Chapter Twenty-Three
Michelangelo had squeezed his mother’s hand as the final notes of the concert rang out. Even if they’d have to sell the vineyard, at least they’d have this night to remember. All of the commotion, the crowd and the music had awoken a part of his mother he hadn’t seen in a long time. Even if she didn’t understand exactly why they were there, she was at peace. The music distracted her, keeping the constant confusion of her degenerating disease at bay.
Not only was he enjoying himself with his mother, but Carly played as though she was on fire. She swayed to the music with her oboe, creating a synergy with Alaina that grew with every note they played together. It was impressive to watch and Michelangelo was proud of her.
If only he knew what went on in her heart.
He’d told himself he’d deal with the aftermath, but Carly’s plane ride tomorrow already loomed over him, creeping in like a dark cloud whenever he let it. He couldn’t make her stay. He’d never be able to live with himself if she gave up everything she’d built for herself back in Boston and was unhappy at the vineyard. He extended the invitation, and he showed her how he felt about her. He’d done all he could do. Staying with him was a choice only she could make.
Besides, there might not be a vineyard when it came down to it. What was he thinking? He had nothing to offer her anyway. He and his mother might be homeless in the near future, and he should be planning to relocate. Michelangelo patted his mother’s hand and swallowed his rising anxieties. They had this lovely moment and he wasn’t about to waste it.
Maestro Braun thanked the audience and invited Ms. Maxhammer to the stage. The older woman shrugged off help and ascended the steps with her cane. She made her way to center stage and took the microphone.
‘Let us first thank Maestro Braun and his talented orchestra for a truly lovely concert.’
The audience applauded as she shook the Maestro’s hand.
‘And next, Michelangelo Ricci, for allowing us to use this scenic place for our last performance.’
Michelangelo stood and Ms. Maxhammer gestured toward him. He wasn’t sure she’d had time to tally the ticket sales, but from the size of the audience, it would only buy him a month or two at best.
As if reading his mind, Ms. Maxhammer added, ‘May this gorgeous vineyard stand here for all time.’
She waited patiently as light applause welled up, then settled down. Michelangelo’s heart rate increased. He should have had a bottle of his own wine.
‘You—’ she pointed to the audience as a spark lit her eyes. ‘Have helped us with that task.’
Michelangelo sat on the edge of his seat. Was she going to announce how much they’d raised?
Ms. Maxhammer pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. ‘According to initial reports, through ticket sales, the silent auction, and generous donations, we’ve managed to raise twenty thousand euros toward the preservation of this vineyard.’
Twenty thousand euros. Michelangelo tried to wrap his mind around the large sum as the audience applauded. He was forever indebted to these Americans—the same people he’d once thought were lazy, selfish idiots. Their generosity humbled him. He couldn’t have been more wrong about them. He didn’t want their efforts to go in vain. Twenty thousand euros would certainly help. But would the offer be enough to beat Herb Ranger’s?
Ms. Maxhammer pulled another piece of paper from her pocket. ‘But we all know that won’t be enough.’
Silence settled over the audience as she ripped open an envelope and pulled out what looked like a fancy check. ‘So, I’d like to add another zero to that number.’
Two hundred thousand euros! Michelangelo’s heart stopped. Struck by shock, he held onto both arms of his chair. He reclaimed some of his composure and raised his hand to get her attention. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘I assure you I can, and I will.’ Ms. Maxhammer answered him from the stage. Her shrewd business sense crept into her face as she narrowed her eyes. ‘On the assumption this orchestra is welcome here each summer to play a concert.’
Michelangelo nodded slowly, then more empathetically. ‘Of course they are.’
‘Then, Mr. Ricci, come up to the stage and claim your check.’
He stood, incredulous. Was she really serious? Was his vineyard truly saved? Gazing down at his mother’s happy face, he fought tears. She’d spend the rest of her years with some moments of peace and precious memories.
Mrs. Ricci pushed him toward the stage. ‘Go on, you deserve it.’
Michelangelo stepped forward, feeling as though he was walking in a dream. Applause encouraged him all the way up to the stage. He gave Ms. Maxhammer a hug, whispering in her ear. ‘I don’t know how to repay you.’
She patted his back. ‘You remind me of when I fell in love. You’ve brought this whole orchestra on a wonderful journey. Believe me, you already have.’
*****
Carly wanted to break through the orchestra and celebrate with Michelangelo on stage. But too many obstacles stood in the way, and she wasn’t even thinking about Bertha and the army of violins. The concert was over, the tour had ended, and Michelangelo had his winery. Now, she had to decide. If she got back on that plane, she’d have too many gigs waiting for her to stop and think about this again. If she didn’t take the step now, she wouldn’t do it all the way from Boston. Her obsessive musical life would give her no time to reflect, no time to look back.
What if she couldn’t drum up the same gig balance she had in Boston? What if her relationship with Michelangelo fizzled out? She’d been a realist her whole life, and posing such questions only kept her true to herself.
Maybe that’s the way it should be.
Her phone vibrated in her purse under her feet—another gig request or student already waiting for her response. The cord that tied her to her home was wound tightly, and she couldn’t tell if it was a noose or a lifeline. Sometimes it felt like both.
‘Aren’t you happy for him?’ Melody leaned over from the principal flautist’s seat. ‘He’s done so much for us.’
‘Of course I am.’ Carly ran her cleaning cloth over her oboe.
‘I thought you two had something going on there for a while.’ Melody closed her music folder. It was the last time the Easthampton Civic Symphony would play that particular set.
Carly shrugged, feeling way too melancholy. ‘All good things must come to an end.’
‘Like this tour.’ Melody gazed out over the vineyard and sighed. ‘I’m going to miss Italy. Wolf and I made some great memories.’ She turned back to Carly. ‘But I’m sure you’re eager to leave and get back to your gigs.’
Carly picked up her purse, afraid to check her phone. When the plane had landed in Italy all she had wanted to do was get to her messages and get back on another plane to Boston. Now she didn’t know what she wanted.
‘Carly?’
‘Hmm?’
Melody’s gaze bored into her as if her friend could see her soul. ‘Is there something wrong?’
Carly glanced at the window of the room where she’d stayed with Michelangelo. The curtains wafted through the opening into the night breeze as if seeking her return. She tore her gaze away and turned back to her friend. ‘I’m not sure.’
Melody scrunched her pretty nose. ‘What do you mean you’re not sure?’
Carly reached out and picked up Melody’s hand. Her friend’s engagement ring caught the light of the moon, shining like a star on her finger. Carly wondered if the rock ever weighed down Melody’s hand. ‘It’s easy for you. You have nothing to lose.’
Melody nodded solemnly as if she knew now what this really was about. ‘I should have told you more about my own struggles. At the time, I didn’t think you’d understand.’
‘Understand what?’
‘Why I risked everything for Wolf.’
Risk? How could Melody ever know anything about risk? She had the best of both worlds. ‘You didn’t risk anything. You’re both still in the orchestra, you have your gigs and he’s here with you now.’
‘Yes, it turned out very well for us both. But when we first got together, the board had a policy against him dating anyone in the orchestra. And if anyone found me with the conductor, they’d think I was trying to secure my own job by sleeping my way to the top. They would have kicked us both out.’
Carly shook her head. ‘I had no idea you were going through so much.’
Melody patted the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It would have brought you right into the mess along with us, and I didn’t want your position questioned. I didn’t want you keeping secrets for me.’
Carly sighed, wondering when they’d stopped being so close. ‘I would have.’
‘I know you would. But that’s not why I wanted to bring this up.’ Melody gazed out into the audience. Carly could have sworn she was watching Michelangelo help his mother up from her seat. ‘Sometimes love means taking risks.’
‘Right.’ Carly already knew that. The question was: was she willing to take the risk? Was she really in love? Melody couldn’t answer that question for her. Carly had to figure it out herself.
Carly stood, ready to confront Michelangelo. It may be the last time she’d see him until the orchestra played there next year. She couldn’t imagine coming back a year later and seeing again what she had passed up. Would Michelangelo have another girlfriend on his arm? ‘Thanks for the advice.’
‘Anytime.’ Melody snapped her flute case shut and slipped her instrument into her bag. ‘Guess I’ll see you tomorrow on the plane?’
Carly’s stomach tightened. Did she really want to go through with it and leave? It seemed as though the tide flowed against her will, and she could do nothing to stop it. ‘Guess so.’
Now she had to tell Michelangelo.
Carly marched across the orchestra to where she’d last seen Michelangelo with his mother. The chairs were empty, so she followed the cobblestone path to the office. The door lay open. That had been her and Alaina’s dressing room, so she didn’t feel too weird going in. She heard voices from the corridor leading into the house. He was probably putting his mother to bed.
Should she leave without saying goodbye? Her carefully planned life waited for her back at home—her music group, her gigs, her orchestras, her friends. Would she lose her willpower if she saw him one last time? Carly’s fingers brushed along an old shelf with pictures of Michelangelo’s family on the vineyard. His father sat on a tractor wearing a straw hat and overalls, waving in the bright sun. Workers stood in front of a barrel twice their height with their arms around each others’ shoulders. A young Michelangelo smiled while pretending to punch another boy with a broken nose and freckles. Ricco.
Carly picked up the picture and dusted off the glass. Ricco had left Michelangelo without a trace, and his disappearance without saying goodbye haunted him to this day. She couldn’t do the same thing. She cared about him too much to hurt him in that way.
Just as Carly decided to wait, movement came from the corridor. The door opened and Michelangelo stepped in. His face brightened when he saw her.
‘My dear Carls! What a marvelous performance.’ He walked over and kissed the back of her hand fervently. ‘Bravo!’
The mention of his new nickname for her burned her neck. ‘Thank you. I think we finally got it right—and I have you to thank for that.’
‘I merely provided the stage, nothing more.’
Carly blushed, wanting to tell him he provided much more than just a stage—the very essence of what it felt like to be in love—the one thing that damn aria needed. Instead, she pulled away. ‘Congratulations. Your winery will be safe.’
‘Thanks to you.’ He pulled her close against him.
She allowed herself to relax in his embrace, letting the warmth and rush of adrenaline flow through her. The smell of his skin mixed with a trace of aftershave brought back memories of the previous night.
Michelangelo nuzzled his nose into her hair and sighed. ‘Can you stay one more night?’
Carly shook her head. ‘I’m afraid if I do I’ll miss my plane.’
‘So what?’ He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look into his intense gaze. ‘Stay here with me.’
Her heart pounded. This was what she was afraid of. Every ounce of her being pleaded with her logical mind. ‘I can’t.’ Carly pulled away, and her chest ached as if she’d torn her heart, leaving a part of it with him. ‘I can’t make a lifetime’s decision based on one night.’
He took her hand, smoothing his thumb over her skin. ‘Come now, you’ve known me longer than one night.’
Carly rolled her eyes. ‘Almost two weeks, then.’
Michelangelo kissed her fingers. ‘Big difference.’
‘No.’ Carly took her hand back. ‘You’re tempting me.’
Michelangelo smiled, but it was sad. ‘I had to try.’
‘And I appreciate the offer.’ Carly moved toward the door before she couldn’t move any longer. ‘I just need more time to think.’
‘Plane rides are good for that.’
Yes, but what he didn’t understand was when she got on that plane, it would already be too late. Carly forced herself to open the door. ‘Thank you for everything.’
Michelangelo nodded. ‘Don’t forget about me, or Italy.’
Carly bit her lip and left without another word. If she returned to Boston that was exactly what she had to do.