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“Who?”

“Baby Rosa. What if she can’t count on me? What if I can’t love her enough to be there emotionally when she needs me to?”

“You’re serious? That’s why you kept pulling away when we talked about the baby.” She sank to sit on the fountain wall. “Do you really believe you won’t be able to care about your own niece?”

“Care about, yes, but care enough?” He shook his head. “I’ve already proven I can’t.”

“When? Oh, your fiancée.”

“My fiancée.” Taking a space next to her, he let his shopping bag rest on the ground between his feet. Thankfully the noontime heat had chased many of the tourists to the shade, leaving them momentarily alone.

“Floriana was a wonderful girl. Smart, beautiful, kind. We shared all the same interests. We never ever argued.”

“She sounds perfect.”

“She was,” he said, staring at his hands. “We were perfect for each other.” The answer tasted sour on his tongue. In a way, singing Floriana’s praises to Louisa felt wrong.

“What happened?”

“Simple,” he said. “I broke her heart.”

* * *

There had to be more to the story. Something that Nico wasn’t telling her. The man she knew wouldn’t carelessly break a woman’s heart.

Although wasn’t that exactly the kind of man she’d thought he was when she’d met him?

Yes, she had, but she knew better now. Knew him better now. “Surely it’s not as simple as that,” she said.

“Ah, but it is,” he replied. “As perfect as Floriana was—as we were for each other—I couldn’t love her. Not truly and deeply, the way a person should be loved. That’s when I realized I’ll never be like my parents or like Angelo or Marianna. I don’t have it in me.”

“It?”

“Passion. Real, deep emotion.

“It’s true,” he said when Louisa opened her mouth to argue. “Angelo and Marianna, they are like my parents. They feel things. Highs. Lows. Excitement. They thrive on it, even. But me... I don’t want highs and lows. I want calm. I want...”

“Consistency,” Louisa supplied. Certainty. To know when he walked through the door that his world hadn’t been turned upside down. She had the sudden flash that Nico had been as trapped by his parents’ chaos as she had been by Steven’s control.

“Consistency is one way of putting it, I suppose. Much better than saying I lack depth.”

“Is that what Floriana said? She was wrong.”

“Was she?”

“Just because you don’t throw plates like your parents doesn’t mean you’re not capable of passion.” It killed her to hear him beat himself up so needlessly. Couldn’t he see how impossibly wrong he was about himself? She’d witnessed his passion plenty of times. In the vineyards when he talked about Carlos. When he talked of Monte Calanetti’s traditions.

When he’d kissed her.
She’d never felt such passion before.

Nico stared at his hands as if they held the argument he needed. “Then why didn’t I feel anything today?” he asked. “The three of you—Marianna, Ryan, you—you couldn’t stop oohing and aahing at Baby Rosa. Meanwhile, the only thing going through my mind was that she looked...small.”

“What did you expect to think? She’s three days old. It’s not like she’s going to be filled with personality.”

“But everyone else...”

Okay, now she wanted to shake him and make him see sense. For a smart man, he was being incredibly stupid. “Marianna and Ryan are her parents. If she wrinkles her nose they think it’s a sign of genius.”

“And you...”

“I’m a woman. I’m programmed to think babies are adorable. You, on the other hand, are a guy. Until babies actually do something, you don’t see the point.

“Look,” she said. Grasping his face between her hands, she forced him to look her in the eye to make sure he heard what she was saying. “Just because a person seems perfect doesn’t mean they are. Believe me, I know. You’re going to make a wonderful godfather. The very fact you’re worrying about doing a good job shows how much you care.

“Besides,” she added, “I refuse to do this godmother thing without a good partner. Last time I looked, we made a pretty good team.”

The worry faded from around his eyes. Giving her a grateful smile, Nico rested his forehead against hers. His hands came up to cup her face. “Thank you,
bella mia
,” he said, the whisper caressing her lips. Louisa closed her eyes and let the sensation wash over her.

They sat entwined like that for several minutes, neither in a rush to break the moment. As far as she was concerned, she could sit there all afternoon. She didn’t even care if there were paparazzi watching.

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE
NEXT
DAY
, a cold front invaded the valley and everyone feared the harvest festival would be threatened by rain. “The tourists will still come,” Nico had said as they gathered to finish the float. “We’ve never failed to attract a crowd, rain or shine.”

“But sun brings a better crowd,” Marianna had been quick to point out, “and this is the one year when we can count on the crowd being especially large.”

Turned out Nico’s sister needn’t have worried. The morning of the festival, Louisa woke to see the sun brightening a cloudless blue sky.

“Luck is on our side,” Nico had remarked over coffee before adding, “Perfect day for playing festival queen.”

“Nice try,” she’d answered, “but no.” With the headlines diminishing daily, why court trouble?

Nevertheless, she agreed to accompany him to the parade’s staging ground to give their float a proper send-off. While he was in the shower, she snuck over to the palazzo and got out a tiered skirt and peasant blouse from her closet. A peace offering. She might not be queen, but she could dress in the spirit of the occasion.

The thought didn’t occur to her until she was ducking through the archway leading to Nico’s villa, that if she was comfortable enough crossing the fields alone, she could move back home.

Tomorrow.

For so many years her thoughts had revolved around escaping—escaping Steven, escaping Boston, escaping the paparazzi—and suddenly here she was focused on staying.

Something had shifted between her and Nico that day at the fountain. There was a depth to their friendship she hadn’t felt before. An openness brought about by shared fears. Whereas before there had been attraction, she felt pulled by an attraction of a different sort. Didn’t make sense, she knew. But there it was.

“Wow,” Nico said when stepped back into the kitchen. “Like a proper Tuscan peasant.”

Appreciation lit his eyes, turning her insides warm. She hadn’t done all that much. “Thank you. I figured when in Rome, or in this case Tuscany...”

“You look just like a proper Tuscan gypsy.” And he, a proper Tuscan vintner in his jeans and loose white shirt. Louisa had never seen him look more appealing. He offered his hand. “Shall we?”

The festival itself was to be held in the plaza. Last night Nico and several of his employees had gone into town to set up a quintet of large half barrels around the fountain, and so she assumed that was where they were heading for the parade, as well. To her surprise, however, he turned his truck toward Comparino. “We start at the palazzo,” he told her, “and head into town, recreating the route the farmers took back when the
mezzadria
system was in place. That’s when the sharecroppers would present the landowners with their share of the harvest. Back then the Bertonellis would have used the grapes to make wine. Today we use a lesser quality crop and put the fruit in the vats for stomping.”

“I can’t believe people still stomp grapes.” Louisa thought the tradition was reserved only for movies and old sitcoms.

“Tourists come from all over the world to see Old World traditions. The least we can do is provide them.”

She bet Nico loved every minute of them, too, lover of tradition that he was. In fact, there was a special kind of glow about him this morning. He looked brighter, more alive. His body hummed with energy, too, more so than usual. Standing by his side, she found it impossible not to let it wash over her, as well.

They turned a corner and drove into a field that had become a makeshift parade ground. In addition to the floats, Louisa spied dozens of townspeople dressed in costume. There were women wearing woolen folk dresses and large straw hats and men dressed as peasant farmers. She spotted musicians and what she guessed were dancers, as well.

“Later on, they’ll demonstrate the
trescone
,” Nico said. “Everyone present is invited to join in.”

And here she thought the festival was just an excuse to eat and drink.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked once Nico had parked the truck. “Why is tradition so important to you?” She suspected she already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from him.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I suppose it is because tradition helps define who we are and what we do. There’s a sacred quality to knowing that you’re walking in the footsteps of generations that came before you. Time has passed, but the traditions, the core of who we are, doesn’t change.”

In other words, he loved the consistency. For a man whose entire life had been fraught with chaos, tradition—like Carlos’s vineyard—never let him down. No wonder he’d been so adamant that she lead the parade.

And yet, he was willing to let go of tradition to make her feel more comfortable. Once again, he was rushing to her rescue.

Maybe it was time she returned the favor. “I’ll do it,” she said.

“Do what?”

“I’ll lead the parade.”

If everything else went wrong today, the way Nico’s eyes lit up would be reason enough for her answer. “Are you sure?” he asked her.

“Absolutely.” What were a few miles, right? She could do it. “But only if you’ll walk with me.”

“Are you asking if I’ll be your king?”

Dear Lord, the way he said the sentence... Her insides grew warm. “Don’t be literal,” she said, trying to hide her reaction by making light of the comment. “More like a royal companion who’s there to help me when I screw up.”

Damn if the way he brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek before speaking didn’t turn her inside out. “It would be my pleasure,
bella mia
.”

* * *

Royal companion
wasn’t the right term at all. Nico was a king. Smiling brightly and waving to the crowds, he belonged at the front of the parade far more than Louisa did. The town loved him.

Or maybe Monte Calanetti was just full of love today. The streets were lined with revelers who laughed and cheered them along as they wound their way slowly down the cobblestone streets. Behind them, the costumed men carried baskets of grapes while the women tossed bags of sugared nuts they had stored in the pockets of their aprons. If photographers were there, they were hidden by the throngs of tourists who, it was clear, were only interested in enjoying the day.

“Signorina! Signorina!”
A little girl wearing a dress the colors of Italy, ran into the street carrying a crown made from ribbons and roses.
“Per voi la Signorina Harrison,”
she said, holding it in her hands.
“Una corona per la regina.”

Louisa beamed her. A crown? For her?
“Grazie,”
she said, placing the flowers on her head. The wreath was too big and slid down to her ears, but Louisa didn’t care. She grinned and flicked the ribbons over her shoulder.

There were more children. More flowers presented. Too many for Louisa to carry, so she began giving them to the women behind her, running from the front of the parade to the rear and back again. It became a game between her and the children, to see how fast she could run the gamut before another flower appeared. By the time they reached the fountain, she was laughing and gasping for breath.

“Told you the town wouldn’t care,” Nico whispered in her ear. She turned to discover his eyes glittered with laughter, too. “This is amazing,” she told him.

“You are having fun, then?”

Was he joking? What she was feeling at this moment was so much more than amusement. She felt free. All those years of being the outsider were but bad memories. She’d found a place where she’d belonged. A home.

To think, if Nico hadn’t gone to the palazzo the day the headlines broke—if he hadn’t insisted she stay—she might still be looking.

What would she have done without him?

“I’m having a wonderful time,” she said. She moved to throw her arms around him in a hug only to be thwarted by the enveloping crowd. Having emptied their baskets into three oversize half barrels, the marchers stood clapping rhythmically. “They’re waiting for you,” Nico told her. “The queen is the first to stomp the grapes.”

As though they’d been waiting, two of the men wearing medieval costumes appeared at her elbows and began guiding her forward. “Wait, wait,” she said, laughing. “I still have my shoes on.”

“Just kick them off,” a familiar voice hollered. Looking left, she saw Dani waving from a few feet away. “I’ll grab them for you,” her friend said.

She made her way to the front barrel that, despite its size, was overflowing with large bunches of purple grapes.

“I’m not doing this without my royal companion,” she said, looking over her shoulder.

Evidently the crowd thought this a wonderful idea, because a second later, Nico was pushed into the circle. As he stepped closer, his laugh faded to a mischievous gleam. “Now you’ve asked for it,
bella mia
.”

Grabbing her by the waist, he lifted her in the air and plopped her feetfirst into the barrel.

Louisa shrieked as the grapes squished between her toes. “It’s cold!”

“You expected a warm bath?” he asked with a laugh. Stepping into the barrel with her, he took her by the hands. “Be careful, it’s slippery.”

No kidding. The crushed grapes and skin quickly stuck to the bottom of the container, creating a layer of slickness. Twice already, she would have lost her balance if Nico hadn’t been holding her up. Still, as cold and slippery as the grapes were, it was fun marching in place. Particularly with Nico’s hands sending warmth up her arms.

A few minutes later, the rest of the crowd joined them, kicking off their shoes and crowding into the vats. Laughter abounded as everyone was eager to take their turn mashing the grapes to a pulp.