by Jan Moran
“But you don’t cook, Aunt Ruby. And unless there’s a microwave…”
Matteo spread his hands. “You can take lessons. Many chefs here offer classes.”
“Better send for Stefano,” Ariana said.
“Don’t and can’t are two different things.” Ruby put a hand on her hip. “I never said I didn’t know how to cook.”
“You’re kidding,” Ariana said, shocked at this revelation. “All these years, and I’ve never seen you turn on a stovetop.”
“I didn’t want Stefano to feel like he wasn’t needed, and the kitchen is his domain.” Ruby waved her manicured hands. “But yes, I learned how to cook as a girl in Texas. Grits, brisket, enchiladas, peach marmalade. And I learned more here in Italy.” She shrugged. “It’s been a while, but cooking is like tap dancing. It’s something you never forget.” A dreamy glow softened her face like a soft-focus filter.
“This I have to see,” Ariana said. “I still think we should send for Stefano.”
“Wouldn’t he love it here?” Ruby’s eyes brightened.
“And let’s take cooking classes. We’ll have a cooking fest and invite all the neighbors.” She turned to face an attached room with a stone fireplace so large a person could stand in it, and a long rustic table that could comfortably seat a crowd. “What fun we’re going to have.”
“We don’t know anyone here,” Ariana said.
“We know Matteo,” Ruby said as the slender young driver inclined his head. “And that wonderful hotel concierge, Vera Orsini, who helped me find a real estate attorney to handle the purchase. And the attorney. Look, that’s four, and their spouses or plus-ones. They can each bring another interesting person or two, and there you have a party of sixteen or twenty. See how that happens?”
“I’m not helping you cook for that many people. I can’t imagine how exhausting that would be. We’ll get take-out.”
Ruby dismissed her comment. “Darling, you’ve been cooped up in an office far too long. Insular, that’s what your life has been. Let me show you the other side.”
Ariana opened her mouth to protest, but Ruby clapped her hands and sashayed from the kitchen, clearly bent on a mission. “On we go. Bedrooms on the second floor.”
Lightly touching the dusty railing on the grand, curved staircase, Ariana followed Ruby up the stone steps. Halfway up, Ruby paused on a landing.
“Wouldn’t this make a marvelous atelier?” Ruby said, turning to the spacious hall below them. “I can just see models swooping down this staircase, with rows of beautiful clients on either side of the catwalk. Why, this could almost be Paris, in dear Hubert’s atelier—that’s Givenchy, darling. Rest his dear soul.”
“First, a hotel, now an atelier.”
“Did you leave your imagination at home?” Ruby turned again and climbed the rest of the stairs with the nimbleness of a dancer. “Oh, and make another note. We’ll need plants inside and out. Palm trees, ferns, and bushels of flowers.”
Just watching Ruby was making Ariana tired. A thought struck her. Just when had they reversed roles? Then another thought occurred to her. “Aunt Ruby, did your doctor change your medication recently? Because you’re acting awfully euphoric.”
A wave of disappointment crossed Ruby’s face. “How dare you suggest my enthusiasm for life is medically enhanced.”
Immediately, Ariana felt guilty. Especially since, at Ruby’s age, she might not have another chance to live her dream. Maybe that’s what this was.
“All my life, I’ve traveled the world at a moment’s notice,” Ruby said, standing imperiously at the top of the stairway. “Location filming, film festivals, commercials, photoshoots, runway shows. This is my life, darling. And I’m going to live it. You can join me—or get a flight home. But I won’t stand for any more complaining.” Ruby lifted her chin. “I will excuse you on account of your condition.”
Ariana winced with remorse over her hasty words. How and when had she become so narrowly focused and judgmental? Perhaps her aunt was right about her insularity.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned you like that.” Ariana reached the top of the stairs and wrapped her arms around her aunt. Aside from her mother, Ruby was the only family she had. So what if her aunt was a little flamboyant, a little adventurous? At her age, Ruby could do whatever she wanted.
Ruby hugged her back with surprising strength. “Leave the old you in L.A. Here, you can be a brand new you.” Ruby smoothed her hands over Ariana’s cheeks. “Like those little silkworms that feast on mulberry leaves, you’ve been trapped in a cocoon, but now you’re ready to fly.”
“But I’m worried about the baby,” Ariana whispered, even though Matteo was waiting outside.
“All the more reason to have fun right now.”
Ariana blinked back a surge of emotion. Between work and Phillip, Ariana had spent a decade of her life worrying about making other people happy. “I hardly know how to do that .”
Ruby smiled and kissed her cheek. “You’ll have a month to figure it out. Who knows what could happen?” She took Ariana’s hand, and they walked on.
To Ariana’s surprise, the bedrooms were large and airy, with windows that opened over the lake with the most spectacular views. Each room had parquet floors, fireplaces, high overhead beams, and antique wood furniture that only needed bedding. And maybe a rug and a pot of fresh flowers. Ariana caught herself imagining how she’d decorate each room.
“Choose any bedroom,” Ruby said. “The rest we’ll set up as guest rooms or whatever you’d like. One could be a nursery.”
“Maybe,” Ariana said, still overwhelmed. She couldn’t take much time off as long as she worked for Kingsley. What if the baby became ill? Kingsley had fired people for less.
Ariana walked into the largest of the high-ceilinged rooms that featured a fireplace, bookshelves, a sitting area, and a private balcony. Connected to the main bedroom was an adjoining room. The bathroom was not one but two, each with an enormous tub or shower, chandeliers, gilded mirrors, and space for furnishings. Although the fixtures were circa the 1950s, Ariana wouldn’t have changed much. Everything had been immaculately cared for. She glanced into another room, which she took for a dressing room.
“I’ve never seen a closet like this, Aunt Ruby.” A long, trifold mirror stood at one end beside a raised step and upholstered stools. Walls of closets and drawers would have held several times her wardrobe. “It’s an entire dressing room, and it’s even larger than your closet. I didn’t think that was possible. This should be your retreat, Aunt Ruby.”
“I don’t need this much. Why don’t you take it?”
“I’d be lost in here.”
Ruby smiled. “Not if you weren’t alone.”
“I’m in no hurry to audition replacements.” Ariana found herself vacillating between never wanting to date again and longing for a soulmate.
“You never know where you’ll find talent,” Ruby said.
Ariana chuckled and ran a hand over her abdomen. “I’m on the cusp of a major life change.” As she peered from a wide picture window overlooking the serene lake, she smiled. Waking to this view would be blissful. “Villa Fiori is rather magical, isn’t it?”
“Oh, we’re just beginning,” Ruby said, arching an eyebrow before gliding from the room, her skirt billowing behind her.
Ariana stared after her, wondering what Ruby was planning.
Chapter 7
Rome, 1952
* * *
“I’m worried they won’t like me,” Ruby said, biting her lip. They were just outside the door to the building that Niccolò and his family lived in. He’d invited her for dinner, and they were to help cook.
“They’re going to love you. You’re an American principessa,” Niccolò added, kissing the tip of her nose.
Ruby followed him up a staircase that opened into a second level flat, where a delicious aroma wafted through the door when he opened it. Opera music from a record player filled the air.
; Niccolò called out to his parents while Ruby took in her surroundings. Late afternoon sunlight poured through tall windows draped with burgundy velvet and caught with gold-threaded ropes and tassels that reached the wooden floors. Low-slung sofas and upholstered chairs gathered around a large fireplace, and a staircase led to an upper level. But the most striking element in the room was the artwork that lined the walls. Ruby took a step toward a pastoral lake scene painting as tall as she was.
“This is a stunning work,” Ruby said. Once, her mother had taken her to Dallas, where they’d stayed with one of her mother’s childhood friends who’d married and moved to the city. Her mother had taken her to a museum. You need some culture in your life, she’d told her. This oil painting could have been on display alongside those she’d seen in Dallas.
“You have so many paintings,” she said, glancing around the room.
“My father is an art dealer,” Niccolò said. “My grandfather founded the business when he was a young man, so most of the paintings in this room have been in the family for a long time. They’re all from Italian artists, but this one is my favorite. That’s Lago di Como, a beautiful lake in the northern part of Italy. I’d paint it if I could, but I didn’t get the gift. Instead, Papa plans for me to run the business with him someday.” He gazed at the painting. “The scenery is even more stunning than you see here; it’s truly a magical place.”
She peered closer. “What a sweet little village on the tip of that point.”
“That’s Bellagio. And my mother’s family has a home right about there in Varenna,” he said, pointing to a stand of palm trees close to the lake’s edge. “We often spend holidays there.”
Ruby was utterly enchanted. The artist had depicted clusters of tile-roofed houses surrounding a deep blue lake. Flowers and trees grew in abundance on green hillsides, and snow-capped mountains rose into cloudless blue skies. “It’s hard to believe a place like this truly exists.”
“It’s even more beautiful than that.” He grinned at her. “You should visit before you leave Italy.”
“I don’t think I can.” She needed to bring home as much of her salary as she could.
“Do you have to go back so soon?”
“It’s not that.” She shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed over her situation. Her parents hadn’t said anything, but she’d overheard them talking. Money was tight this year. “I can’t afford to travel very much.”
“What if you could?”
She gazed into his brilliant blue eyes and then at the painting on the wall. “I’d love to see this.”
Niccolò folded her into his arms and kissed her cheek. “Let’s go meet my parents.”
She nodded, swallowing hard against the jittery feeling in the pit of her stomach. What would they think of her? Compared to them, she was an uncouth Texan who had more experience on dusty ranches than in the cultured world of Rome. In her home, the record player would be playing Johnny Cash or Jimmy Dean, not Italian opera. Niccolò couldn’t possibly understand how she felt.
He took her hand, and she followed him past a dining room with gilded mirrors. Baroque? She was trying to learn new terms, but there was so much she didn’t know. Her head was stuffed full of new words that swirled in her mind. Every time she heard a new word, she’d write it down in a little spiral notebook she carried and look it up later. Only by promising she’d study Roman history and architecture and visit historical sites had her parents allowed her to come.
Niccolò’s mother stood by the stove in the kitchen, wearing an apron over a pretty cotton dress. She greeted her son in Italian with a hug and cheek kisses. “Mamma, as I told you, I’ve brought my friend Ruby for dinner tonight.”
His mother turned to them, and her youthful face broke into a welcoming smile. “Ciao, Ruby. What a lovely name. Come stai?”
“Molto bene, grazie, Signora Mancini.” Ruby was surprised at the warm welcome.
“No, no, no,” Niccolò’s mother said, waving her finger. “Call me Carolina. We’re modern here. Signora Mancini is my mother-in-law. My husband will be home soon, and I know he will be happy to meet you.”
“Carolina,” Ruby said. Niccolò had mentioned that his mother had spent part of the war years in England, so her English was excellent. A large pot simmered on the cooktop, and sliced carrots and potatoes sat to one side, along with sprigs of rosemary and thyme and other fresh herbs. “Whatever you’re making smells delicious.”
“Grazie,” Carolina said. “Osso buco is one of Niccolò’s favorites.”
“Ruby doesn’t believe I can cook,” Niccolò said. “To prove it, I want to make the Caprese salad and risotto.”
His mother’s eyes lit, and she patted his cheek. “Assolutamente, grazie.” Nodding upward, Carolina added, “The tomatoes are ripe. Would you bring down a few?” She handed him a basket.
Niccolò led Ruby upstairs and onto a terrace with a spectacular view overlooking Rome. “We’ll probably eat here tonight,” he said, gesturing toward a table and chairs. An umbrella stood nearby, and all around were planters and raised beds of vegetables, herbs, and flowers. “My mother loves to garden, so she’s taken over the terrace.”
“So many types of tomatoes,” Ruby said. Niccolò pointed out several, though she knew them by different names. Plump cherry tomatoes, fat beefsteaks, and ripe Roma tomatoes. A lacy grapevine and a lemon tree were also heavy with fruit.
At the ranch, her parents grew as much as they could before winter set in. She’d often helped her mother make strawberry preserves and peach marmalade. They pickled okra and cucumbers, canned fruit and vegetables, and bagged pecans and walnuts.
Working together on the terrace, Ruby and Niccolò picked the ripest, juiciest tomatoes and pinched off basil leaves, which smelled zesty and sweet.
“We use basil in the Caprese salad and as a garnish,” he explained, showing her where to pluck the best leaves before moving on to the oregano.
“You sound like you know what you’re doing.”
He looked surprised. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Not many men cook where I’m from.” But then, her father worked hard on the ranch, and her mother took care of the cooking and housework. Women’s work, her father called it. However, Ruby liked helping her father. She preferred feeding chickens over making beds because she could be outside. She’d often take eggs to town and trade for flour and sugar.
Now that she was away, Ruby realized her work fell to her mother and father, though her mother had supported her. I want you to have the adventure I didn’t. Her mother had barely finished school when she’d gotten married. Ruby’s sister was born soon after.
Ruby lingered by a stone railing, gazing over the rooftops. From this vantage point, she had a clear view of the center of Rome. Church domes and spires dotted the urban landscape, and the Parthenon rose before them. “I can hardly believe I’m here,” she said.
Niccolò came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “I feel the same way. You’re like a magical principessa who fell into my arms.” He gazed into her eyes. “After the filming is over, I hope you’ll stay. There is so much of Italy that I would like to show you.”
She started to tell him that she had to leave right away, but then she thought, Why not? When would she ever have the chance to come to Italy again? This might be the only time in her life that she would have this chance. She hated the thought of leaving Niccolò.
“I’ll send a telegram to my agent,” she said, lifting her face to the breeze. “If he doesn’t have another part for me, maybe I can stay a little longer.”
Niccolò tickled her neck with light kisses, and she turned in his arms, needing to feel his lips on hers. For a few blissful moments, they shared a kiss that sent a thrilling new sensation through Ruby.
“We should go,” Niccolò said, regret heavy in his voice.
“Yes,” Ruby agreed, although neither of them moved. She rested her head against his chest. This is love, she thought.
&
nbsp; Finally, with a last kiss, they parted. Before they left the terrace, Ruby helped Niccolò pick lemons and tangerines.
Downstairs, his mother glanced up with a smile, as if she knew why they’d taken so long to pick a few fruits and vegetables. Ruby felt her cheeks flush.
Signora Mancini slipped off her apron and hung it on a hook. “I’m going to check on your sister. The kitchen is yours.”
As soon as his mother was gone, Niccolò hugged Ruby and swung her around, laughing. “Ready to start cooking?”
“I thought I was watching,” she said.
“No, no, no, no. I’ll teach you. It’s so easy.” He put her down and handed her another apron. “First, you put this on to protect that beautiful blouse. Then, we start with the Caprese salad. When the risotto is ready, it cannot wait to be served.”
While Ruby rinsed the tomatoes and basil, Niccolò brought out a hunk of white cheese and drained its liquid. “Mozzarella,” he explained. “Easy peasy, as you say. We slice it, then add sliced tomatoes and basil. Like this.” Niccolò sliced the mozzarella and tomatoes, then arranged them in an overlapping pattern around a serving plate.
Ruby followed his directions.
Next, Niccolò drizzled olive oil and twisted a pepper mill over the dish. “Then we add the basil.” Niccolò fed a chunk of mozzarella to her, followed by a slice of tomato and a basil leaf. “Good?”
“I love the flavors together,” Ruby said. It was delicious, and like nothing she’d ever tasted before. “So fresh and so simple.”
“See? It’s not hard to cook well.”
“That’s not really cooking. That’s slicing and arranging,” Ruby said, teasing him.
Niccolò laughed. “Wait until we start the risotto.”