The Sicilian's Bride. Carol Grace
continue to blame himself until he’d got the property back and their wine won the gold medal. Then and only then could he put the past where it belonged. Until then…
“It’s gone,” Cosmo said. “Get over it. Stop blaming yourself.”
“Easy for you to say,” Dario said. “It’s my fault we had to sell. You know it’s true.”
“Forget it,” Cosmo said. “It’s over. We have vineyards enough. Let this one go. I came by to see for myself if the new owner is as beautiful as I heard,” Cosmo said.
Dario shook his head. “You heard wrong. How do those rumors get started? She’s not beautiful at all.” It was true. Her mouth was too large, her nose too small. Her hair was the color of copper in the sunlight, but that was definitely her best feature.
“So she’s not beautiful. What is she like?”
“Just offhand, I’d say she’s stubborn, proud, determined and naive. And overconfident. No idea what it takes to make wine. As soon as she realizes this place isn’t for her, she’ll be on her way. But right now she’s wavering.” Unfortunately that was just wishful thinking. He didn’t detect any sign of wavering in this woman. “If you don’t leave now you might say the wrong thing and she’ll be here forever. It’s not fair to her to encourage her.”
“Encourage her?” Cosmos teetered on the edge of indecision. “I just want to meet her and say hello.”
“Not today.”
His brother wasn’t happy about it, but after a few more exchanges, he finally left and Dario breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t matter what the new owner looked like, she was new, she was a challenge, and he didn’t trust his brother to stand up to her. He’d feel sorry for her when he heard she was an orphan and forget the goal, which was to convince her to sell by pointing out the obvious: this was not a place for a novice, a woman on her own, a foreigner who knew nothing about viticulture. It was in her own interests either to find another house in Sicily or go back where she came from. He only wanted what was best for her—and for his family of course.
Though feeling sorry for an heiress didn’t make sense, his little brother was a flirt and a playboy and loved to have a good time. In other words, a typical Sicilian. He was easily swayed by a new girl in town with a fresh face as well as a few curves in the right places. He had charm and affection, yes, but those were traits not needed today.
Dario knew from painful experience what his brother ignored or wouldn’t believe. That women are masters of deceit. They were seldom what they seemed. Beautiful or not, they could look innocent and act vulnerable, but they were hard as polished marble and equally strong-willed, self-centered and capable of lies and deception.
When Isabel emerged from the kitchen, a bottle of wine under her arm and a smudge of dirt on her cheek, Dario knew his brother would have stood there, mouth open, gaping at the American heiress, taken in by her apparent lack of pretense and that dazzling red hair and pale skin. No, she wasn’t beautiful, but she was striking in a way Dario had never seen before. She had a certain freshness and large helping of pride of ownership in her new acquisition—the Azienda.
Good thing his brother had left. He could just see Cosmo falling all over her, offering Italian lessons, sightseeing and God knew what else. Just what he himself might have done before he’d met Magdalena. And had his eyes opened and a knife stuck in his back.
The American was the new girl in town, with something undeniably seductive about her mouth and her body. Dario would have to be blind not to notice her long shapely legs. She had soft brown eyes that widened in surprise, and a rare smile that tugged at the corners of her full lips. Yes, his brother would have been smitten at first sight and would have rolled out the red carpet for the intruder.
Dario knew better than to be swayed by a pretty face framed with hair the color of autumn leaves, no matter how innocent she seemed. He’d been burned once. Never again. Even after more than a year had passed, his mistake in trusting Magdalena rankled like the sting of a wasp.
His approach, the correct one, was to keep his distance from the heiress, show her the worst of her property and then pounce with a generous offer. It would be kinder in the long run than sitting by and watching her struggle but ultimately fail.
“My brother just stopped by.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to meet him,” she said. “Why didn’t he stay?”
“Another appointment,” Dario said. “Maybe some other time.”
“I found another bottle of wine I’d like to try.” Isabel held up two glasses. “Would you like some?”
She was offering him his own wine? He clamped his jaw tight to keep from erupting in pent-up frustration. Yes, it belonged to her now, but still. He wanted to pound the wall to relieve his irritation at watching her play the hostess role. Even with the smudge on her cheek and dirt on the sleeve of her shirt, she looked like the lady of the manor. It was a heady feeling he could tell by the look on her face, and if this scenario played itself out, she’d never want to leave, however difficult the job of making the place livable. He had to put plan B into operation as soon as possible.
“I don’t know wine the way you do, but I think it’s aged well, don’t you?” she asked him after they’d both tasted it.
“Not bad,” he said and set his glass down on a ledge. “We won a bronze medal for this if I remember right.”
“You must have won many medals.”
“We have, but some contests are more important than others. The Gran Concorso Siciliano del Vini is coming up in a few weeks. We plan to take away a gold this year.”
He didn’t want to brag or look overconfident. But this was going to be their year. Winning the medal and getting the Azienda back. Two victories that would erase the losses of the past once and for all. He knew it. He felt it. If he kept a hawk eye on the land, the vines and the wine production, they’d end up with the prize and the best dessert wine Sicily could produce too.
He was proud of their wine, proud of the medals they’d won. Nothing wrong with letting her know that. He turned to Isabel. “Now that you’ve seen the place, it’s time to go.”
“I haven’t been upstairs yet.”
What could he say? You won’t like it? Knowing her, that would guarantee she’d insist she would like it. She didn’t yet know about the bedroom off the kitchen where the servants once lived, and he sure wasn’t going to tell her. Instead he led the way up the narrow staircase, Isabel following behind him. There it was, a small room with a narrow sagging mattress on a metal frame. And better yet, a huge gaping hole in the ceiling.
“It needs major roof repair,” he said. As if she hadn’t noticed. No one in their right mind could say anything positive about a hole in the roof. But she did.
“Why?” she said. “If it doesn’t rain, it will be wonderful to look up at the stars at night.”
He groaned silently. There was no point in telling her bats would fly into the room. She’d probably welcome them. He’d never met anyone like her. There wasn’t a woman in Sicily who’d accept living under these conditions. What was it about this woman? Was she really capable or just stubborn and unrealistic?
“I know it needs work,” she said, a trace of defiance in her voice. “I know there’s no running water or electricity, but, as I said, I’m not afraid to pitch in and get things done. And I’d like to hire someone to help me.”
“That won’t be easy,” Dario commented. It was true. All the able-bodied men were at work in the vineyards. “Most people are busy with the crush.”
“Which reminds me, I want to see the vineyard.”
“Of course.” That, Dario thought, could help matters; she’d see how withered the vines were.
They went back downstairs and out into