by Jan Moran
His mother returned and prepared a tray of olives, nuts, and cheese. Carolina put this out with olive bread and offered them a glass of wine, which Ruby accepted. Going out after a day on the set with the rest of the crew, she’d learned to sip wine ever so slowly with food, and it made her feel warm and relaxed. But she never drank more than half a glass, or she’d feel light-headed. She had to keep her wits about her.
A tall, elegant man in a tailored suit came into the kitchen. “My papà,” Niccolò said, introducing him.
Ruby said hello, and Niccolò’s father instructed her to address him as Dante.
“My parents are very progressive,” Niccolò whispered. “That’s the art world influence.”
His parents left them alone in the kitchen, and Niccolò wagged his eyebrows. Laughing, Ruby mussed his hair and kissed him on the cheek.
“Now for risotto alla Milanese.” Niccolò brought out a bag of rice and a bottle of white wine from the pantry, along with olive oil, butter, onion, and a wedge of cheese. “Parmigiano-Reggiano,” he said, holding the fragrant cheese to his nose and inhaling the aroma. “The best.”
“We’ll use Carnaroli rice tonight,” Niccolò said, motioning to a pan of beef broth on the cooktop. “Sometimes, we use Arborio. And how we prepare it is molto importante. You must watch and learn. No playing around or kissing the chef,” he said sternly, and then stole a kiss from Ruby.
“If you think you’re such hot stuff, then show me,” Ruby said.
“Hot stuff. Is this good?”
Ruby laughed. “It’s very good. It means you do something well.”
“Hot stuff. I like that. I’m hot stuff, yes?”
“You don’t usually say that about yourself.”
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I see. So, I have to show you.” He adjusted the flame under the rich beef marrow broth his mother had left in a pan. “The broth must be hot.”
Niccolò explained the steps as he worked. “The secret is the zafferano. The saffron. But we’ll get to that later. Now we chop the onion until the pieces are the size of the rice.”
Ruby watched as he sliced an onion on a cutting board. He began to dice the onion the way her mother often did. “I can do that,” Ruby said.
Grinning, Niccolò handed her the knife.
Ruby diced the onion finely, and when she finished, tears were streaming down her face.
Niccolò laughed and kissed her tears away. “That’s one way to get an actor to cry.”
She raised her gaze to his. “Besides breaking her heart?”
“Never,” he said solemnly. “Now, we cook the onion in olive oil and butter. Gently, like so.”
When the onion touched the oil and butter, it sizzled and released a delicious aroma. While that cooked, Niccolò ladled broth over thin strands of orange saffron.
“We let that steep,” he said. When the onion had turned golden, he measured the rice and added it to the sautéed onions, along with a healthy splash of white wine. “The alcohol from the wine cooks away, and we add the rind of the Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese. That part has the best flavor. Next, the most critical step of the risotto. Are you ready?”
“You sound like a surgeon ready to operate,” Ruby said, smiling. His delivery reminded her of the radio dramas she listened to with her parents. Even without trying, he would make a superb actor.
Niccolò adjusted the heat. “The risotto should never boil. Now we add the hot broth, il brodo, poco per volta. Little by little.” He poured a ladle of broth over the rice mixture. “We stir, wait for it to cook, then add more.”
Ruby watched the gently simmering concoction. Just as the broth cooked down and the rice absorbed the liquid, he added another ladle. “Only one ladle at a time?”
“Sì, sì. No more than one centimeter over the rice at any time. Now the saffron.” He sprinkled the vibrant strands into the mixture and stirred. “While I add the broth, you can grate the cheese.”
Ruby picked up the wedge of Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese and began to grate it over a bowl. She was enjoying herself. Cooking with Niccolò made her a little homesick for her family. But she was so happy to be here with him. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she thought, What if I’d never come here? So much I would have missed. Right then, she resolved that she would never pass up an opportunity. Already she was wondering how they might stay together.
Niccolò continued to monitor the rice and absorption like a scientist conducting a delicate experiment. Finally, after the rice reached a glossy, lightly thickened consistency, he scooped a little into a spoon and tasted it. He smacked his fingers against his lips in approval and held a spoonful to her lips. “Tell me what you think.”
“Oh, that’s delicious,” Ruby said, turning the taste over in her mouth.
“Almost ready.” He worked quickly now, removing the softened Parmigiano-Reggiano rinds and stirring in the cheese she had grated, along with a lump of butter.
His mother looked into the kitchen. “How is your risotto?”
“Perfetto,” he exclaimed. He lifted another spoonful of risotto. After blowing on it, he slid it into Ruby’s mouth. “This is perfect, the best I’ve ever made.”
Signora Mancini laughed. “He makes it better than anyone else in the family because he is patient. Some woman will be lucky to have him.”
After Niccolò scooped the risotto into a serving bowl, Ruby removed her apron. They all pitched in to carry food upstairs onto the terrace where his parents had set the long table.
His mother poured a small splash of wine into Ruby’s glass, although Ruby felt she couldn’t risk another drop. Most of the Italian kids her age, including Niccolò and his older siblings, sipped wine with their parents.
But then, back in Texas, her father sometimes gave her a cold longneck beer after a day of hard labor in the unrelenting summer sun. You’ve earned it, he’d say with a wink. Just don’t tell your mother.
The sky turned a dusty shade of pink before flinging ribbons of brilliant orange and gold into the twilight sky. Niccolò’s brothers and sisters joined them at the table, and soon laughter and good-natured arguments and a mixture of Italian and English rang out in the balmy night air. As the night sky encroached, the lights of Rome twinkled before her. Ruby couldn’t recall when she’d had such a good time.
When Niccolò’s father tasted the risotto, he held up his glass to his son. “To our chef,” Dante said. “Delizioso!”
Niccolò beamed with pride. He leaned toward Ruby. “Now you admit I’m hot stuff, yes?”
“Okay, you win,” Ruby said, laughing. “You’re definitely hot stuff. This is delicious. I can’t believe you can really cook.” Everything on the table was new to her, and she loved each dish she tasted. The Caprese salad was fresh, the risotto moist, and the osso buco rich and flavorful.
Ruby felt like most of Niccolò’s family accepted her, except for one sister, Valeria, who stared at her and hardly said a word. Ruby guessed that Valeria was a year or two older and tried to engage her, even trying a few words in Italian, but Valeria would only blink and shrug. Ruby felt like a bumbling American.
Niccolò noticed his sister’s actions and took Ruby’s hand under the table. “Don’t worry about her,” he said softly.
“Did I say something wrong?” Ruby worried about making a poor impression. “Did I accidentally insult her in my terrible Italian?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“What is it then?”
Niccolò started to reply, but he stopped and shook his head. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain later.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.
Ruby fought to return a brave smile as if Valeria didn’t bother her. While Niccolò kissed her fingertips, she thought about how demonstrative he was—his entire family, in fact. If her father saw Niccolò kissing her hand at their supper table, he would tell the young man to rein in his behavior in no uncertain terms.
And that would be the end of Niccolò.
After filming finished in Rome, the cast, which had grown so close, would disperse. This summer had changed Ruby. How could she return to the girl she was before?
As she gazed into Niccolò’s eyes, she realized it was impossible. She would never be that naïve girl again. She’d fallen in love, and her life would be forever changed. From now on, Niccolò would be beside her, and all would be right with the world.
If only she could figure out how to make that happen.
Chapter 8
Lago di Como, 2010
* * *
“While you rest, I’m going to speak to the concierge,” Ruby said to Ariana after they left the villa and returned to the hotel. Ariana was nodding off due to jet lag, but Ruby’s mind was whirring with ideas. And with the right help, it wouldn’t take long. Ruby made her way downstairs.
“You’ve been such a love,” Ruby said to Vera, the concierge who’d been instrumental in helping her acquire Villa Fiori. As much as Ruby loved the luxurious hotel, she was excited over moving into the villa. She slid a cream-colored envelope containing an engraved thank-you note and crisp euros across the antique desk.
“I’m so happy Villa Fiori found a new owner,” Vera said. “It was once a lovely home, but the heirs couldn’t be bothered about upkeep until the community forced them. After that, a manager oversaw it, but that’s not the same as having an owner in residence.” She smiled. “Welcome to Bellagio. We’re so glad to have you.”
Ruby told her about the condition of the house. “I’d like the house cleaned and furnished as quickly as possible. Bedding, linens, sofas, and lamps. Who can you recommend for that?”
Vera brightened. “My sister is an interior designer. She can provide whatever you need. Even the silverware.”
“Fortunately, the kitchen is fairly well equipped,” Ruby said. “How about a housekeeper? We have plenty of room for someone, or a couple, to live in.”
Vera tapped her chin. “I’ll make a few calls. Will you be here today?”
“I have an appointment at the hair salon and spa. I’m available after that.”
Ruby checked in at the spa for a massage treatment, which was a key part of her method to overcome jet lag and time zone changes. Later, she emerged from her massage feeling refreshed. After relaxing by the pool and having a swim, she visited the salon for hairstyling.
Before she left, she made a spa and hair appointment for Ariana, whose strawberry blond locks could use a fresh cut. Although she’d had a lovely hairstyle style for the wedding, Ruby knew Ariana had been too busy before the wedding to get a haircut. She wanted Ariana to feel pampered.
What a dreadful affair the poor girl’s wedding had been, Ruby thought, reflecting on their getaway in the MGB. She chuckled. Why, she hadn’t driven a stick shift in years, but fortunately, she hadn’t forgotten how. She would’ve done anything to get her niece away from that Phillip character.
Thank heavens that disaster was averted. She was proud of Ariana for having the courage and self-determination to walk out. The girl had spunk.
In this world, she’d need it.
Ruby thought of her young adulthood. How different societal norms were in the 1950s and early 1960s. At the time, she’d listened to people who thought they knew what was best for her life and career.
As Ruby strolled through the hotel, enjoying the luxe décor in sunny silks and tapestries, she looked back on her life. Not to dwell on the past but merely to consider it. She thought about the choices she had made so long ago and how those decisions impacted her life.
One choice, in particular, had been critical in advancing her career—and benefitting those she loved—but she’d had deep regrets. She’d hurt the people she loved the most. Worse, they didn’t even know the extent of her transgressions. She couldn’t change the past, but was it too late to make amends now?
She stepped onto the hotel terrace to bask in the sunshine and enjoy the view. Knowing how to act had been her salvation, in more ways than one. If she’d exhibited her complete devastation, her life would have been ruined long ago.
How Ruby envied others their truthfulness. Was it too late for her to share her truth? Or would she die a lonely old woman as a result of it? She’d often wondered about people who’d taken secrets to their grave, only for their family to discover them later. She understood those tortured souls, but she felt the need to correct the past.
Was that selfish on her part? At the time, nothing she’d done had been selfish—quite the opposite.
Vera hurried toward her. “Signora Raines, I’ve made great progress on your request. My sister is near the hotel. If you’re available, she can meet with you shortly. She’s arriving on the ferry.”
“That’s marvelous,” Ruby said. “Do ask her to join me on the terrace for lunch. And you as well.” Ruby loved dining with others. While some performers recharged alone, she drew energy from people.
A maître’d led Ruby to a table at the edge of the terrace, where stone balustrades rimmed the patio and the lake lapped beneath it. A waiter brought her sparkling water with lime, and a few minutes later, a ferry boat docked close to the hotel. All manner of people disembarked, from young mothers with children to business people in suits and tourists on holiday.
An attractive woman of about thirty-five stepped from the ferry, and Ruby thought how stylish she looked with a vibrant magenta silk scarf draped over her teal-blue shift and kitten-heeled sandals. Perhaps she was Vera’s sister.
Sisters shared a special bond, Ruby mused, thinking of how much she missed her sister. As organized as Patricia had been, she had left unfinished business. It was Ruby’s responsibility to tend to her final wishes.
The waiter brought a menu, and Ruby perused it while she waited. Presently, Vera and the fashionable woman from the ferry approached her table, and Vera introduced her sister.
“I’m so happy to meet you,” Gia said. “I love your films. And I read that you appeared in Roman Holiday, too.”
“Uncredited, but yes,” Ruby said, rising to greet the woman with the traditional kiss to each cheek. “The filming was done in Rome, although I also visited here.”
“And now you’re a resident,” Gia said. “My sister tells me you bought Villa Fiori.”
While the two women spoke, Vera excused herself to attend to other guests.
As they chatted, they ordered a light lunch of antipasti di lago with marinated trout, smoked whitefish, and Bilacus trout fresh from the lake. Following that, they had zuppa di farro, or soup made with borlotti beans, pancetta, tomatoes, and olive oil.
“Will Villa Fiori be a part-time home for you, or do you plan to make it your year-round residence?” Gia asked.
“I have another home in Palms Springs,” Ruby said as she sipped her sparkling water. “But I’d like to spend as much time as I can here. Palm Springs is quite warm in the summer.”
Gia nodded. “Would you like to see some of my work?”
“Very much so.”
Gia brought out her design portfolio and opened it. “This is a villa with a modern Scandinavian design.” Turning a page, she said, “And here is a classic Lago di Como design.”
“I like that,” Ruby said, resting her chin on her hand. “A relaxed style appeals to me, though I also love Italian antiques and artwork. I once saw a grand painting of the lake that was as tall as I was,” she said, transported to that dinner with Niccolò and his family so long ago. “The sky and the lake were dazzling blue, and the hillsides were covered with palms and pine trees and flowers. That was the day I fell in love with the lake.”
Gia leaned forward with interest. “Do you recall the artist?”
“I don’t,” Ruby said. “The art dealer’s name was Mancini. In Rome. But that was long before yo
u were born.”
“I could look for similar local paintings.”
“That would be lovely,” Ruby said quietly.
Gia turned another page in her portfolio. “How about this? The lake and flowers and villas inspired these serene colors. As I recall, Villa Fiori has wonderful parquet floors and frescoes.”
“We can visit this afternoon if you have time,” Ruby said. Looking up, she saw Ariana strolling across the terrace toward them.
“Hello, Auntie,” Ariana said, smiling. “Leaving me out of all the fun?”
Ruby was pleased Ariana had joined them. Her niece looked well-rested. After introducing Ariana and Gia, she said, “My niece is a costume designer. What do you think about this interior scheme, Ariana?”
Ariana studied the photos. “I like the soft, rich shades. Rose, blue, lavender. Colors that reflect nature. That would be so restful against ivory draperies.”
“As long as you like it,” Ruby said. Ariana would have longer to enjoy it than she would.
“It’s casually elegant,” Gia said. “We create beautiful silk in this region.”
“Oh, yes. I know,” Ruby said.
“I have your list, Aunt Ruby.” Ariana accessed it on her phone and showed Gia. “This is what we need.”
“I’d like to have the basics delivered as soon as possible,” Ruby said. “Bedding, linens, towels. The house needs a good cleaning. And I’d like flowers everywhere. Could you take over all that?”
“My sister will help me with the shopping, and I have a housekeeping couple I think you would like,” Gia said. “We can begin tomorrow. In a week, you’ll have a clean home and a new bed to sleep in.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Ruby smoothed her hand over her niece’s. “And Ariana, would you work with Gia? Feel free to choose whatever you like. I’m happy to be in the hands of two extraordinarily capable artists. Surprise me. I’d like that.”
Ruby smiled at the two women, who both looked pleased to start the project. They were about the same age as well. Maybe they’d become friends in the process; Ariana could use a friend here.