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Graduation day was bright and sunny, but Alex couldn’t see past the fog of sadness that had settled into her being. She watched the crowds as they lined up to go inside as soon as the doors opened. Friends called and waved as they went through the “Graduate Entrance,” but Alex couldn’t bring herself to go in quite yet. So many emotions and thoughts rippled through her. The smell of lilacs somewhere nearby reminded Alex of her childhood home and all that she was leaving behind. This was indeed the end of life as she knew it, and she couldn’t decide how she felt about it. Commencement was a good word for it – a beginning and not an end.
Watching the parents, grandparents, siblings, fiancés, and even spouses hug her fellow classmates as they parted ways for the ceremony, Alex felt that familiar tug at her heart. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek as she thought about her father, her brother, and now Signora, all watching from above. Sandra and Patrick would have been her only family here today, yet even they were lost to her. They both reached out to her after Signora’s passing, but Alex rejected their attempts to comfort her. As much as she hated being alone, Alex was taking her life into her own hands and making her own decisions. She would find the strength and the courage to make a new life for herself, and maybe, just maybe, someday her mother would come around and be a part of it.
Though she didn’t want to admit it to anyone, including herself, Alex stood alone outside not because she wasn’t ready to go in, but because she was an optimist at heart. She hoped, against all odds, that her mother would walk around the corner, camera in one hand and a gift in the other, smiling broadly, proud of all that her daughter had overcome to get to this day. Realizing the absurdity of that happening, Alex brushed away her tear and took a deep breath. She was graduating today, moving on, making a break with the past, and embarking on the adventure of a lifetime. With cap in hand, she entered the arena and closed the door on the life she knew. From this day forward, life was an open door, and Alex was ready to walk through it.
Alex had always wondered what it would be like to fly on an airplane, but she never imagined how miserable it actually would be. Perhaps her first flight should have been something short rather than the grueling overnight flight from JFK to Frankfurt and then on to Verona. The seats were tiny, the food was awful, and she barely slept thanks to the screaming baby behind her and the snoring man next to her. He was actually sound asleep before the wheels even retracted into the plane at takeoff. Alex assumed he was a seasoned traveler, which she most certainly was not.
Opening her carry-on, Alex pulled out the worn notebook from Signora’s kitchen. She lightly fingered the leather book as memories came flooding back to her. Though Signora knew every recipe by heart, she always referred to the cookbook and had Alex follow it like a Bible. Alex would always remember when Signora first told her that the recipe book was the only real connection she had to her family and her beloved homeland. Alex opened the book and read the note from Signora’s grandmother. Though she knew no Italian, she had memorized the words that Signora read to her each time they whipped up one of the delicious recipes, and she could now interpret the few sentences on her own.
Dearest Isa,
I pray that you are well and will return to us soon. Nothing is the same without you here. I am sending all of your favorite recipes so that I know you are eating well in America. Paolo helped me with American measurements, so I hope they are correct. Take care of yourself, and know that I love you and pray for you. Nonno also sends his love.
God bless you always,
Nonna Nina
Alex hoped that the little book, so loved by Signora, would give her a feeling of security on this journey and that it would help her find her place in this new world. Cooking always brought comfort to her, much like playing the piano. She supposed that it was another way to let her creative juices flow, and she prayed for the opportunity to show Mr. Giordano that she could pull her own weight in both the vineyard and the villa. Alex leafed through the book for a few minutes before tucking it away and settling down to try to get some sleep on the long, overseas flight.
It was 11:00 in the morning when Alex, stiff and still sleepy, disembarked from the plane at Verona Villafranca Airport. Once the plane landed, Alex carried her travel bag and laptop case, one on each shoulder, and made the trek to baggage claim. Her whole body ached by the time she saw her suitcases tumble onto the conveyor. At that moment, she hated herself for bringing practically her entire wardrobe with her. They had clothing stores in Italy. Why had she brought so much? She desperately looked around for a solution to carrying all of the bags herself and spied a rack of luggage carts. She rushed over and was thankful that the machine took credit cards since she hadn’t had time to get Euros before leaving the U.S.
Ten minutes later, Alex stood in the taxi line with her laptop case, carry-on bag, and three large suitcases. She probably could have bought an entire new wardrobe for the cost of the baggage fees she paid to haul her stuff with her. Live and learn, she thought. It’s all here now. She gave the attendant the piece of paper with the hotel address on it and waited as he spoke to the driver in Italian.
“Grazie,” she said to the driver with a smile as he managed to fit all of her things into the car. She hoped her pronunciation was correct since the only phrases she had learned so far were from her $5.00 airport guidebook.
“Prego,” he answered. Alex conjured up an image of a jar of spaghetti sauce. She began to doubt that her four years of Spanish and a cheap guidebook would help her understand Italian.
With her nose pressed to the window, Alex watched the modern façade of the airport give way to rolling fields of what she thought might be olive trees interrupted by the occasional warehouse or train yard. She delighted in the scenery, but her euphoria faded as they entered the city of Verona, and Alex saw that the suburbs weren’t unlike those in the Chicago or Baltimore area -houses on top of each other, lots of cars, schools, stores, and the like. Continuing on, though, she realized that many of the buildings downtown were the same ones that had stood there for hundreds of years. She suddenly felt very small and very young as the taxi came to a stop outside of the Hotel Bologna in the oldest part of Verona. The sight of the 15th Century buildings gave her a thrill but also made her realize just how young her own country was and how little she had experienced in the world.
Feeling a sudden surge of energy, Alex checked into the hotel and graciously thanked the hotel staff for agreeing to store her massive amount of luggage until her room was ready. She used the lobby bathroom and splashed water on her face. This was her lifelong dream – she was in Italy. The country where artists and musicians from all over the world came to see the works of the masters. Before the death of her father and the virtual loss of her mother, Alex, like most Fine Arts Majors, dreamed of spending her junior year in Florence, learning art and music history from the experts and traveling around Europe to see masterpieces such as the David, the Pieta, the Mona Lisa, Sunflowers, and more. Once on her own, she never imagined she would have the opportunity to leave Baltimore, let alone travel abroad.
Out on the sidewalk, Alex closed her eyes and inhaled the smells of the city. She was sure she could identify the very aromas of pizza, pasta, wine, and a host of delicacies that she couldn’t wait to taste. She let all of her senses soak up the city, the warm sun beating down on her upturned face, the smells of garlic and seafood from the restaurants, the sounds of the vespers as they raced alongside the cars, and the sights of ancient and modern melded together in a beautiful architectural collage. She took a deep breath and smiled, ready to explore. Turning right, she went just a short distance to the end of the block and stood in awe as she gawked at the giant structure before her. Having done her homework, she knew that Verona was home to the ancient Arena, even older than the famed Coliseum in Rome that it resembled, but she was nevertheless shocked at the enormity of the round, stone arena before her. The entire area around the arena was a plaza with restaurants, ancient columns, and buildings older than anything she had ever seen. As she walked, Alex took it all in: the ancient ruins of the Arena, the scents of strong espresso and the freshly baked goodness of flaky and buttery cornetti amidst the chatter of a multitude of languages.
The aroma of a nearby restaurant pulled her gaze from the Arena to the menu displayed on the sideboard, and Alex realized how famished she was. After taking her seat, she quickly found a dish that sounded intriguing, thanks to the English translations alongside the Italian descriptions, and reached for the wine list. She scanned the list until she found just what she wanted. She ordered “Tagliatelle con Funghi Porcini e Timo” (tagliatelle pasta with Porcini mushrooms and thyme) from the menu and a glass of wine from Belle Uve. Alex was anxious to taste the product which was now fifty percent hers.
Alex pointed to a white wine, but the waiter shook his head.
“No, this is white. You will want red.”
Alex looked at the waiter, surprised that he would tell a customer no. “I would like the white,” she firmly told him with more conviction than she felt.
The waiter gave Alex a look of disapproval, but he did not argue further. Alex knew that she was going to need to develop a more mature attitude toward wine, but she had never quite developed a taste for reds. She simply felt more comfortable starting with the whites and working her way up to the heartier wines.
As Alex waited for her wine, she noticed a very good-looking man walk in with a case bearing the distinctive logo of Belle Uve. She immediately perked up, paying attention to the exchange between the man bearing the case and another man behind the bar. She wondered how many employees the vineyard had. This man was young, not much older than she, with dark brown hair and a body that could make people swoon. He must get a pretty good workout on the vineyard.
Alex watched as the man shook hands with the man at the bar and then turned to speak to another restaurant employee. He was friendly and obviously well-liked. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry, or if he was, he was too polite to let it show. Everyone seemed to know him, and he gave each person his undivided attention.
When the wine arrived, Alex took a hesitant sip and was pleasantly surprised that it was good, in fact, very good. However, Alex acknowledged to herself that she knew nothing about wines and couldn’t really say whether it was just very good, remarkable, or wouldn’t even be palatable to a real wine taster.
As she sipped the drink, the man from the vineyard, her vineyard, she reminded herself, said his final goodbyes and headed toward the door.
“Ciao, Nicolas,” her waiter called and waved as the man left. Alex almost choked on the piece of bread she had just popped into her mouth. She watched Nicolas Giordano walk out into the Verona sunlight and signaled for her waiter.
“Another glass, please,” she managed to say, motioning to the wine. When her food arrived, she smiled and thanked the waiter but hardly tasted her first authentic Italian meal.
By the time she finished her lunch, her eyes were droopy, and she realized her second wind had come and gone. Making her way back to her hotel, she happily discovered that her room was ready and her bags safely tucked inside. She almost cried with relief. She stretched out on the bed and was soon fast asleep.
When Alex awoke, it was late evening, and the sun was beginning to set. Was this what she had heard referred to as the “Tuscan Sun,” she wondered as she watched the orange ball disappear into the glowing horizon outside of her window. Remembering something Peter had said about the region, Alex pulled out her travel guide of Italy and looked at the regional map. No, Tuscany was further south. Oh well, she thought as she flipped through the pages, the Veneto region obviously has beautiful sunsets as well. Alex turned to a dog-eared page and scanned the lines she had highlighted. Realizing how long it had been since she left Baltimore, Alex suddenly felt the uncleanliness of almost forty-eight hours without a shower and headed to the bathroom. Once showered and dressed, she pulled back her auburn hair, brushed her teeth, slipped her feet into her sandals, and grabbed her purse before heading out the door.
After stopping to ask for directions at the front desk, Alex headed toward the shopping district in the opposite direction of the Arena. Here, the storefronts were all glass and housed the same businesses found in every modern shopping mall–H&M, Benetton, and scads of others–but the buildings themselves were unlike any Alex had seen before. While utilizing modern industry standards for boutiques and chain stores, the designers had managed to retain the structure and charm of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Century buildings. Alex was amazed at the modern pedestrian-only street lined with store after store nestled into a world that was over two-thousand years old.
She browsed some of the shops and took note of the fashion trends. She tried to think of ways she could update her own meager wardrobe at little cost. Scarves were everywhere, so she would most certainly need to purchase a few more to add to her paltry collection. Alex stopped at one corner to marvel at the glass sidewalk that allowed a look underground where ancient ruins could be seen beneath the modern pavement. Glancing to the right, she saw the remains of a stone structure, a building or an arch perhaps, that had been preserved when the present city had been built. She caressed the soft marble and shook her head in disbelief at the thought that this piece of architecture was thousands of years old.
Alex wandered down Via Mazzini. Around every corner, she looked for Nicolas. Did he live here in Verona or on the vineyard? Perhaps he lived in one of the newer homes she passed on her way from the airport. Maybe he was married and had a beautifully exotic wife and large Italian family. Would they accept her? He seemed so friendly, so popular when she saw him earlier. Would he embrace her like a long-lost relative?
Alex checked her map and then searched for Via Scudo di Francia. Once on the right street, she stopped at the Bottega del Vino for dinner. Though it was almost nine o’clock, the restaurants were just beginning to receive their evening diners. Alex did not have a reservation, but she hoped that obtaining a table for one would not be a problem, and it was not. She was seated at one of the small, outside tables and, scanning the menu, chose antipasti, a first course, and a second course. When in Rome, or Verona, she mused. She found herself looking around, half expecting to see Nicolas walk in again.
Alex was anxious to peruse the wine list but even after knowing what was in store, she was still blown away at the over 10,000 choices of wine that were before her. Bottega del Vino was a wine lover’s dream restaurant, and it took several minutes before Alex found what she was searching for. Spotting an Amarone, the dark, red signature wine of the region, from Belle Uve. Alex pointed to the wine she wanted, and the waiter smiled in approval.
“Very good choice, Signorina. You have exquisite taste.”
Alex was pleased that she had chosen wisely and that Belle Uve had a wine that was considered a top notch wine.
She waited in anticipation for the server to bring her glass and pretended to know what she was doing when he presented the bottle and the cork for her approval. The wine did not disappoint. Even for someone who knew nothing about wines, Alex knew that this was indeed ‘exquisite.’ Not a red wine drinker herself, she was surprised at the delight she felt as she swallowed the warm liquid. She could taste the wine throughout her entire mouth, and even in the back of her nose. It went down so smoothly that she felt an almost soothing sensation in her throat. She had no idea how to describe anything she tasted or felt, and she suddenly realized she had a lot more to learn than she already imagined. Tomorrow was going to be quite an interesting day.
Waking up to the morning sun streaming through the hotel window, Alex stretched and smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she had such a good night’s sleep. She was afraid that thoughts and misgivings about today, not to mention her late afternoon nap, would keep her up most of the night, but the food, wine, travel, and relaxed atmosphere lulled her to sleep. There were no dreams about Patrick or more of the recurring nightmares about the car accident. There was just sleep.
After a quick shower and a bite to eat in the hotel restaurant, Alex headed outside and looked for a taxi. There was no use stalling. She had a task to perform, and she might as well get it done. Every decision she made from this point on was dependent upon the outcome of today’s journey.
“Sì, Allora,” the driver said to Alex as he returned to her the paper containing the address. Alex assumed that meant he could take her there since he exited the taxi and opened the back door, motioning for her to climb in.
“American?” The driver asked once they were underway.
“Sì,” Alex answered, and she wondered what made it so obvious.
“I visited my cousin in Orlando once. It was very nice there.”
“Sì,” Alex agreed, “but there are many other places much more beautiful. You should go back and visit New England or the Rockies. They are both very different from Orlando.” Alex had made a trip to New England with her family once but had never been to the Rockies. She had seen pictures, though, and could only imagine their beauty.
“Sì, sì, some day,” the driver said.
Alex settled back and enjoyed the scenery. Once again, the city gave way to a countryside dotted with trees and trellised vines.
“Are those olive trees?”
“Sì, many olive trees here.”
“And those plants that are tied to the wooden stakes? Grape vines?”
“Sì, sì, they grow on, how you say in English, arbors?”
“Yes, I think that’s the word,” Alex’s quick study on vineyards was beginning to come back to her, at least she hoped.
She watched as the many fields of olive trees and grapevines rushed past. Some stretched high up on rolling hills and seemed to go on forever. She noticed several tiny shacks here and there amongst the grape arbors and thought it odd that there would be outhouses scattered through the field.
“What are those tiny buildings?” She asked.
“Ah, they are for the tenders, the keepers of the grapes. Um,” he seemed to search for the right English words and phrases. “Sometimes, the workers stay there to watch the grapes. In bad weather.”
“Oh, I see,” said Alex, though she wasn’t entirely sure she understood.
She read the signs outside of the vineyards that they passed, but they were all unfamiliar to her. And then she spotted the logo of Belle Uve on a sign ahead. Though the sign looked old and weather beaten, the logo was clever. A glass of red wine splashed over the words Belle Uve. Obviously some thought had gone into creating the eye-catching design that now adorned each bottle of wine that was sold by the vineyard, and Alex liked it instantly. She wondered how it could be creatively marketed.
Turning into the drive, the taxi slowed at what must have been the main building. It didn’t look like much – a green-roofed, aluminum barn-like structure. Alex began to wonder exactly what Signora had dragged her into. Not far from the barn stood a traditional looking Italian house that Alex could only describe as a villa. It was a two-story white building with a red terra-cotta roof and a welcoming front porch. It looked old, well taken care of, and just perfect. Surrounding the two buildings as far as she could see, were rows and rows of green, leafy arbors. Opening the door of the taxi, she noticed that the air smelled fresh and sweet, and the gentle breeze that caressed her skin caused the grape leaves to sway ever so slightly as Alex gazed out at a world so different from Baltimore or Chicago.
On shaky legs, she got out of the door and barely paid attention to what the driver was saying as he told her a price. She didn’t even register what she was paying when she handed him some of the Euros she had gotten from the ATM in the shopping district the night before. She held her breath as she watched him get back into the car, close the door, and drive away, leaving her feeling more alone than she had on graduation day.
Alex pushed open the door and looked around the building. There was a counter in front of a wall of shelves that were lined with bottles of wine, all bearing the Belle Uve label. The smell of wine hung in the air, an inviting aroma rather than the stale smell of alcohol in a college bar or fraternity house, not that she had been to many of either one. The room looked nice, freshly painted, judging by the faint smell that was mixed in the air with the wine, and decorated with framed photographs of the grapes, the vineyard, and the sun setting over the field. Alex stared, mesmerized by the photographs and wondered who had taken them. They weren’t just pictures. They were art. Obviously someone with a keen eye had composed these beautiful shots.
“Posso aiutarla?” Alex jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. She turned and came face-to-face with the man she now believed was Nicolas Giordano, just as handsome as she remembered him from the day before and with the most compelling dark eyes and an inquisitive expression. She caught herself staring at him and hoped he wouldn’t recognize her.
“I’m sorry?”
“Ah, non parli italiano?”
“No. English?” The man did not answer Alex’s question. Instead, his inquisitive expression vanished, and a storm seemed to cross his face.
“What do you want?” He asked angrily. No wonder the vineyard isn’t doing well financially. What a way to treat a guest and potential customer.
“Um, a tour?” Alex blurted out the first thing that came to her mind and regretted it instantly. She found herself unable to tell him the truth.
The man looked Alex over, seemingly assessing her, or the situation, or both. Several seconds ticked by, and Alex waited patiently and quite nervously for an answer.
“No, no tour. Goodbye.” The man promptly turned and began walking toward a door marked “uffizi.”
“But wait,” Alex began to follow him and almost ran right into him when he abruptly stopped as the door opened and a pretty, young woman walked out.
“Nicolas?” She looked at the man with her eyebrow raised in question. Nicolas began speaking in Italian, and a disagreement ensued between the two. The only word Alex could pick up on was “American.” Finally, the young woman made her way around Nicolas and walked toward Alex with her hand outstretched. As Alex reached to shake her hand, Nicolas stormed into the other room and slammed the door behind him. Alex was shocked that the friendly man from the restaurant could instantly become so rude.
“Prego,” the woman said, and Alex wondered again about the use of the familiar, yet at the same time, unfamiliar word. “I’m afraid my boss is in a, um, how do you say? Foul? Si, foul mood today. How may I help you?”
Alex liked the woman immediately and wondered if she and Nicolas had more than a business relationship. Alex hoped not, not for her own sake but for this woman’s. Who would want to be in any type of romantic relationship with him?
Remembering that the woman was waiting for an answer, Alex smiled and asked again for a tour of the vineyard. She figured it was too late to turn back now.
“I’ve been told that many of the vineyards give tours. Is that correct?”
“Sì,” the woman answered as she walked behind the counter. “Many vineyards do give tours, but we do not.” Alex noted the change in her tone and wondered about it.
“Oh,” Alex acted surprised even though she had not seen any mention of tours anywhere on the vineyard’s paltry web site. “I thought... Could you give me one anyway? I will pay for it? I’ve come all this way, and my taxi has already left and won’t return for a couple of hours.”
Alex gave her a pitiful smile and hoped that the woman would be sympathetic.
“Well, I don’t know...” she hesitated and looked away.
“Please,” Alex begged. She went to the counter and leaned across it. This was not going at all how she planned, and she continued to dig her hole deeper. “I won’t take up much of your time. I just, I um,” Alex was beginning to panic. She tried to think of something to say, a way to explain. Suddenly, she blurted out the words, “I’m writing an article, you see, on Italian wines and vineyards. My boss asked me to write it, and he paid for me to come all the way over here from New York, and I didn’t have the guts to tell him that I know nothing about wine or grapes, or any of this.” She threw open her arms to indicate her surroundings and couldn’t believe she had just said that. Alex felt as if a stranger had taken over her body, and she wished a hole would appear and swallow her up.
The woman’s hesitation instantly disappeared. “An article? Oh, perhaps then,” she rushed toward the closed door, “please wait.”
After a few minutes, which Alex needed to calm herself down and say a prayer, the door opened, and Nicolas came out. He went straight to Alex and took her hand. Bowing before her, he kissed her hand, and looked up at her apologetically. She blushed, not in embarrassment but from guilt. Was she really going to continue this charade?
“Mi dispiace, I am sorry,” he said with a small smile. “I misunderstood. Please,” he let go of her hand and waved his hand in front of them to usher her toward the front door, “I am Nicolas, owner of Belle Uve, and I would be happy to show you around.” The suave Italian man from the restaurant had returned.
“Thank you,” Alex said, and in her mind she uttered apologies over and over as the guilt continue to plague her.
Alex and Nicolas exited the building and walked around back to the fields. Nicolas opened his arms and gestured at the many tidy rows of plants that clung to the stakes as far as the eye could see.
“These are the white grapes,” Nicolas began, and Alex pulled out her notebook to take notes. She hadn’t planned on telling the lie about writing an article, but she had planned on taking notes for her own benefit. There was so much to learn. She tried to concentrate on what Nicolas was saying. “They are much more difficult to grow and don’t produce as strong a bouquet or heady taste as the red grapes.”
Alex nodded and listened as Nicolas explained the process of growing and harvesting the grapes. Every single grape is harvested by hand, he told her, and she was amazed. “This protects the grapes and ensures quality.” Alex looked around and imagined the time and manpower it must take to harvest them properly.
“Who picks the grapes?” She asked.
“We do,” Nicolas told her. “Myself, Maria, and Giovanni and Luigi, Maria’s brothers.”
“That’s all?” She asked in amazement. “How long does it take?”
“Many hours over several days, but we are good and fast. It is something we have done for many years, since childhood. But we do hire workers to help at the peak of the harvest.”
Alex listened to Nicolas talk about the green grapes versus the red grapes in the neighboring field and tried to take as many notes and ask as many questions as she could. After about 20 minutes, Nicolas told her to walk with him to the other side of the building.
“You speak very good English,” Alex commented as they walked.
“I spent many years learning both English and French. I’ve traveled to vineyards in France, New Zealand, and America. It is very expensive, but I want to learn everything I can to improve our, uh, operation. There are many new methods in other places, and I want to use the very best here.”
Alex was impressed. “Did you go to school to learn about running a business?”
Nicolas nodded, “Sì, I went to university in Bologna. I have a degree in Business and a Masters in Food and Wine.”
Wow! He has more education than I have, Alex thought. How snobbish of me to think that I would be the smarter one just because he was raised on a vineyard in the country.
Nicolas explained the process of loading the grapes into the enormous vats where fermentation takes place. Alex was surprised to learn that, for red wine, the grapes, skins, leaves, and stems were all loaded together and would be separated after fermentation. The temperature is closely regulated as the process takes place. After going through the crusher (which is the first step for the white wine), the juice is fermented again.
Alex followed Nicolas inside, her head spinning with information. How would she ever learn this trade? Was coming here a colossal mistake? She should be applying for teaching or museum curator positions or other jobs suited to her degree instead of fooling herself that she could live this amazing European fantasy.
“Is everything okay?” Nicolas asked when they stopped in a room filled with barrels of every imaginable size, including floor to ceiling, at least ten feet above their heads. “You do not look well. Do you need to sit down? Perhaps the heat was too much for you.”
Now, standing in the cool cellar, Alex could feel the sweat that was running down her back and sticking to her armpits. She was so preoccupied outside that she hadn’t even noticed. But she knew that it wasn’t the heat or the strong aroma of the previous fermentation that was bothering her. The deceit, the enormity of her hasty trip to Italy, the unknown future looming in front of her, and the vast amount of information she would be expected to learn were all crushing her as if she were balancing one of those barrels on her shoulders.
“Perhaps I should sit,” Alex said meekly. Nicolas ran into another room and returned with two folding chairs. Opening them up, he gestured for her to sit and then sat next to her in the dimly lit room. “I’m so sorry,” Alex said, though Nicolas certainly didn’t understand the extent of her apology.
“No, it is fine,” he said. “Some water perhaps?”
Alex nodded, placed her purse and notebook on the floor, and watched as he quickly left the room again. When he returned, he handed her a glass of water and sat back down. As she drank, Alex noticed the concern in his eyes, deep brown eyes the color of dark chocolate. He seemed so different from the man who had walked out on her when she first arrived. She looked away, fearing that if he looked deeply into her own eyes, her sin would reveal itself.
Taking another sip, Alex smiled. “I think I’m okay now. Thank you.” She looked around the room. “Shall we continue?”
Nicolas raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair assessing her for a moment. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Alex said emphatically as she bent down to pick up her things. “I know you’re a busy man. I don’t want to take up any more of your time than necessary.”
He continued to look at her skeptically for another minute and then rose, closing the chair, and reached for her hand to help her up. “If you are sure,” he said.
“I’m sure,” Alex said with a smile. Nicolas closed her chair as well but leaned them both against a nearby barrel rather than putting them away.
He went on to explain the difference between the barrels, the types of wood, which ones were used for the best reserve wines and which ones contained old and new vintages. Alex asked about the term “vintage,” how one knows when a wine is “fine,” and how long they are aged. Nicolas answered all of her questions and offered questions of his own to ensure that she understood, at least rudimentarily, what he was teaching her.
They continued through another two rooms with Nicolas explaining to Alex which wines were further processed, which ones were still being aged, and how they were all bottled and labeled. When they were through, Nicolas led her into a room with a long table and several chairs. On one wall, were a small refrigerator and a shelf housing several bottles of red wines. Alex assumed, based on her small bit of research, the white wines were being kept cold while the reds remained at room temperature. Hanging beneath the shelves were several rows of wine glasses. On the longer wall in front of the table were a series of sketches that ended with the Belle Uve logo which Alex now easily recognized.
“Would you like to taste?”
“Sì, sì,” Alex found herself saying, and she blushed at her obvious enthusiasm. Nicolas laughed.
“Then you are feeling better,” he said with a smile, and Alex noticed the way his cheeks dipped into deep dimples at the corners of his mouth when his smile was genuine. She blushed even more and hoped Nicolas didn’t notice.
She watched as he carefully removed a wine glass from the rack and placed it in front of her. “Just one?” She asked. “Won’t you join me?”
Nicolas shook his head. “No, I still have much work to do today, but thank you.” He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine. Unscrewing the cap, he poured some of the golden liquid into her glass.
“No cork,” she commented.
“No, this is new. Many scoff at the idea of using a screw top, but some of the top vineyards around the world are now using them. They cost less, and contrary to the old teachings, they do not change the taste of the wine. A cork, however, can rot and can indeed change the taste if the wine is not stored properly or is stored for too long.”
“Too long? But I thought wine was supposed to be stored for a long time before drinking.”
“Ah, you have already forgotten what I have told you,” Nicolas smiled as he replaced the top and sat the bottle on the table. “Only some wines are meant to be aged. Most wine is best when fresh.”
Alex nodded and reached for the glass, but Nicolas stopped her by placing his hand on her arm. Alex froze at his touch. “Not so fast,” he said and smiled. “You must first smell the wine.”
Alex did as she was told and found herself closing her eyes in order to fully enjoy the scent. She tried to identify the essence of the grapes, or something like that, but truthfully, she wasn’t really sure what she should be noting.
“Smelling is part of tasting,” Nicolas said quietly as she sat and slowly inhaled through her nose, her eyes closed, her lips parted. “Now,” he gently added, “look at the wine, the color, the way the light hits it.” Alex opened her eyes and looked at the beautiful liquid in her glass. “Swirl it gently and watch how it reacts. I will show you in a few minutes how different wines have different legs, the height and slide of the wine on the glass.” Alex did as she was told, unsure whether or not she was swirling it correctly.
“Very good,” Nicolas said. “Notice how the wine clings to the glass just slightly before sliding back down. In a moment, you will see longer legs, a more robust wine.”
Alex nodded and waited for the next instruction. Nicolas motioned for her to drink, and she put the glass to her lips as their eyes met over the rim. Alex thought she saw his Adam’s Apple move as she took a sip, and she found it hard to look away. She remembered why she was here and tried to concentrate on the taste, but she found herself lost in his gaze. Lowering the glass, she gave him a small smile.
“It is very good,” she said.
Nicolas was staring at Alex and then seemed to reawaken when she spoke. He quickly turned to the shelf behind her and took down another bottle. “Good, yes, but not great,” he admitted.
Alex finished the wine in her glass and tilted it toward Nicolas so that he could pour some of the red wine for her, but he took the glass away and replaced it with a clean one. She repeated the steps he had told her and noticed that this wine had a stronger scent. Nicolas pointed out the longer legs, though Alex still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to notice as the wine sloshed around the glass. She nodded and took a sip. This wine filled her mouth and nose with a heady scent and taste. She smiled and nodded as she swished it in her mouth and finally swallowed it.
“You’re right, the first wine was good, but this wine is great.” She finished the rest of the wine in her glass and sighed.
Nicolas laughed. “You are easy to please,” he said, and Alex felt momentarily stung by his comment. She frowned. “Just wait,” he said as he opened a third bottle.
Alex watched as he poured the wine into a new glass. Taking it from him, she put it to her nose and didn’t even have to inhale in order for the bouquet to fill her nostrils. She swirled it around and watched the liquid cling a little more heavily to the sides of the glass. Then she sipped the deep purple taste of Heaven. She opened her eyes wide as her whole mouth and nose filled with the robust flavor. Her taste buds felt alive, and her throat tingled as she swallowed the thick potable. It was even better than it had been at the restaurant now that she knew the proper way to taste it.
“Ah,” was all she could manage, and again Nicolas laughed his rich laugh that filled the room around her. Was she drunk? Her head began to spin with the flavor of the wine and the sound of his laughter.
“Great?”
“Sì,” she replied. “Great.” Then she turned toward him. “No, like a taste of Heaven,” she voiced the thought that had come to her when she tasted the wine.
“Bravo,” Nicolas said and clapped his hands together. “That is our best wine, an award winner, I believe. Alas, no prizes have come to us for it yet.”
“Why not?” Alex asked. She could scarcely believe that a better wine existed, even with her limited knowledge.
Nicolas shrugged. “There are many Amarone grapes in this region that produce such good wine. It is a hard competition.”
Alex thought about that. How could this be improved, she wondered. What more are the judges looking for?
The afternoon sun reached through the window as if it, too, felt the need to caress the auburn tresses that rested on her shoulder. Nicolas was entranced, perhaps even bewitched, by her hair, her smile, the light that danced in her eyes like the stars danced on a lake on a moonlit summer night. He watched her and wondered what she was thinking. He also wondered what brought her here, to his vineyard, into his life? Surely God was playing a trick on him, sending this American into his life for a day, a few hours, and then whisking her away. He sensed something in her, something mysterious, and suddenly, he didn’t want the tour to end. And it wasn’t sexual. She just seemed... different, and Nicolas had spent enough time in the States to know that not all women fit the stereotypes that Italians believed about the fast and loose American girls. This one seemed genuine, kind, and even innocent. It was as if he could see the goodness in her soul.
Nicolas pulled out the chair beside this enchanting woman and sat down. At the moment, it dawned on him that he did not know her name.
“So, Signorina...” Nicolas looked at her questioningly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said as she reached out her hand. “I am, uh, I’m Annie.” She smiled as he took her hand.
“It is very nice to meet you, Annie. What else can I tell you for your article?”
She appeared slightly confused and then looked down at her notepad and blushed. “Oh! I was enjoying myself so much that I forgot I am supposed to be working.” She smiled and picked up the pad and paper.
“Can you tell me about the history of the vineyard?”
“I would be honored,” and Nicolas proceeded to tell her about the vineyard that had been started by his great-great grandfather at the turn of the 20th Century. The vineyard passed down through the generations, and he inherited half of the vineyard from his grandfather who passed away.
“The other half belonged to my prozia who just recently died as well.” He tried not to think about what would happen to that half of the business now. When he turned back to her, he saw the pain in her eyes and wondered if she, too, had experienced a recent loss. A moment of uncertainty nagged at him, but he brushed it aside.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as she reached over and took a hold of his hand. “Were you close?”
Nicolas shook his head. “We never met,” he told her. “She begged me to come when I was in the States, but she was in the East, and I was in the West, and I was young and selfish and enjoying my freedom. I should have gone,” he said wistfully and looked down at his hand in hers. Suddenly feeling quite warm, and remembering the woman in his life, he pulled his hand away and stood up. He opened a window and paced for a minute to clear his head before sitting back down.
“So,” he continued, “I came back to Italy and began to put my knowledge to work. I want to make Belle Uve a prize winning vineyard that will honor my family.”
“I believe you will do that,” Annie smiled. He held her gaze and resisted the temptation to fix a stray hair that curled beside her face; its deep auburn mixed with brown was a stark contrast to her ivory skin.
“I’m feeling very hungry,” he said suddenly. “Would you care to go for lunch and continue learning about great Italian wines?” He wasn’t sure where that had come from. He never intended to say such a thing, and his girlfriend would not be pleased if she found out, to say the least.
Nicolas thought that Annie looked uncomfortable, and he wished he could take back the offer. “Oh thank you so much. I do appreciate it,” she began to stand, “but I have to get back. I need to write this while it’s fresh in my mind.”
Nicolas nodded, “Of course.” He stood back so that she could pass in front of him, and the scent of her shampoo wafted to his nose, strawberry and something else, vanilla? “Will you come back?” he asked and then felt foolish. “I mean, for more information?” What was wrong with him? He would be a dead man if word got out that he asked another woman to lunch and then inquired about when he would see her again.
She hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe,” she said, but she failed to look at him. Her face was bright red, and she hurried through the door. He admonished himself for acting so impetuously. What kind of man did she think he was?
When he walked to the door and looked into the main room, Annie was talking to Maria. He watched as Maria took a bottle from the shelf and handed it to her. Annie nodded and pointed to another one. In the end, she bought one white, and two each of the reds. When she finished paying for her purchases, Nicolas went into the room and held out a bottle of Amarone. From the corner of his eye, he saw a taxi pull up out front.
“It was a pleasure, Signorina. Please accept this gift as a token of my appreciation for visiting us and writing about our vineyard.” Alex hesitated as she took the bottle and reached for his hand.
“Thank you,” she said, and Nicolas noticed a quiver in her voice. Instead of shaking her outstretched hand, he took it gently in his own hand and lifted it to his lips. He lightly kissed the back of her hand and felt a torrent of emotions race through his body. “Until we meet again,” he said and held onto her a moment longer while their eyes met and held each other’s gaze.
Blushing and seeming quite nervous, she smiled weakly and thanked him again before hurrying from the building.
“Wow,” Maria said as Nicolas stood watching her leave. She practically knocked over the driver in her haste to get into the backseat. He watched the car drive away and turned to Maria.
“Wow, what?” he asked in Italian.
“I never thought I would see you act that way toward her,” Maria said in astonishment.
“What are you talking about?” Nicolas went to the counter as Maria pointed to the computer screen.
There on the screen, the credit card information stood out like flashing emergency light – Alexandra O’Donnell.
So much for his intuition about the ‘nice, American girl.’
Without saying a word, Nicolas turned on his heel and went into the office, slamming the door so hard that the bottles on the wall shook. He cursed, not at her but at himself, for making such poor observations about her character. She was indeed a witch who had cast a spell over him, and now that the spell was broken, he would not be made a fool of again.
Alex tilted her head back onto the seat of the taxi and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe what she had just done. She liked Nicolas, she truly did. He was, well, he was darn good looking for a start; but, in spite of that temper, she could tell that he was also a gentleman. He was so concerned when he thought she was having a heat stroke, and all the while she was having a good, old fashioned guilt trip. When he told her the history of the vineyard and how he never even met Signora, she wanted to cry. But when he asked her to have lunch with him, all of the wine in her stomach began to turn sour, and she knew she had to leave. Immediately.
How could she face him now? How could she tell him the truth? She saw how he reacted when she arrived and he didn’t have time for a stupid American. That’s how he would react when she went back, only worse. She looked at the bottle of fine wine and began to cry. He was so kind to her, and she did nothing but lie to him. She should just turn around right now and head back there and try to make amends. That would be the best thing to do. Yes, she would tell the driver to turn back now. It was decided.
But Alex remained silent in the back of the taxi as it passed by the olive groves and vineyards on its way back to Verona. She let the tears trail down her cheek and prayed that when she did arrive at the vineyard to claim her share, Nicolas would understand. More than likely, he would not.
Two days later, Alex stepped out of a taxi wearing her best suit and finest jewelry, rather, Signora’s finest jewelry that came with the house in Baltimore. It had taken her that long to get up the nerve to go back. The taxi driver took all of the luggage out of the car, and Alex handed him the fare along with a nice tip. She was just summoning her strength when she heard the door open behind her. She took a deep breath and turned to face Nicolas, but he was not there.
“You are a brave woman,” Maria said. “I like that.” Her smile was wide and welcoming. “Come, I have been waiting for you.”
“How...” Alex began.
“You used your credit card,” Maria said. “Perhaps a, how do you say, Freudian mistake?”
“Slip,” Alex said quietly.
“Prego?”
“It’s a Freudian slip,” she sighed. “I guess I’m not as good at acting as I thought I was.” She managed a weak smile.
“Oh, you were good all right. Nicolas suspected, from the second you walked in, who you were, but you convinced him otherwise. It is not easy to trick him, so you should give yourself more credit.”
“Thank you, I guess.” Alex followed Maria into the villa that stood across the parking lot from the winery building. She marveled at the photos and old furniture. It was just as she imagined it would be, and not unlike Signora’s house except for the obviously Italian exterior with its white stucco and red roof. The floors were made of polished red stone and were covered with beautiful throw rugs, and light, airy curtains swayed in the breeze. The long, wooden kitchen table was old and rustic, and Alex imagined Signora sitting on one of its benches as a child.
They went up the narrow staircase, and Maria opened the door to the room at the end of the hall.
“This is yours,” she said. “I prepared it for you when we first learned of you. I had a feeling you would come.”
The room was small but not uncomfortably so. It had a four-poster bed and a lace coverlet with matching window curtains. The dresser was old and large, and the wardrobe was magnificent. On the nightstand, sat an old lamp on top of a doily, and Alex wondered, as she ran her hand along the bedding, if all of the linens in the room were handmade by someone in Signora’s family.
“It’s perfect,” Alex said. “Thank you.”
“Il piacere e' mio. It is my pleasure,” Maria said with a smile. “You picked a good time to come. Nicolas is in town on business. He will return in a couple hours, so you have time to get settled.”
“He’s very angry?”
“Sì, sì, he is very angry.” Maria leaned against the wall and thought for a moment. “You see, he thought that someday this would be his. He has run it by himself for many years. His grandfather was ill for a long time, so even when Nicolas was away studying, he was still making all of the decisions here. He has been running Belle Uve since he was quindici, ah, ten and five?”
“Fifteen,” Alex said.
“Si, fifteen. So you see, he did not expect to share it. Finding out about you was a, ah, what is the word?”
“A shock?”
“Sì, sì, a shock. He felt tricked.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Alex sat on the bed and thought about what she had done. “And then I tricked him again.”
“Sì,” Maria nodded. “Now he does not trust you. He thinks you are going to try to take over his home and business.”
Alex laughed out loud. “I hardly think so! He already knows that I know nothing about the business. I proved that the other day.”
“Ah, but he does not know how much was trick.”
Alex thought about that. She wasn’t that good an actress. Sure, a couple of high school plays and several supporting roles in dramatic productions in college, but honestly, did he think she really knew about the wine business?
“Well, I can tell you right now, everything that I know about wine making I learned from a guidebook, the Internet, and from Nicolas two days ago.”
Maria nodded, seemingly satisfied. “You can unpack. I will have Luigi bring up your bags.”
Alex watched her leave and wondered again what her relationship with Nicolas was. They were obviously close and had worked together for a long time. Were they involved? And if so, why would Nicolas have asked her to lunch? Alex had heard rumors about Italian men. Perhaps they were true, she thought, as she opened the bag she had carried up with her.
Maria was showing Alex how to work the computer and how to translate the notations and products when Nicolas walked into the building. He came to a dead stop when he saw the two women behind the counter.
“Prego,” Maria said as she slipped out and went into the office. She had explained to Alex that “prego” had many meanings, one of them being “pardon.”
After releasing what Alex assumed was a string of profanities under his breath, Nicolas turned toward her.
“What are you doing here?”
“I believe I live here now,” Alex said defiantly, but her legs felt like jelly underneath of her, and she was sure they would give out at any minute.
“You live here? No, no,” Nicolas said as his face turned blood red. “You do not live here. I live here. This is my house, my family’s house. This is not your house.” His voice rose in both volume and intensity with each sentence. “You can get your things and leave,” he shouted at her, his hands now splayed on the counter, their faces almost touching.
“Nicolas,” she tried to remain calm, “we should speak about this calmly and ration...”
“Speak about this? No, we will not ‘speak about this.’ You will leave.” He turned and pointed to the front door.
“I will not.” Alex felt her own ire rise as he tried to bully her out of what was rightfully hers. And it was rightfully hers. Signora had been the only family she had for the past year, and she wanted Alex to be a part of this.
“Then I will call the polizia and have them get you out,” he continued to shout.
“Go right ahead,” she shouted back, standing on her tiptoes so that she matched his height. “I’m. Not. Leaving.” She folded her arms across her chest and stood looking at him defiantly.
“Oh yes you are,” and with that, he went around the counter and picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and walked out the door. Alex kicked and screamed and beat her fists on his back until he dropped her into the dirt, her blouse and the skirt of her best suit now covered with the dry, June dust. When he turned to go back inside, Alex jumped up and grabbed the back of his shirt.
“You will not manhandle me like that, do you understand?” She yelled as he struggled to get away. They both heard laughing and turned their heads to see Luigi and Giovanni pointing and holding their stomachs. They laughed so hard, Alex thought they might begin crying. She let go of Nicolas’ shirt, and he stomped inside as she tried to regain some dignity by dusting off her clothes and pulling her skirt back down to a decent length. Maria walked out with a smirk on her face and fussed at the men in Italian. Alex assumed that she told them to go back to work. They sauntered off but continued to laugh.
“He will calm down,” Maria assured her. “Someday,” she added with a smile as she went back inside.
Alex stood in the dirt parking lot with her hands on her hips and tried to decide what to do. She had no desire to go back inside while Nicolas was there, so she walked to the villa. Sitting at the wooden table in the cheery kitchen, she put her head down and closed her eyes. This wasn’t going to be easy. Not by a mile.
Nicolas fumed. He stood in the office and looked out the window at the rows of neatly kept grapevines. How was he supposed to share this with a complete stranger, especially one he didn’t trust?
“She is nice, you know,” Maria said from the doorway. “She wants to learn.”
“She wants to take over my business,” Nicolas said without turning around.
“I do not think so,” Maria said as she took a seat in the chair by her desk. “I have the feeling that she has nowhere else to go. She brought so many clothes but only two photographs. I saw them when I took her some fresh towels. There is one of her with her family, parents and a brother perhaps. It did not look recent. And then there was one of her and a woman I believe is your aunt.”
Nicolas turned to face her, and Maria saw the pain on his face. “Why?” he asked. “Why did she do this to me? Why after all of these years did she have to interfere? And from the grave, no less? She could have come over when my grandfather died and the business and home went fully to her. Instead, she gave me half of the estate and let me take over the running of it. She never wanted anything to do with the vineyard. Why now?”
Maria shook her head. “I do not know, Nicolas, but she must have had a reason.”
“Well I wish to hell I knew what it was.” He turned back to the window.
“Then ask her,” Maria said.
“I cannot very well do that, now, can I?”
“No, but you can ask Alexandra, I mean Alex. Maybe she knows.”
“Ha,” he scoffed, “I bet she knows all right. She talked my aunt into giving her the most valuable thing she owned.”
“I do not think so, Nicolas.” He didn’t move, but Maria saw his shoulders tense and knew he was listening. “She told me that she had no idea any of this existed. She was as surprised as you were.”
Nicolas shook his head and turned back to her. “I do not believe it,” he said adamantly, though he had a fleeting memory of their first meeting and how he had believed that she was kind and innocent. Obviously he was wrong. “I do not believe a word she says, and I think she knew exactly what she was getting and how much it was worth.”
“Then the joke is on her, is it not? Because it is not worth the ground it sits on.” Maria stood and left the room while Nicolas clenched his jaw at her biting words. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Somehow, he was going to turn things around. Belle Uve was going to be the most profitable vineyard in Valpolicella with or without the meddling Alexandra.