Tuscan Heat

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  Gianna reached for Donovan’s hand. “Help me put these in water while we chat,” she said.

  She suddenly peppered him with questions about himself and his family. In the blink of an eye everyone’s anxiety dissipated, the five of them chatting and laughing easily together.

  “So, tell us about your work,” Franco said as he reached for the large wooden bowl filled with tossed salad.

  “There’s really not much to tell,” Donovan said as he pressed a cloth napkin to his full lips and rested it back in his lap. “I teach and I love it. I’m excited to have this particular opportunity. This year I’ll be teaching advanced mathematics at the university.”

  Gianna waved her hand. “Donovan is being modest. He’s quite accomplished in his field. He’s held membership in several professional organizations, served on a number of science and technology boards, and he’s received numerous awards not only for his work and knowledge in the field of mathematics, but for his community service, as well.”

  She tossed him a bright smile and he smiled back, impressed that she remembered so much about him.

  “Where did you get your degree?” Graham asked, just before taking a bite of his ravioli.

  “I did my graduate work at MIT.”

  Graham nodded. “Very impressive. I attended Oxford. That’s where I met Carina and Gianna.”

  “I always hated math when I was in school,” Carina interjected. “Numbers are always so boring.”

  “Not really,” Donovan said. “Numbers are extremely complex, and there are a myriad of ways to get them from point A to point B. The excitement lies in discovering new formulas or deciphering an old one. It’s like Gianna’s writing,” he said as he cut his eye in her direction. “There are only twenty-six letters in the alphabet, but look at what she’s been able to accomplish with just twenty-six letters!”

  “Don’t let my daughters fool you, Donovan. They may have hated their courses, but that was only because they were bored! Too smart for their own good, both of them!”

  Franco pointed to Gianna. “This one, she has two advanced degrees in science and mathematics. She also speaks five languages. Brilliant, my girls are! Like their mother. My Angela, she was a genius, too!” he exclaimed. There was no missing the pride that filled the man’s spirit.

  Donovan tossed Gianna a look. “Five languages? You never told me that.”

  She laughed. “Papà is the only one who brags about me being a child prodigy!”

  “I was no slacker now!” Carina said, moving them all to laugh again.

  “Me,” Franco concluded, “I’m glad I make wine. What you all do hurts my head!”

  The laughter continued to be abundant, filling the room.

  Donovan took a sip of the robust Cabernet in his glass. The wine had been picked especially for the meal, a delightful complement to the dumpling-like pasta that had been filled with butternut squash, sage and goat cheese, served in a hazelnut brown-butter sauce with thick slices of freshly baked bread. “It’s very good wine, by the way!”

  Franco lifted his own glass in salute. “To new friends,” he chanted as everyone joined him.

  “New friends!”

  “Donovan, would you like a tour of the winery?” Gianna asked as she pushed her chair from the table.

  “I’d like that,” he said with a nod of his head. He reached to clear his plate off the table.

  “Don’t you do that,” Carina said, fanning her hands in his direction. “Graham and I will take care of the dishes.”

  “I’m always on dish duty,” Graham said teasingly.

  His wife leaned in to kiss his mouth. “Do good, honey, and I’ll give you a treat later!”

  Franco shook his head at the couple. “I think I’ll take a walk through the gardens and enjoy a cigar. Donovan, I hope to see you again.”

  Donovan shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Thank you again, sir,” he said.

  Gianna crooked her index finger and gestured for him to follow. Not needing a second invitation, Donovan went willingly.

  * * *

  For almost an hour, Gianna was the consummate professional as she gave him a guided tour of the grounds and winery. It was easy to see how passionate she was about her family’s business and her role in its operations. Donovan was duly impressed.

  The winery was substantial in size, and minutes into the tour he realized he knew very little about wine or its history. He was transfixed as Gianna schooled him.

  “Many have called the Maremma the ‘Wild West,’ because of its landscapes and its wine-making. The Etruscans started making wine thousands of years before us in Northern Tuscany. They introduced viticulture to the Maremma in the nineteenth century.”

  “What is viticulture?” Donovan asked.

  “Viticulture is the study of grapes and wine-making.”

  Donovan nodded as she continued.

  “The wines here in Maremma didn’t become popular until the 1980s, and credit for putting us on the map goes to Marquis Mario Incisa della Rocchetta. Because of his efforts, we’ve created Bordeaux-style wines that are considered noble and refined. My father idolized him.”

  “Is he still in this area?”

  “Sadly, he passed away in the 1980s. His son runs his winery now.”

  They moved to another area of the winery, stepping into a massive room that housed huge wooden barrels of wine that were resting to age. Gianna continued, explaining the process and even including a geography lesson.

  “The Maremma is very different from other areas of Italy. Regions in the north, like northern Tuscany, Florence, Siena and Lucca, are always overrun with tourists. Their wineries cater to the tourism, and most of their cellars are always open to the general public. Not so much here. We are more exclusive, and the area is less populated with tourists.

  “Serious wine lovers find us to be a very attractive region to visit. There’s the town of Castiglione della Pescaia with its charming fishing port and castle, and Pitigliano, an amazing village completely carved out of the rocky outcrop below an ancient Jewish village. And one of my favorite places is Massa Marittima with its quaint cobblestoned streets. They’re all fabulous little gems that you must explore while you’re here in Tuscany.”

  Donovan stood in reflection, taking it all in. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he seemed as though he were lost deep in thought. Gianna found herself unable to take her eyes off him. His chiseled features were perfection, and she was suddenly imagining what it might be like to trace his profile with her finger. She stood in pause until he seemed ready to move on, tossing her a quick look and that dimpled smile.

  “So, when do you find time to write?” he asked as the private tour came to a close.

  Gianna chuckled warmly as they moved back outside, dropping to a wooden bench that decorated the gardens. She twisted her body around to face him.

  “At night mostly, when I’m alone.”

  Donovan nodded as the two shared a gaze. They held it for a brief moment, the intensity almost combustible. As quickly as they connected, they both looked away. An awkward silence filled the space between them. He looked past her shoulder, staring off into the distance. Her eyes were cast down to the ground, and the blades of grass flattened beneath her leather sandals. They both cut their eyes back at each other at the same time. Then laughed to ease the tension.

  “I didn’t expect to be so nervous around you,” Donovan said. “I feel like I’m fifteen all over again.”

  Gianna laughed. “I know, right!” She smiled. “I figured since we knew so much about each other that this would be easy.”

  He nodded, smiling back. He stared at her, taking in her delicate features as if casting each pore to memory. “You are so beautiful!” he exclaimed softly.

  She laughed again, the gentle timbre a
soft flutter that left him thinking of champagne bubbles and the gentle trickle of a waterfall.

  “You’re very sweet, Donovan Boudreaux.”

  He shifted forward in his seat. “Can I see you again tomorrow?”

  “Don’t you have classes tomorrow?”

  “I have a commitment at the school in the morning, but I won’t actually start teaching for another week. I’m free after the lunch hour tomorrow. And I really want to see you again!”

  She grinned. “I know we have an inspection tomorrow, but once that’s done I’ll be free. Why don’t you call me when you’re done and we can make plans then?”

  “Great!” Donovan exclaimed.

  There was a pause before he finally stood. “I should be going. I don’t want to overstay my welcome, and I’m sure you have things you need to get back to.”

  She shrugged. “You don’t have to rush off on my account.”

  His full lips lifted up into a deep smile. “I wish I could stay, but I need to unpack and get settled in. Plus, I don’t get the impression that Signora Rossi is going to tolerate me coming and going at all hours of the night.” He extended his hand to help her up.

  The touch was electric as her fingers gently glided against his. Both felt it, pulling away as if they’d been burned. Gianna’s eyes were wide, and she inhaled swiftly. Donovan was suddenly aware of heat raging in his southern parts. He broke out into a cold sweat, perspiration beading against his brow.

  “I’m glad you came to Tuscany, Donovan,” Gianna said, her voice a soft whisper.

  He nodded. “Me, too!”

  * * *

  The questions and comments came before Gianna could get the door closed behind Donovan’s exit.

  “Do you like him?”

  “I think he was nice!”

  “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”

  “You really need to tell him the truth!”

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  “You really should see him again!”

  Gianna laughed heartily as her family assaulted her with commentary. She held up her hand, amusement shimmering in her eyes.

  “Donovan asked me to extend his gratitude to you all for a lovely evening. He said to tell you that he had a very nice time.”

  “Did you have a nice time, Sissy?” Carina leaned across the kitchen island, meeting her sister’s stare.

  Gianna shrugged slightly, her shoulders pushing toward the ceiling. “It was okay.”

  “Just okay?” Graham asked.

  Franco laughed. “It was better than okay. Look at that grin on her face.”

  Gianna felt herself blush, color warming her cheeks a brilliant shade of crimson. She moved toward the door, tossing them all a slight wave of her hand, their laughter echoing behind her as she headed to her room.

  Inside, with the door closed and locked, Gianna fell back against the bed, staring up toward the ceiling. Joy painted her expression. It had been a great day, and she’d had an exceptional time with Donovan Boudreaux. He hadn’t been at all what she’d expected. Even after committing every word he’d written to her to memory, thinking that she had some sense of who the man was, she’d actually been surprised.

  Donovan was a refreshing breath of air. His intelligence was complemented by a compassionate spirit and wicked sense of humor. And he didn’t take himself seriously. She liked that he could laugh at himself, all the while bringing a smile to everyone else’s face. His exuberance as they’d walked through the winery was almost childlike, and his enthusiasm had fueled her own. Donovan was multilayered, and she had only begun to scratch the surface to discover everything she could about him. Throw in his dashing good looks, and there was much to like about the math professor from the United States.

  The decision to not tell him about Carina’s little prank had come at the last minute. The moment she’d laid eyes on him, Gianna knew she didn’t want to mar their first encounter with bad news. She could come clean in due time, she thought with a sigh. For now, all she wanted was to enjoy the magic that had her feeling giddy with happiness.

  * * *

  He was so excited by the afternoon’s events that Donovan hadn’t given any thought to how he planned to get back to his cottage. Luckily for him, the walk down the hillside was manageable. The sky was just beginning to darken. The cool evening air was comfortably warm with the gentlest of breezes pushing him forward. And as he headed downhill, he had a beautiful view of the Tuscan coast, the sun beginning to set over the bright blue water.

  As he sauntered back to the village, he passed a spattering of homes that dotted the landscape. The area of Maremma was a host of everything that was extraordinary about Tuscany. There was blue sea, long beaches, black rock, hills covered with woods, marshes and flatlands, green hills, natural thermal baths and, most exquisite of them all, Gianna Martelli.

  He felt lovestruck as he thought about the delightful woman who’d been everything he imagined and more. Beautiful didn’t begin to describe her, inside or out. She had the purest spirit of any woman he’d ever known. There was something both delightful and decadent about her. Just the nearness of her had him giggling like an adolescent, and he couldn’t remember any woman ever making him feel so frivolous.

  To say that he was enamored with Gianna was putting it mildly. The woman left him breathless, and in that moment he was hard and wanting as thoughts of their time together frolicked through his memory. Gianna made his heart sing, and he was excited to see where their time together might take them.

  As he passed a home that sat close to the roadside, there was a couple standing outside in deep conversation. Both looked up and eyed him warily as he moved in their direction. Donovan accepted that most in the community weren’t used to seeing a large black man in their midst when it wasn’t tourist season, and maybe not even then. He also imagined that seeing a large black man practically skipping with joy was a sight to behold, as well.

  He raised a hand and waved excitedly, his bright smile warm and endearing. The husband gestured back with a nod of his head, the two suddenly talking rapidly in Italian. “Buonasera!” Donovan exclaimed as he got closer to the front gate of their property.

  The wife greeted him cheerily, gesturing with both hands for him to come closer. As she spoke, he comprehended one, two, maybe three words of what she was saying, welcoming him to their village. Pausing in front of her, he was surprised when she reached up to grab his cheeks in her hands, squeezing his face as if he were six years old. His eyes widened with surprise as she pulled him close, kissing one side of his face and then the other.

  Seconds later, her husband, who’d gone into the home, had come back through the door, a plate wrapped in a kitchen towel perched in the palms of his hands. “Welcome!” the husband said as he extended the gift toward Donovan.

  Donovan nodded. “Thank you!”

  “You are the teacher, no?” the man questioned.

  He bobbed his head a second time. “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “From my wife,” the man gestured. “To say hello and welcome.”

  His wife said something in Italian, clearly passing on instructions to her spouse. He nodded and waved his hand for her to let him speak.

  “My name is Fabrizio D’Ascenzi, and this is my wife, Pia.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Signor D’Ascenzi! Signora D’Ascenzi, ciao, mi chiamo Donovan Boudreaux.”

  Signora D’Ascenzi grabbed his cheeks a second time. “Piacere di conoscerti.”

  Donovan nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, ma’am!”

  “Pia has made her famous ricotta cheesecake to welcome you. It’s the best cheesecake you will ever eat! All the women in the village have heard that you were coming to town, so I imagine you will eat well while you are here. All of them trying to marry off their dau
ghters!”

  Donovan laughed. “Do you and Signora D’Ascenzi have a daughter?”

  The man shook his head. “No. If we did, you wouldn’t be getting this cheesecake,” he said with a hearty chuckle. “I would have had her make you a five-course meal!”

  His wife punched him playfully, and Donovan realized that she understood English better than she spoke it.

  “Well, thank you,” Donovan said.

  “Where are you headed?” Signor D’Ascenzi asked, looking up the road one way and then the other.

  As Donovan explained his predicament, the couple nodded in understanding.

  “Now, those are two beautiful women!” the other man exclaimed. “Franco’s daughters are very easy on a man’s eyes! But only one is unmarried, no?”

  He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He said something to his wife in Italian that Donovan didn’t understand. She responded with a wave of her head, her hands tossed in the air in frustration.

  Donovan looked at one and then another, suddenly feeling like the ball in a tennis match.

  Signor D’Ascenzi flipped his hand at the woman as she suddenly turned, muttering under her breath as she stomped into her home.

  Donovan looked on, confused, as her husband gestured for him to follow him to his truck, offering him a ride for the rest of his journey. Once they were headed down the road, his new acquaintance explained the conversation.

  “My wife says you need to watch that Martelli girl. That one is too wild for such a distinguished professor as yourself. And she has a tongue like a viper! You might want to walk to the vineyards on the other side and introduce yourself to the Carusos’ daughter. She’s round like a barrel and has the face of an old cow, but she’s quite the cook and she doesn’t talk a lot.”

  Donovan laughed heartily. As Signor D’Ascenzi continued, his assessments of the women in the community sometimes moving him to tears, he knew beyond any doubt that moving to Italy had been the best decision he could have ever made.