by Jan Moran
“Don’t be selfish. You’ll thank me for this, Ruby.”
Click.
Ruby’s heart cracked at the thought of what Joseph was proposing. Torn between being a mother and needing to work to support her family, waves of anguish and fury crashed through her. Not yet nineteen, Ruby was carrying the weight of two families and ranches amid devastating drought conditions.
Sobbing, she let her tears fall, soaking her pillow. Joseph was sure Ruby would be fired and deemed untouchable by other studios. Or Ruby could quit acting and hide from the scandal.
But her family relied on her income now. Without it, her parents, along with Patricia and Michael, would lose their property and livelihoods. Farming and ranching were all they knew. Despite their prayers and grit, water was becoming scarce, and the price of feed had tripled. She shuddered to think what would become of her family.
Ruby had to keep working. She couldn’t plunge her family into foreclosure and leave them homeless, adrift without skills.
But the cost of that decision was her beloved daughter.
Ruby cried out at the injustice. At the heavens stingy with rain. At a heartless system that valued the appearance of propriety over people’s lives. At the talent she’d been given that would extract the ultimate price.
All she dreamed of was another chance at the life she’d glimpsed on the shores of Lake Como, nestled into the curve of Niccolò’s arms and filled with love.
But her husband was gone. Almost eighteen months. To imagine that Niccolò had heartlessly left her to care for their child and struggle through the consequences was so devastating that if that were true, her anger and anguish would be so great that her heart would surely cease beating.
Niccolò had to be dead.
That was the only way Ruby could still love him—and not go insane.
She choked back a cry. Her only consolation was that her daughter would thrive in Patricia’s embrace, in the boughs of a love so strong that Ruby knew, without a doubt, that her sister and her husband would claim Mariangela as their own and swear to it when necessary.
Patricia and Michael would salvage Ruby’s career and reputation, though the heartrending loss of her precious, strong-willed daughter would be Ruby’s to bear.
Her excruciatingly painful decision made, Ruby scrubbed her face and pushed herself from the bed, vowing that she would never succumb to injustice or heartbreak again.
Chapter 31
Lago di Como, 2010
* * *
Muffled sounds reverberated in Ruby’s ears as she fought her way to the surface of consciousness. The constellations seemed to spin above her. Her body felt so heavy she could hardly move.
Then, she realized she was flat on her back, staring at the stars above her.
“What happened?” Ruby struggled to sit up. “Ariana, are you here?”
A firm hand slid under her back, supporting her. “Try not to move,” Alessandro said.
As Ruby’s vision cleared, a woman she didn’t know came into view.
“Relax, I’m a doctor,” the woman said. “Don’t try to get up. You fainted. You’re at the amphitheater with your niece. Do you have any medical conditions I should know about?”
Ruby shook her head. That wasn’t anybody’s business but her own, and she was perfectly healthy. “I thought I saw someone I knew…long ago. But that’s impossible.”
Ariana knelt beside her. “Auntie, you weren’t mistaken. I think you and Alessandro’s uncle once knew each other.”
But how can this be? Ruby saw a tall man—Niccolò?—come into view. Bright blue eyes, only slightly dimmed with age, held her in such a warm and loving gaze.
“I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” he said. The stage light behind him formed a halo around his thick silver hair. “Do you remember me?”
Ruby’s heart ached with a torrent of emotion. With a wavering hand, she reached out to touch him. “How could I ever forget the man I married?” she murmured.
Niccolò clasped Ruby’s hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing her fingers as he had done so many years ago.
With her eyes welling with tears, she motioned him to come closer. “I thought you had died,” she said, her voice catching on her words.
The doctor interjected, “Scusi, Signora, can you sit up now?”
With Niccolò’s assistance, Ruby managed to sit upright. She glanced behind her, realizing that Alessandro had taken off his jacket to place under her head. “Oh, your lovely blazer is soiled, Alessandro.” She shook her head. “How can Niccolò be your uncle?”
“My mother is his sister,” Alessandro said.
Ruby turned to Niccolò, still feeling confused and overwhelmed.
“Valeria,” Niccolò said. “Alessandro is her son. I believe you met her at our home in Rome. When we had dinner outside.”
His voice was even more melodic than it had been when he was younger—and it still thrilled her. As Ruby took a deep breath, the fog in her mind lifted. “And you made osso buco and risotto alla Milanese with saffron. Showing off and proving that you could actually cook.”
Ariana and the doctor exchanged looks of relief.
Niccolò laughed softly. “I’m flattered you remembered.”
“I haven’t forgotten a thing.” The precious memories she’d strung like pearls to wear close to her heart sprang to life in the eyes of the man who held her hand.
With a questioning frown, Ariana leaned in. “Aunt Ruby, did you say you were married?”
Ruby sighed. “Did I say that?” She touched Ariana’s hand. “Later, dear. I promise we’ll talk.”
Ariana pressed a cup of water to Ruby’s lips while Alessandro said a few words to the doctor, who was still observing her.
Niccolò gazed at her. “Come into my home and relax. It’s right here, and I have a golf cart that we can use. Unless the doctor thinks you should be examined right away.”
“Maybe you should go to the hospital,” Ariana said.
“Absolutely not,” Ruby said, struggling to stand. “Niccolò just gave me a shock, that was all.” She straightened and lifted her chin. “Although I would like to rest before we leave.” She squeezed Niccolò’s hand, and he helped her to her feet.
As Ruby stood, a small crowd of people who had gathered around broke out in polite applause.
Ruby glanced around and waved at them. “I didn’t know I had an audience.”
Niccolò chuckled. “You’ve always known how to steal a scene—even an opening night finale.”
With a handsome man on either side, Ruby walked triumphantly to a golf cart parked by a row of vines. Ariana scooped up her purse and followed.
Niccolò helped her into his home, a renovated farmhouse situated on a small knoll amidst rows of grapevines. Once inside, they sat at a large wooden table, and he brought out a bottle of wine and a carafe of water. He also placed a loaf of bread with olive oil and a chunk of cheese on the table.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Niccolò said. “Maybe you’d like something to nibble on. Have you eaten?”
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “Although I could sure use a glass of wine. I’m still in shock that you’re actually here with me.” She turned to Ariana. “Are you sure I’m not dead?”
Ariana laughed nervously. “No, but I’m worried about you. Do you think it’s a good idea to drink?”
“Wine calms the nerves,” Ruby said, still trembling. “And if I’m not dead, I don’t see why not.”
Ruby glanced around the room while Niccolò poured the wine. The ambiance of the old farmhouse had been preserved in the stone fireplace and rustic beams, while modern appliances filled the kitchen. Herbs grew in colorful, hand-painted pots in a bay window.
A thought gripped her. Had Niccolò married and had children? She shouldn’t be surprised, though. So many years had passed.
“This wine is from the grapes we grow here,” Niccolò said. “It’s from my special reserve.”
Ruby brought the glass to her no
se, inhaling. “This is the wine we had earlier tonight. And it’s utterly divine.” She took a sip. “So, you’ve met Ariana, my beautiful niece.”
A smile touched Niccolò’s mouth. “Not formally, but yes, while you were languishing in the orchestra section.”
“I see your sense of humor is still intact after all these years,” Ruby said, arching an eyebrow. “Ariana, Alessandro, would you excuse us? Niccolò and I have some catching up to do.”
“Let’s go outside,” Niccolò said. “I have a swing that overlooks the vineyards and the lake. We can sip our wine and talk.” He held his hand out to Ruby, and they made their way outside, leaving Ariana and Alessandro gazing after them in surprise.
Niccolò helped Ruby ease onto a swing suspended from wooden beams above a tiled patio. Laughter floated through the air as the last of the theater guests and cast members left the amphitheater on the hillside beneath them. A soft breeze from the lake lifted strands of hair from her forehead. With it was the earthy aroma of rich soil and ripening grapes.
“This is a beautiful location,” Ruby said as Niccolò sat beside her. “How did you come to find it?”
“It found me,” he replied. “It was my grandfather’s on my mother’s side. When he passed away—far too young—he left it to me. Guiseppe Sala. Thus, Sala-Mancini wines.” He showed her the label on the bottle. “He knew I would keep the property in the family, and he’d always dreamed of creating a theater among the vines. I don’t know if you recall, but he was the one who encouraged me to follow my passion for acting.”
Ruby lifted her glass. “And did you continue?”
“In Italy, yes,” he said. “Some in England, too, while I attended university. I discovered that I had more talent for producing films, so that’s what I did for many years. Still do, sometimes. But mostly, I watch the vines grow and plan the summer theater season. I leave acting to the young and ambitious.”
“That’s a lie,” Ruby said. “I saw you on stage.”
Niccolò chuckled. “Ah, yes. I thought it would be fun to reprise my role in Roman Holiday.”
Ruby swirled the wine in her glass. “I’ve watched it so many times that I know it by heart.”
“I remember our scene at the café where I saved your life from a runaway Vespa.” Niccolò touched her glass with his. “To those wonderful times. I wish they had never ended.”
“They didn’t have to.” For a moment, she hesitated in anticipation of the topic they were both avoiding, but when she saw the frown on his face, she forged ahead.
“What I don’t understand is why you never tried to reach me again,” Ruby said. “Even years later, you could have found me through my agent or publicist or any studio I’d worked for.” Hadn’t he been a little curious when she’d written that she was pregnant?
Niccolò covered her hand with his, which still felt as it had years ago. Maybe a little rougher, but just as warm and loving.
“But I did come for you,” he said. “Just as I’d promised.”
Ruby doubted that. “When?”
“In December of 1952. My grandfather gave me the money to travel. I’d written to you, telling you that I would arrive in December, but I never heard from you. Your letters just stopped coming.”
“So did yours,” Ruby shot back. “I only received two from you.” She still recalled every word of those letters—and how hurt she’d been when he didn’t write again.
“But I wrote many more to you,” he said, clearly confused.
Ruby had to ask. “Do you recall anything special in one of my letters?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Niccolò said. “I still have both the ones you sent.”
Ruby didn’t understand what could have happened to their correspondence. “In December, I was filming a western in New Mexico, Diary of a Pioneer Woman. After that, I went home to Texas.”
Niccolò frowned. “On the first of December, I went to your apartment in Hollywood and talked to your aunt, Vivienne.”
“Impossible.” Ruby’s pulse throbbed, and she took another sip of wine. Why would he lie about this? “Vivienne would have told me if you’d been there.”
Niccolò pressed her hand to his chest. “I can tell you everything about your aunt and the apartment. That blue couch where you slept. The porcelain roosters she collected. The pink petunias in the window boxes.”
“How…?” Ruby felt the blood draining from her face, and she searched for explanations. “Maybe you saw pictures in a fan magazine…”
“I went into the bathroom and saw a shampoo,” he said. “White porcelain, blue lid. Lustre-Crème.”
“That was a popular shampoo,” Ruby said weakly. “I even did a print ad for the brand.” Along with Lana Turner, Loretta Young, Maureen O’Hara, and so many other actresses.
Niccolò went on. “You’d left a yellow cotton scarf that you’d worn to Lake Como. I couldn’t resist; I took it because I wanted something of yours.” He sighed. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I thought I’d see you again and give it back to you.”
Ruby recalled asking her aunt for that scarf. Vivienne had hotly denied having it. “I thought I’d lost that scarf. It wasn’t worth much to anyone but us.”
Niccolò lifted a corner of his mouth. “If you want it back, it’s inside.”
Aunt Vivienne. Ruby felt her chest constrict with growing anger—though not at Niccolò.
“Vivienne told me you were filming out of town,” Niccolò said. “And I told her how much in love we were, and that I would wait for you. That seemed to make her angry. She told me that you never wanted to see me again. Vivienne said you thought you’d made a mistake, and you wanted to forget me.”
“Never,” Ruby cried.
Gently, Niccolò brushed her hair over her shoulder. “I refused to believe it, too. When I questioned Vivienne, she said she didn’t know when you’d be back, so I stayed at a nearby motel. For a week, I walked to the apartment every day and knocked on the door to see if you’d returned. And then, on Saturday morning, she was gone. The apartment was empty.”
Ruby drew her hands over her face. “By the time I finished filming, my aunt had moved. She’d told me that her landlord had kicked her out, and she needed more money for rent, so I gave it to her.”
“Vivienne never told me she was moving,” Niccolò said. “But I spoke to a neighbor who said she’d packed and left with no forwarding address. I even went to Paramount and talked someone into giving me your address, but it was the same one. I had no way of finding you.” Niccolò’s voice caught. “I was thoroughly devastated. I didn’t want to accept that you’d changed your mind, that you didn’t want to see me again, but finally, I had no choice.”
Ruby gazed up at him. “But my agent…”
“I thought of that, too, but I only knew him as Joseph. I couldn’t locate him,” Niccolò said. “And you never gave me your address in Texas. Anyway, by then, my money had run out, and I had to ask my grandfather for a return ticket to Rome. I was completely humiliated.” He leaned his head back. “For a long time, I didn’t want to live without you.”
His words struck Ruby’s heart, and she could hardly speak.
Ruby recalled that after she’d become successful, Vivienne had often asked for money, citing how she’d given her a place to live when Ruby had first arrived in Hollywood. Though Ruby gave her money, she had never forgotten how her aunt had cussed her out over the baby. She could still hear her words. Stupid girl! And then there was the Modern Screen disaster. In the end, Vivienne had died a broken, bitter woman.
Ruby gazed over the vineyards. Considering that Vivienne had left for California—also pregnant—when her boyfriend spurned her, Ruby could understand why she’d done it. Pure jealousy.
“I never knew any of this,” Ruby said. “My aunt had a lot of problems, and later I realized she was envious of me, even then. Enough to thwart my chance for love and destroy our marriage.”
And to deny a baby of her father, Ruby thought bitter
ly.
“I am so sorry I didn’t try again,” Niccolò said, smoothing his hand over hers. “Finally, I had to accept what I only knew as the truth. I became severely depressed, so my grandfather brought me here to recover. When I was feeling better, he sent me to England to study.”
As tears filled her eyes, Ruby bowed her head. Niccolò had suffered rejection, too. She wiped her eyes and raised her face to his. “I should have tried to find you again, but when I didn’t hear from you…” She dabbed her cheeks and went on. “In your letter, you said you were working in construction.”
“I did,” Niccolò said. “I left Rome to work on a new building in Milan with my friend. I sent the address to you, and I wrote many times, but I never received any more letters.”
Ruby pressed a hand to her chest. “And I thought you’d had an accident and imagined you’d died. Because I couldn’t face the alternative—that you didn’t want to see me again.”
Or our baby, she thought. How could she tell him this now? And yet, it was lies that had separated them, almost forever. She would not do that to him.
“That explains why you were so shocked when you saw me on stage,” Niccolò said gently. “I was stunned, too. We have so much time to make up for.”
Ruby nodded. “Did you reconcile with your father?” She recalled the argument that Niccolò and his father had about their marriage.
“Eventually,” Niccolò said. “He’d been right, as far as I knew. I was so devastated that I think he finally felt sorry for me.”
Ruby touched Niccolò’s hand, recalling how he’d once caressed her youthful body with those hands. And vice versa. She swallowed hard. “Did you ever marry again?”
Niccolò raised his brow with surprise. “I’ve been married all these years.”
Ruby’s heart plummeted, though she tried not to show it. “To whom?”
Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips across her skin. “To you, my darling. Though I suppose I should ask if you’ll have me again.” His voice was older and deeper, but his words hadn’t changed.
Niccolò was just as romantic as before. She lifted her lips to his in a soft, tentative kiss. At once, Ruby felt seventeen again, and so in love that the rest of the world ceased to exist. She recalled their idyllic days in Varenna and the feelings of love and exhilaration that had been her constant companions through the years.