by Belle Ami
“I’ll take you on a tour later. Our big meal of the day is lunch, and I have a sneaky suspicion Maria’s gone all out for you. She’s serving al fresco on the patio. Pizza oven is prepped and ready, so we don’t have much time. Got to make the pies when the embers are hot.”
Making homemade pizza in an out-door oven in Tuscany? Have I walked onto the cover of Bon Appetit magazine? I must be dreaming. First Florence and now the Tuscan countryside.
Alex was fulfilling all those wishes she’d never expected to come true and it scared her. She didn’t want her feelings for Alex to be confused with the world he offered, or with their past lives. Her attraction to him wasn’t about having a fairytale life. She wanted it to be for all of the right reasons. She wanted it to be because kissing him made her knees weak, and looking into his eyes made her skin tingle, and when he touched her, her body lit up like a Christmas tree. But most important, she wanted to be his favorite hello and his toughest goodbye. She knew it was a schoolgirl dream, but it was her dream and she had no intention of settling for less.
She followed him up the stairs, and the feeling washed over her again, raising the hair on her neck and arms, that prickly sensation of having done this before, having been here before. Not only was she repeating what had already happened, but she was repeating all of it with the same man she’d loved in a past life.
Another world and time were barely hidden. She had a feeling that all the memories of her past lives were just out of reach, waiting to be unlocked. She was standing on thin ice, ice that was about to crack. When it gave, would she drown in a river of time without end or would she become strong with the knowledge of it all? Could she right the wrongs of the past?
At the top of the stairs was a hallway. “Here we are.” Alex nudged a door open with his shoulder. “My room is just down the hall.” He set her suitcase down on the polished wood floor.
Sunshine poured through a vertically paned window, illuminating the yellow-glazed walls. In the center of the room was a heavy, wood-framed bed with a rod iron headboard that twisted in a curlicue design. The bed was covered in cream damask linens and multiple pillows of cream and beige velvet, inviting an afternoon nap. A large wardrobe of heavy dark wood rested against one sidewall. On the other side, a door led to what Angela assumed was the bathroom. The room was as tastefully decorated as her room in Alex’s Florence apartment. Hanging on the wall were photographs of hillsides with row upon row of vines plush with grapes and olive groves with old-fashioned olive presses. In the photos, the landscape looked much as it would have looked five-hundred years ago and certainly seventy years ago. In the photos of the countryside, time stood still.
She walked to the window and looked out at the terraced hillside, at row upon row of manicured grapevines, which even from this distance, she could see were laden with fruit. “Alex, when is the grape harvest in Chianti?”
“We call it the vendemmia and it’s usually in September, but it really is at the exact moment when the grapes reach their full ripeness. It can’t be more than a few weeks away, a month at the most.”
“Sounds amazing. I’d love to see it.” Alex stepped up behind her and he took a firm hold of her shoulders. His touch was like a drug and she couldn’t stop herself, she relaxed against his chest.
His warm breath sent tingles down her spine. “I have this sneaky suspicion you will.”
She felt as if she were melting in his arms. The closeness of his lips to her ear kindled goosebumps and made her knees grow weak. “Really?” Her voice sounded breathless to her ears.
“Really.” He turned her, and leaning down, covered her lips with his.
With a will of their own, her arms locked around his neck and she pressed herself fully into his embrace. The heat between them intensified, and she knew when they broke the kiss her cheeks would be as bright as the lights on a Christmas tree. Gasping for breath, their lips parted but their bodies still pressed together.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “We better not keep Maria and Joseph waiting. You did express a passion for pizza.”
She was incapable of words and nodded.
“I’ll meet you downstairs on the patio in a few minutes.” With that he left, closing the door behind him. She wandered to the bed and flung herself backward on it, grinning. Hell, admit it, you’re giddy from that kiss. The truth is, if he’d kept kissing you, he’d be in this bed with you right now. But then we’d miss out on the pizza… and pizza is tantamount to heaven.
It took all his strength to leave Angela’s room. Another second of her body pressed against him and he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from going further. The kiss, well he was entitled to steal a kiss, no harm done, but he promised to wait for her to make the next move. Dammit, I’m beginning to regret that promise. He was so aroused, he jumped into a cold shower before going downstairs.
Later, when they were back downstairs, seated at the table on the patio, he poured two glasses of Prosecco and handed her one. Lifting his glass he toasted, “To recovering our wedding portrait, solving the Leonardo mystery, and moving beyond the past and into the future.”
She clinked her glass to his. “I couldn’t agree more.” She smiled. Joseph came around the corner carrying a large tray.
Angela’s eyes lit up. “The pizzas, I’m starving.”
Her childlike enthusiasm tickled him. Alex was glad he’d convinced her to come to the countryside. “Come on.” He rose and took her hand pulling her from her chair. “Take your Prosecco.” Holding her hand, he led her to the outdoor kitchen. Plumes of smoke rose from the brick pizza oven. Joseph tossed the dough expertly in the air and then laid the flat circle on the floured, smooth-slate counter. “Joseph, questa è Angela.”
Joseph, a tall, dark, brawny man, with kindly brown eyes, lifted his hat and bowed his head respectfully. “Piacere.”
Angela offered her hand, and Joseph bent to kiss it, leaving a white dusting of flour. She laughed, “I didn’t mean for you to kiss my hand, I simply wanted to shake your hand, Joseph.”
Alex translated, and they all had a good laugh. Maria joined them, handing Joseph a glass of Prosecco. After another toast, she ladled the sauce on the pizza and smothered it with grated mozzarella. Then with a flourish, she scattered fresh basil leaves and topped it off with a splash of olive oil. Joseph scooped up the pie and popped it in the oven.
“Mmmm… it smells good.” Alex turned to her with a grin. “I prefer thin crust over the traditional Neapolitan thick crust. What about you? Do you have a preference?”
“Well, thin is better for my figure,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.
Alex eyed her. “I’d say, regardless of thick or thin, your figure looks good to me.”
Joseph pulled the slightly charred-edged pizza from the hot oven. Maria sliced it expertly with a wheel and served it with a simple green salad and fresh tomatoes. After they devoured the first course, Joseph returned to the pizza oven with Alex and Angela in tow. He pushed the embers to the center of the oven and placed a grate over the hot coals. On the grate, he cooked a thick Porterhouse steak that Alex explained was a traditional recipe of the region, Bistecca alla Fiorentina. The steak was served with spinach sautéed in olive oil with sliced garlic. It was a heavenly meal. For dessert, Maria served a lemon cake, espresso, and an aperitivo of Amaro Fernet Branca.
Several glasses of Prosecco had taken effect, and Angela’s lids grew heavy.
“Alex, would you mind terribly if I took a nap. I can’t keep my eyes open.”
“That sounds like a great idea. Nothing better than an afternoon siesta.” He couldn’t contain the fire that lit inside of him at the thought of napping with her. But, probably not today.
She stood and, tottering a bit, grabbed the edge of the table. “I think I drank a little too much Prosecco,” she giggled.
Alex stood and put his arm around her waist.
“Here, let me help you upstairs.”
She gave him a silly grin, her adorable dimple denting her cheek. Resisting the urge to cover her lips with his, he led her up the stairs and sat her on the edge of the bed. He pulled the covers back and she fell backward, giggling like a teenager. “I’ve never gotten this drunk during the day. Her eyes were wide as saucers as she whispered, “It’s kind of nice.”
He grinned at her adorable expression. I could seriously get used to this. Lifting her legs onto the bed, he slipped off her shoes. She wiggled her toes and giggled again. He sighed, wishing he could get into bed with her. Walking to the window, he closed the drapes, blocking the afternoon light from disturbing her while she napped. “Enjoy your rest, Angela.” Before he closed the door, he turned on the overhead fan and glanced back at her. Her eyes were closed and she smiled contentedly.
Back in his room, he lay with his arms behind his head staring up at the revolving fan. Doing absolutely nothing with Angela was better than doing something with any other woman he’d ever known.
The rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, the sound of an afternoon storm moving across the mountains. He wished Angela was lying beside him, wrapped in his arms. It would be so nice to hold her while she slept. He closed his eyes and allowed his imagination to go where his body longed to be.
Chapter 12
Montefioralle, Italy
September 30, 1944
The last thing Angela remembered was sinking into the pillows and hearing thunder in the distance. She blew Alex a kiss and ran up a steep hill, knowing he would chase her.
Large drops of rain fell from the black clouds overhead and, within seconds, came the downpour and she was soaked, but she didn’t care. Not one bit.
She slipped in the mud and laughed when he caught her. Turning her face toward him, she smiled into the handsome eyes of her beloved. “Gerhard…”
Gerhard touched his finger to her lips. “My darling, Sophia you need to call me Giorgio.”
She kissed the tip of his finger. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget. Giorgio Bandini, my accountant from Pisa. The man I will marry this weekend in the Church of Santo Stefano.”
“The man your protective brothers nearly shot on sight.”
“When they heard your accent, what did you expect? If I hadn’t gotten down on my knees and pleaded for your life you’d be planted in the vineyard and bearing fruit.” Sophia laughed. “Probably you’d have grown into a sweet Riesling.”
“Caressing your lips as wine wouldn’t have been such an awful fate.”
“You’re such a romantic, Giorgio. We can thank the Blessed Virgin that she heard my prayers.”
After hours of arguing with her brothers, she’d convinced them to let him live. Sophia knew it was the child inside of her that had decided his fate. Neither of her brothers could make their future niece or nephew an orphan. Since then, things had settled into a satisfying routine. She knew her brothers didn’t trust him completely, but they’d come to a détente, allowing him the time to prove his loyalty. One misstep and she knew they’d kill him.
First, the marriage legitimizing their child and then Giorgio Bandini, the make-believe accountant from Pisa, would learn the wine business from planting to harvest. There was always need for a strong body to work the vineyard. Sophia was an equal partner with her two bachelor brothers, Stefano and Roberto, and it was accepted that, as her husband, Giorgio would assume his rightful place.
Lifting her face toward the sky, the heavenly rain poured down over her face and body. The warm summer rain soaked her simple, yellow-cotton dress, sculpting it to her full breasts and legs. Gerhard pulled her against him, his lips locking on hers. She knew well the fire in his eyes.
“Sophia, you are a goddess,” he murmured. “Dio, ti voglio. I want to make love to you on this soft carpet of grass, your body supple and blessed with our child. You are my everything.”
She laid her hand on his cheek and caressed his face. “Wait, we’re almost to the cave.” She took his hand and led him up the hill.
Reaching the top, they were surrounded by mist, heavy clouds floated around them. Her heart pounded from the exertion of the climb and from the anticipation of their lovemaking. To please her brothers, they’d slept apart since their arrival in Montefioralle. Her ever-protective family insisted they demonstrate restraint until their marriage was blessed by the priest in the chapel.
The cave was a refuge, kept secret by generations of Caros. No one knew of its existence except her brothers. In it were large oak barrels, filled with wine. The finest of each year’s production, stored in the cool depths to age. Shelves were built into the sides of the cavern and bottles were racked on their sides, some more than fifty years old. The trail up, although steep, was navigable with a cart pulled by a donkey. Several times a year, the Caro family brought down their finest bottles of Chianti to be sold in the marketplace and enjoyed at celebratory events.
Sophia seemed to magically shift a massive boulder to one side. She turned, chuckling at the look of disbelief on Gerhard’s face. Someone had devised and executed an engineering feat. No one in the Caro family knew which patriarch had done it, the lore to that riddle had been lost to the generations that followed. But each successive generation had maintained it and kept it secret. Rumors had been passed down through the family that Leonardo da Vinci himself had designed the mechanism. How fitting, if that were true.
Sophia slipped through the narrow opening and Gerhard followed. It was dark, but Sophia knew her way around. The cave had been her secret refuge since childhood. A young girl’s sanctuary when her domineering brothers were too much to bear. She struck a match and lit a kerosene lamp; light and shadow crept up the walls, illuminating the interior. As soon as she slid the boulder back into place, the roar of howling wind and pounding rain faded to a whisper.
Gerhard turned in a slow circle, his head raised to the vaulted ceiling his hands smoothing over the white walls that some ingenious Caro had spackled with plaster. It was cool in the cave and Sophia shivered. Gerhard wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back.
“Amore mio, let’s get these wet clothes off and lay them out to dry.”
When they were nude she led him deeper into the cave to a linen-covered mattress and folded blankets.
“We can wait out the storm here, my love.” They lay down, pulling the blankets up around them. She sighed, resting her head on his chest. “I’ve never brought anyone here. It’s an unspoken family rule. You are now privy to the greatest Caro family secret. If my brothers knew, they’d probably cut out your tongue.” She giggled. “Or cut off something else.”
“I think we can keep this secret between you and me, cara. We’re going to need that something else. I plan on keeping you barefoot and pregnant.” He tilted her chin up, covering her lips with his. His hot breath whispered in her ear. “Let me pleasure you, my love. It’s been so long since our bodies have been one.” His two-colored eyes twinkled with mischief. “Besides, cara, you’ve already done far too much. Climbing mountains with our child inside. It has to stop.”
“Our child will be strong like her father.”
“And how do you know it is a she?”
“Does it matter to you?”
“No, of course not. If we made a dozen girls who looked just like you, I’d be more than satisfied.”
“A dozen? You are thinking big.”
He held her close, his breath caressing her ear. “Yes, but we need more practice. Those brothers of yours are depriving us of what we both crave.”
She responded with a sigh and pressed her pelvis firmly against him, eliciting a groan. “After Sunday, we’ll never sleep apart again, amore mio.”
“I could not ask for more, Sophia. You and our child are all I will ever want.”
She relished their foreplay, the teasing, the way her resistance melted away when he tou
ched her. He was like a man of the Renaissance, developed in both body and mind. His love made her bold. She fondled him, catching her breath as he hardened against her hand, mesmerized by the desire burning in his eyes.
“As much as I want to pound you into pleasure and hear your screams, cara, I will be gentle.” Easing into her with slow, penetrating thrusts, he delivered on his promise, bringing them both to satisfaction.
With a deep sigh, she relaxed in the safety of his arms, enjoying the undulations of his body inside of hers. It was moments like these she would cherish when they were both old. She wondered at the strange twist of fate that had brought Gerhard into her life. She tried to remember what life was like before him. Work and family, but no love or passion. Gerhard was the lyric to her melody. Together, they made a beautiful song.
She didn’t recall falling asleep but woke to Gerhard’s kiss. “I’m sure the storm has passed. I think we’d better return before your brothers turn those bloodhounds loose in search of us.”
A quick peck on his lips and she was on her feet. Before she pulled her dress over her head, Gerhard knelt before her, caressing and kissing the small bump of pregnancy that protruded from her belly. “I love you, my piccolina, I will always keep you safe.”
When they emerged from the cave, Gerhard rolled the stone back. It slid easily into place and the opening disappeared as did the secret cave. “Whoever designed this entrance was without a doubt a genius.” He took Sophia’s hand and they started down the hill.
Sophia breathed in the fresh air. If it wasn’t for the war, she couldn’t imagine a more perfect life. On Sunday, she would marry the man she loved. Feeling fortunate and blessed, she caressed her stomach where the child of their love grew safely inside of her. She was buoyant, excited for the future, and satiated from their lovemaking.