Those Blue Tuscan Skies

by Marion Ueckermann

  He’d thought of her often in the beginning, but as the days turned into months which turned into years, he’d all but forgotten about their magical encounter. He stared at her, unable to stop himself. She was more beautiful than he remembered.

  A smile tugged his mouth. “The writer, if I’m not mistaken.”

  She shook her head, wisps of blond lifting with a sudden breeze. Quickly letting his hand go, she grasped her dress, preventing its flight. “She passed on a long time ago. I’m Jayne with a ‘y,’ and Austin with an ‘i’ not an ‘e.’ Remember?”

  He did now. They’d joked about it as he’d whirled her around the dance floor.

  “And if I remember correctly, you’re Rafaele, the best man.”

  “If you say so, I’ll humbly accept the compliment.”

  Her eyes widened momentarily, and then she burst out laughing as understanding of his wit dawned.

  “So, w–what are you doing in Italy?” Did he sound as school-boy-crush/over-the-moon-excited as he thought he did?

  She clamped her bottom lip between her teeth, her mouth skewing slightly to the side for a second as she broke eye contact. “Uh, a little holiday.” She looked up at him again. “I always regretted not having stayed longer than that single, far-too-short weekend.”

  “Well, I’m happy you’ve returned. Welcome back to my country.” He leaned in closer to greet her Italian style. It’s not like they were total strangers, so why not? Their noses bumped. And their lips almost touched.

  Her soft snicker echoed his chuckle as he tried again to kiss her cheek. Another close encounter with her lips, an even closer one with her nose. Clearly she did not know the cheek kissing rule. Not that he minded her blunders. Not at all.

  Smiling, he stared into her baby blues. “Left cheek first. Then the right.”

  Jayne buried her giggle in her hand. She shook her head and wiped away the moisture that sparkled in the corners of her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself enough to speak. “I’m sorry. All I can think of is cheeks, and then I get totally flustered as to which side to lean first. And…well, you know the rest.” She banged her fists together, mimicking their first two greeting attempts.

  He gave it one final crack.

  Drat. Third time lucky, much to his disappointment. Maybe his lips would’ve found hers with yet another wrong move—something he remembered wanting to do the last time he’d seen her when they’d said goodbye.

  And he said he’d call.

  Taking a step back, Rafaele leaned against her little car, hitching one foot up on the front tire and resting it against the alloy wheel. “When did you arrive? How long will you be here? Where are you staying?”

  “Sooo many questions...” Her mouth curved into a smile which dragged him back to time lost.

  Why on earth hadn’t he contacted her?

  When the paper she’d written her number on was misplaced, never to be found, he took that as a sign they weren’t meant to be. Yes, he could’ve asked Joseph for her contact details—he kicked himself now for not having done so—but when he saw his best friend again, he’d already convinced himself that a long-distance relationship was probably not a good idea. It was hard enough to sustain something past a few dates with local women, hence his bachelorhood at thirty. And yet another reason for his father to resent his choices. No grandchildren. No little Rossis to carry on the family name. He the oldest son…his duty... He’d heard the criticisms and reminders every time he visited the villa.

  “…just a few miles down the road.”

  Huh? What had he missed?

  Everything, it seemed by Jayne’s stare.

  He pushed away from the car. “Shall we change this tire?”

  “Yes, please. I really could do with some help.” Jayne eased past him. She reached into the open driver’s window and dumped her hat on the seat. She whirled around to face him. “And you are the answer to quite a few recent prayers I’ve shot to heaven.”

  Smiling, Rafaele squatted down beside the flat tire. He grabbed the jack from where it lay abandoned on the grass along with the wheel spanner and tried his utmost not to let his attention drift to the shapely legs beside him. He slid the jack beneath the chassis. Soon the small car leaned away from him. As he worked, he pondered those prayers. Did she mean for the tire alone?

  Only one way to find out.

  He glanced up at her. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?

  Chapter Five

  BACK IN HER SMALL APARTMENT, Jayne smiled as she sank into the bubbles, wincing as the warm water filling the bathtub washed over her slightly tinged arms and shoulders. She should’ve worn a light, long-sleeved shirt, although she wouldn’t have looked nearly as good for her unexpected encounter. No, the dress had been perfect, and her Heavenly Father knew that when He’d prompted her to choose that particular outfit. It certainly had seemed to catch Rafaele’s eye and earned her a dinner date.

  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax. She probably should’ve opted for a cool bath—kinder on the sunburn—but the warmth of the water breathed life back into her tired body. She couldn’t bathe for too long, though—Rafaele would be knocking on her apartment door within an hour.

  Rafaele… Lord, thank You, thank You, thank You. I still can’t believe You let me find him so soon. In fact, I can’t actually believe You let me find Him, period.

  She lifted a handful of bubbles and blew them from her palm, laughing as they drifted down like snow, some returning to the tub, others floating all the way to the tiled floor. No, I CAN believe it. A needle in a haystack is no problem for You. You’re God. And what an ingenious plan of Yours to put me on the road to Monticchiello instead of Montalcino. You truly do work all things for good because You’re a good Father.

  Just like her own dear dad. Not causing a fuss about her idea to come to Italy for an indefinite period of time. Encouraging her to follow her heart. Mum would’ve done the same, she was certain. Jayne swallowed back the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. She missed her mum. Always would.

  Enjoying those fragrant bubbles a little too long, she had to hurry to blow-dry her hair, put on her makeup, and get dressed. Finally ready, she slid her feet into capri sandals then fastened the suede, wraparound laces around her ankles. The nude color of the shoes, combined with her skinny jeans, made her legs look like they went on for a day—at least that’s the pitch the saleswoman had given her. Jayne had agreed and on impulse bought the flat, breezy sandals especially for this trip to Italy.

  A knock sounded at her door just as she squirted a few sprays of perfume onto her pulse points. She tugged the off-the-shoulder sleeves of the white cotton and lace blouse up a little—didn’t want to show too much shoulder. She grabbed her handbag before wrapping her fingers around her denim jacket. She’d bring it with her just in case the long sleeves of her blouse weren’t enough to keep out the lower evening temperatures. She had no idea if they’d be dining indoors or out. All she knew was that she should dress comfortably.

  Jayne drew in a deep breath, her hand trembling as she reached for the doorknob. She exhaled slowly and opened the door.

  Rafaele released a soft whistle as his eyes widened. “Bellissima.”

  Jayne burst out laughing. With Rafaele dressed in white skinny jeans with matching casual loafers, his denim shirt hanging over the pants, they looked like twins. “I see you got the memo.”

  “About?” His eyes narrowed a touch.

  Jayne twirled around and grinned, lifting her jacket to emphasize her point. “What to wear.”

  “Ha ha, right. We are dressed much the same, except for the reversal of colors. Don’t worry, we’re eating at my house—nobody will see us. The tastiest pici pasta with Tuscan sausage ragu is served at Villa Rossi. In case you hadn’t heard yet, pici is a pasta type coming from the Siena area here in Tuscany, and Maria makes the most delicious I’ve eaten.”

  The image that had filled her mind when he’d said pici—his lips
on one side of a strand, hers on the other—vaporized. Her heart plummeted. Maria? Had he married in the two years since their first encounter? She hadn’t even thought to check his ring finger for any telltale signs. He couldn’t have. Perhaps Maria was his sister. Didn’t he have one plus eleven brothers? Shucks, no, that was his best friend, Joseph. She remembered Rafaele telling her as they’d conversed at the wedding that he had three siblings—a brother in England, a sister at home in Italy, and one studying in Australia.

  He held out his hand for her. “Come. The best pasta in the province awaits.”

  And Maria. At least they wouldn’t be alone. Much as she couldn’t wait to spend time with him—he was, after all, the reason she was here in the first place—it probably wasn’t a good idea to be alone with him in his house until she got to know him far better.

  Clasping his fingers, Jayne stepped over the threshold. Closer to him.

  Rafaele leaned around her, his chest brushing against her shoulder. “Do you have the keycard?”

  His breath warm against her bare shoulder, Jayne’s heart thudded. She swallowed hard and shook her head. “I–it’s still in the holder beside the door, powering the lights.

  Taking a step, he stretched a little farther beyond the doorway. Then he straightened as he pulled the door shut. He handed Jayne the white keycard, all the while still holding her hand. Was he unwilling to release her? Except for the thought of this Maria, she didn’t mind his hand in hers and prayed that the woman would turn out to be his sister. She just had to be. He didn’t seem the cheating kind. Ha, as if she really had any clue as to what kind of person he was. How could she after only one night of dancing years ago and a recent flat tire?

  She planned to rectify that though.

  Jayne dropped the keycard into the small side pocket of her handbag, and they strolled to the car—the aroma of jasmine permeating the early evening air. The sun still had some way to go before it would dip beneath the horizon, and Jayne was glad its late setting would offer them more time together. Or at least it would feel that way.

  The drive to Villa Rossi seemed far quicker in Rafaele’s sleek, silver Lexus than in her little Fiat 500 rental. Perhaps it was because she didn’t want the journey to end, knowing full well the return trip later would happen equally as fast.

  The double-story stone villa with its brown, wooden shutters, and window boxes sprouting green with smidgeons of color was even more impressive up close. Not because of its size though. It actually appeared to be smaller than she thought it would be, possibly because she kept confusing Rafaele’s sibling count with Joseph’s. Of course, there could be more to the villa than what first met the eye. Regardless, the house’s stature came rather from the history that oozed from its façade. It only took a single look to know that many, many people had lived their lives between its walls. She couldn’t wait to hear some of his family’s stories.

  As Rafaele led her through one side of the large arched front door—the faded, wooden panels thirsty for a coat of varnish, the tarnished metal knockers crying for a polish—an elderly woman in an apron hurried toward them. A mouthwatering, meaty aroma trailed her from what Jayne presumed was the kitchen. The woman smiled and bowed, clasping her hands together as if in prayer as she babbled on in Italian. The way she kept looking at Jayne and smiling, one would think Jayne was the first girl Rafaele had brought home.

  Not understanding a word, Jayne shot Rafaele a questioning look.

  He flashed her a grin. “Jayne, this is our housekeeper and cook, Maria.”

  This was Maria?

  Thank You, Lord!

  “She says she’s excited to have you here tonight,” Rafaele continued, “and hopes you will enjoy the dinner. She has taken much care to prepare it for us.”

  Maria swept her short honey-blond hair—graying at the roots—away from her forehead before rattling off more unintelligible words, ending with “Molto bella, molto bella,” her hands raised. She pivoted and hurried back the way she’d come.

  Jayne pouted. “She’s adorable. But what does molto bella mean?”

  “She thinks you’re very beautiful. I can’t help but agree with her.”

  Warmth flooded Jayne’s cheeks. She pressed her palm against one. “I think I might’ve gotten a little too much sun today.”

  Inside the villa, Renaissance-style paintings were mounted on the walls. Jayne wished they could stop to examine the art collection, but Rafaele seemed on a mission to get their dinner started. They entered the dining room—a room far bigger than what she’d anticipated. Probably built for a large Italian family. At the far end of the long wooden table sat an elderly woman. Place settings on either side of her indicated Jayne wasn’t dining alone with Rafaele tonight.

  The silvery head snapped up.

  Rafaele clasped Jayne’s elbow and led her closer. Her sandals clicked against the stone floor. “I’d love you to meet my nonna, Isabella Rossi. Nonna, this is Jayne Austin. She’s here on holiday from England.”

  Jayne extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rossi.”

  The old woman’s icy gaze tunneled through Jayne before she focused the same look on Rafaele, relegating him to the doghouse too. She rose and pushed the wooden chair back, out of her way.

  “Nonna?” Rafaele rushed to his grandmother’s side.

  “I think I will retire to my room for the night. I am tired and no longer hungry.” She gave Jayne a curt nod. “Miss Austin.”

  That was a first. Never before had Jayne encountered that kind of a reaction when being introduced to someone.

  “Let me walk you to your room, Nonna.” Rafaele turned to look at Jayne. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

  She flashed a wobbly smile. “Of course.”

  Jayne watched them exit, her heart whacking against her chest. For some strange and unknown reason, the woman didn’t seem to like her.

  Should she just leave now? Quietly, while no one was around. Good thing she wasn’t in her own car, or she might’ve acted on the idea. Hopefully this wouldn’t be a problem they couldn’t overcome. She’d heard about how attached to family Italians could be. Marry one, marry them all.

  What’s going on? This is so unlike Nonna.

  Rafaele stopped a little way up the passage, out of earshot, and stepped in front of her. “Are you feeling unwell, Nonna?”

  She shook her head, her lips pressed thin. “I’m fine.” Their shoulders bumped as Nonna pushed past him and continued on her way, determined it seemed to get to her bedroom as fast as possible.

  Rafaele remained rooted for a moment, too stunned to move. If she wasn’t ill and was fine, that left only one explanation for her reaction to Jayne.

  He hurried to catch up to her and grasped her arm lightly. “Nonna, that was rude to greet a guest the way you did. You taught us better than that as children.”

  She tipped her chin higher, defiance set on her jaw. “I have my reasons.”

  And recently she’d given him a glimpse into those reasons, although he doubted he’d heard the full story.

  He inched a little closer and lowered his voice further. “Does this have anything to do with Rachel’s mother? Does Jayne remind you of her with her fair skin and English accent?”

  She stared at him, stone-faced.

  “Because you’re not being fair, Nonna, if it does. Jayne has nothing to do with whatever happened between Uncle Albertino, Maggie Golding, and yourself. That was a long, long time ago. You can’t bear a grudge against every Englishwoman. If you want to do that, I might as well call Rachel and tell her not to bother coming if she planned to. How do you think she’ll feel if she knows you haven’t yet built a bridge over your past?”

  Releasing her, he raked his fingers through his hair and paced the floor. Rafaele blew out a breath. “If you can’t treat that woman in the dining room in a civil manner and with the respect due to her, I fear you won’t treat your granddaughter in the proper way either. Rachel will merely waste her time and y
our money coming here.”

  Nonna’s glare softened, the lump in her throat visible as she swallowed. Moisture filled her eyes.

  Rafaele kicked the tiled floor with the toe of his shoe. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so hard on her. But then, she was out of line.

  He wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his embrace. “I’m sorry, Nonna, but I—”

  “No. You are right, Rafaele. I should not have behaved the way I did. One day perhaps I will tell you everything, and maybe then you will understand a little better.”

  “I hope you can, Nonna. It’s not good to bottle things up. You need to be able to share your feelings with someone. I’m a good listener whenever you feel ready to talk.” Clasping a hand around hers, he tugged. “Come, enjoy dinner with me and Jayne.”

  “I–I can’t. I am too embarrassed to go back and apologize. Not now.”

  “But you need to eat.”

  She gave a nod. “You can ask Maria to bring me a small plate of food. Besides, I really am suddenly tired. Would you tell your lady friend on my behalf that I am sorry? The next time she visits, I promise I will do so myself. Maybe you can invite her to my birthday party?”

  “I would like that, Nonna. Very much.”

  And I think Jayne would like it too.

  “I’m so sorry about that.”

  Rafaele’s voice drew Jayne from the painting she studied. The works of art in this room certainly made up for the lack of furniture—only a long table with twelve chairs surrounding it. Perhaps Isabella Rossi wanted nothing to get in the way of guests enjoying her art exhibits. The room certainly did not lack for conversation starters over dinner.

  She offered a smile. “No problem. Is your nonna all right?” Although the cold reception had stung, there was no way Jayne would let his grandmother spoil an evening she’d waited so long for.

  He nodded. “She’s dealing with some family issues at the moment. She does send her apologies. Still, there’s never an excuse for rudeness. Unfortunately, old people can be like children sometimes—difficult to control what they say and do. Sometimes they just catch you by surprise and totally embarrass you.”