’s only thing, one person, who’s filling my vision.”

  “Good,” he said, a smile playing on his lips.

  She laughed and poked her finger at his chest. “You, Demetrio Pecora, are a stereotypical macho Italian male.”

  He raised an eyebrow and grabbed her finger. “I should hope so. But if you wish to elaborate I won’t stop you.”

  “You wish to be the center of a woman’s attention.”

  “Si! Of course. What man wouldn’t?”

  She sighed. He was incorrigible. “And, for another thing, you’re completely absorbed in your family.”

  “And why wouldn’t I be, with a wonderful family such as mine? What would be the point of anything, otherwise?”

  She refused to accept the logic of his argument. “And for another—”

  But before she could speak he took her finger and grazed his lips along it, before lifting it and kissing her palm with a sensuousness which wiped any thoughts from her mind. Except for one.

  “Demetrio, I…”

  “Cara, you’re right. I’m a full-blooded Italian male, but there’s one thing you missed out.”

  “And that is?”

  “I want to know your body better; I want to pleasure you.”

  She grew instantly hotter “Oh.” She exhaled, weak at the thought of making love to Demetrio in a public spa. It should have sent her running. Instead, it sent her body humming with lust, and her mind racing.

  He kissed her,
and she opened her mouth beneath his probing tongue, as a moan formed in her throat. His hand swept around the small of her naked back, and he pulled her toward him until she found herself seated on his lap.

  As the kiss deepened, she lost any shred of resistance as his hands explored her back, her waist and the curves of her bottom. She felt she’d have done anything he asked, there and then. And, when his hands lingered on her bottom but moved no further to other places where she was longing to be touched, she wriggled on him, wanting him to lose his control, wanting his breathing to become as ragged as hers. But he pulled back and, instead a smile hovered on his lips. He pushed her wet hair away from her face. “You are crazy wonderful. So sweet. So many things.”

  “And you are so controlled.”

  “Just as well one of us is.” He grinned as he lifted her off him. “Don’t misunderstand me, cara, I want to make love to you. But not in the open—despite the fact we are alone—and not in the car. And not in a hotel room. That would not be making love, that would be taking you. And I never want to do that. Maybe pleasure you a little, but making love? That must wait until everything is perfect.”

  “What if I want to be taken?”

  He wasn’t smiling now. “You may think you do, but it won’t give you the memories I wish to give you. For that, we must go to Florence. There I can make love to you as I wish to.”

  “And how do you wish to?”

  “Slowly, thoroughly, repeatedly,” he said with a grin.

  She sighed and sunk lower into the pool, hoping its heat would be excuse enough for her flushed skin. “Oh my! So…”

  “Yes?” He caressed her neck.

  “I was just wondering whether we should cut short our stay in Abbadia. Maybe go straight to Florence?”

  “Not yet, Ursula. You promised a few more days, yes?”

  “But that was before you’d described what you plan to do with me there.”

  He shifted closer to her and played with her hair. “Maybe if I elaborate on those plans a little, describe in detail what will happen, and maybe give you a little pleasure now, then you’ll be content to stay.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. It’s worth a try.”