by Romy Sommer
He eyed me for a long moment, his gaze inscrutable. My heart beat a horrible panicked rhythm in my chest. What if he only wanted me as a business partner? What if he didn’t want me at all?
Then he leapt up the low grassy bank to stand in front of me, and God help me, but my heartbeat got even wilder.
‘Definitely or.’
With great difficulty, I kept my face straight. ‘I’m going to need you to be a bit more specific than that.’
His mouth quirked. ‘Or you could stay as my wife.’
I hadn’t expected he’d say those words, but I’d hoped. Though in my head it had sounded more like, ‘stay as my lover.’ I hadn’t really expected the W word. I bit back a smile. ‘Shouldn’t you be on your knees when you ask me that?’
Dutifully, he knelt on the grass. ‘Will you marry me, Sarah Wells?’
‘On one condition.’
‘Al diavolo! A simple yes or no will suffice.’
There was that scowl again, making lines in his forehead and drawing his brows down – oh, how I loved that scowl!
I held up my hands. ‘One condition!’
He huffed out an impatient breath.
‘I need to know if it’s me you want, or the vineyard.’
The emotion flashing in his eyes was part annoyance and part amusement. ‘Don’t you know that the vineyard was always the consolation prize for me? There was only one thing I ever really wanted, and I’m still waiting for your answer to see whether or not I’m going to be able to get it.’
Golden warmth flowed through me. ‘Yes.’ I replied. ‘Yes, I will marry you, Tommy di Biasi.’
I half-expected him to rise to his feet, but instead he grabbed my waist, and pulled me down onto the wet and slippery grass with him. We overbalanced and lay sprawled on the bank, and then he laughed and kissed me.
‘You’re not going to leave me for the bright lights of the big city?’ he asked, when we finally disentangled ourselves.
‘I don’t have anything to go back for. I quit my job, and Cleo is buying my house.’
He grinned, as if I’d just told him he’d won the lottery.
‘I don’t have a big fancy castello for you to live in,’ he warned. ‘The best I can offer you is a two-bedroom cottage, and that’s only if your German buyers let me stay on.’
I smiled. ‘Then isn’t it lucky that I do have a big fancy castello for us to live in? Though in the interests of full disclosure, it’s really just an over-sized farmhouse with pretensions.’
He frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I couldn’t sell the castello. The new investors wanted to see a business plan that outlined the vineyard’s future revenue streams, and I sort of included a guest house as part of that plan.’
‘But what about the money?’
I smacked his arm. ‘Weren’t you listening to a word I said?’
‘Well, you were standing there, looking a bit like Buffy about to kick ass, and the sun was shining through your skirt. It’s tough for a man to think under those conditions.’
‘When you say such nice things, how can I resist?’ I giggled like a giddy teenager, though that might have been because I was prone on my back on a grassy bank, with Tommaso leaning over me, and I felt very much like a giddy teenager again.
‘How did Florian and Yusuf take the news?’ he asked.
‘They weren’t very happy, but as it happens, there’s a rather nice villa for sale on the outskirts of town, and since they plan to entertain a lot of guests at their new holiday home, I suggested they might be happier being closer to bars and restaurants. They’ve agreed to take a look at it. It even has fully functioning bathrooms.’
Tommaso’s face turned thoughtful. ‘So we’re the proud owners of a vineyard, a quarter of which looks like a dystopian wasteland, a crumbling castello, and a massive debt?’
‘Yup. That about sums it up. You’re not having any second thoughts about asking me to marry you? You don’t want to find yourself a sweet Italian heiress, perhaps one who restores frescoes for a living?’
‘I have no idea who you’re talking about. There’s only ever been one woman for me. I’ve loved her since the day I met her.’
‘You’re lying,’ I said, clouting his arm again. ‘You liked Fiorella enough to shave your beard for her.’
He huffed out an impatient breath. ‘I shaved my beard for you. Since trying to make you jealous hadn’t worked, I hoped that might gain your attention.’
‘Oh, it did.’ I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. ‘But I still say you’re lying. You can’t possibly remember the day we first met. That was nearly thirty years ago.’
He twisted his fingers into my hair, pulling loose the chignon I’d had it tied up in. ‘I remember that you were seven, and I was ten. I was sitting at the kitchen table in the castello, licking the batter from the bowl of cake mix Nonna had just made, when your father brought you home from the airport. You were wearing a pink dress, and I remember thinking “Oh no! She’s a girl!” And then Nonna said—’
‘She said “take your fingers out of that bowl and fetch two spoons, because from now on you’re going to have to share”.’
I looked up into those twinkling grey eyes, ran my hand through his thick hair, which was already growing shaggy again, then stroked his cheek where his beard was growing out, and my heart swelled, so full of love and happiness that I thought I might burst.
Tommaso grinned. ‘And then you smiled, and I thought, “If I’m going to have to share, there’s no one else I’d rather share it with”. Now are we done talking, because I’d really like to kiss you again?’
Epilogue
Chi si volta e chi si gira, sempre a casa va a finire
(No matter which way you turn, you will always end up at home)
Though it was barely five o’clock, it was already dark outside the windows, that early dark of winter which comes suddenly, with none of the lingering twilight of summer. Snow had started to patter against the windows, but inside the drawing room was deliciously toasty and bright. We’d spent the day putting up decorations, and in the corner of the vast room stood the tree Alberto and Daniele had cut for us on their farm.
A fire burned in the big stone hearth, casting flickering patterns over the recently restored frescoes on the drawing room wall, a painting of Archangel Raphael blessing the vines at Castel Sant’Angelo. In the distance lay Montalcino, barely changed from the town we knew today. The fairy lights on the Christmas tree added a richness to the colours of the painting; burnt orange, wine red, burnished gold, dusty green, bright coral pink and indigo blue.
Tommaso leaned towards the hearth to turn the chestnuts roasting beside the fire. In her basket beside the hearth, Buffy, our gangly Labrador, snuffled in her sleep.
This was the calm in the heart of the storm. For the last few days we’d had DOCG inspectors swarming all over the winery, certifying us as worthy of the highest quality endorsement available in Italy, and tomorrow our guests would arrive, Geraldine and Per, Cleo, Tommaso’s father and his girlfriend. On Christmas Day we were hosting the biggest party this house had seen in at least half a century. The entire Rossi clan would be joining us, together with Florian and Yusuf, and Ettore was bringing his girlfriend, the lovely student from Rome who’d joined us for the harvest.
I was using this Christmas party as a test run for our spring wedding. And after that, the castello would open for business with our first paying guests.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the fragrant scent of the burning olive wood. Tommaso snuggled back down beside me in our bed of blankets on the floor.
‘Guess the varietal,’ he said, handing me a glass. I held it up to the firelight, and watched the lights dancing in the dark amber liquid. Then I breathed it in, savouring the sweet bouquet. ‘It’s a Vin Santo.’ I took a sip. ‘Mostly Trebbiano grapes.’.
‘Brava! Did you know that Trebbiano grapes are also used to make balsamic vinegar?’
‘I di
d. But did you know that balsamic vinegar was once so prized it was included in the dowries of the nobility?’
He didn’t answer and I gloated. It wasn’t often I caught him out.
He reached behind him and pulled out a small squashed parcel in plain brown wrapping. ‘I have a Christmas gift for you.’
‘But Christmas is still days away!’
‘I wanted to give it to you now, while it’s still just the two of us.’
He handed me the parcel, and I ripped open the paper, then laughed as I held up the brand new Sunnydale High School Slayers T-shirt.
‘Your old one was getting a little ratty,’ he said. The firelight caught his eyes, turning them darker than usual. He looked happy.
‘I can’t believe you’re the same grumpy man I met all those months ago when I first arrived,’ I said with a smile.
‘Can you blame me for being grumpy? You hit me over the head with an iron and didn’t even recognise me!’
‘Are you ever going to let me live that down?’
‘No.’ He rolled me over onto my back, crushing my favourite new T-shirt between us. ‘I plan on telling that story to our children and our grandchildren.’
Over Tommaso’s shoulder I glimpsed the mantel above the hearth, where I’d put up a display of family photographs. A black and white photo of John had pride of place. I smiled up at the picture.
Thank you, John, for bringing me back to Tuscany. Thank you for bringing us back together, and for encouraging me to take the risk and put my heart on the line. It was worth the wait.
Acknowledgments
This book would not exist without my editor, Charlotte Ledger. I really lucked out the day my first manuscript landed on your desk, and five years later I still feel so incredibly lucky to be working with you. Thank you for inspiring me to write this book, and I hope I’ve done your vision of Tommaso and Sarah justice.
Thank you to Claudia Dallabona and Manuela Steffenini for their help with the Italian language. Any errors are all mine and no reflection on them!
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who dreamed big dreams. Let’s call her Romy. Romy dreamed of one day living inside one of the fairy tales in her head. But she grew up in Durban, South Africa – not exactly the sort of place where fairy tale princesses grow up. It took the help of a great many fairy godmothers, the slaying of a few dragons, and not nearly enough pretty glass shoes, for Romy to eventually became the princess she’d always dreamed of being.
As a 2016 finalist for the Romance Writers of America® RITA Award for her novel Not a Fairy Tale, and Chairperson of ROSA (Romance writers Organisation of South Africa), all of Romy’s dreams have come true. She is not only a multi-published author, but as a writing coach and teacher, she now helps make other writers’ dreams come true too.
Though Romy’s heart lies in Europe, she doesn’t cope well with the cold, so she lives in sunny South Africa, in the City of Gold, Johannesburg, where she is mom to two little princesses and a pet dragon (okay, he’s a bearded dragon, but that counts!)
Romy writes contemporary fairy tale romances and short 1920s historical romances. She loves Hallmark movies, Country music, travel, and losing herself in stories.
@romy_s
facebook.com/RomySommerAuthor/
www.romysommer.com
If you enjoyed Last of the Summer Vines, then why not try some of Romy Sommer’s other heart-warming novels…
Click here to buy now
Click here to buy now
Click here to buy now
Click here to buy now
About HarperImpulse
HarperImpulse is an innovative, award-winning digital imprint. In the five years since launch, we have continually hit digital bestseller lists, hosted the UK’s first online romance festival, published into over ten countries and grown an exciting stable of commercial women’s fiction authors.
Readers, come and say hi to the team and your next read…
www.facebook.com/HarperImpulse
@HarperImpulse
www.instagram.com/harperimpulse
www.harperimpulseromance.com
Writers, our vision is to publish the very best in digital-first commercial women’s fiction and we are simply looking for good stories! So, what are you waiting for? To submit, e-mail us at [email protected].
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
http://www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
Bay Adelaide Centre, East Tower
22 Adelaide Street West, 41st Floor
Toronto, Ontario, M5H 4E3
http://www.harpercollins.ca
India
HarperCollins India
A 75, Sector 57
Noida, Uttar Pradesh 201 301, India
http://www.harpercollins.co.in
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
http://www.harpercollins.com