Rebecca Winters - The Vineyards Of Calanetti

Louisa drew in a quick breath. “You know, I wasn’t going to mention this because it’s not my business, but now that you brought it up... Don’t you think it’s kind of telling that you hopped on a plane to Italy rather than accept your boyfriend’s proposal?”

“I already had this trip scheduled.”

“Do you love this guy?”

Dani hesitated, thinking of her last conversation with Paul and how he’d ordered her not to call him anymore. The real kicker wasn’t his demand. It was that it hadn’t affected her. She didn’t miss their short, irrelevant conversations. In six months, she hadn’t really missed him.

Oh, God. That was the thing her easy, intense attraction to Rafe was really pointing out. Her relationship to Paul might provide a measure of security, but she didn’t love him.

She fell to a kitchen chair.

“Oh, sweetie. If you didn’t jump up and down for joy when this guy proposed, and you find yourself attracted to another man, you do not want to accept that proposal.”

Dani slumped even further in her seat. “I know.”

“You should go back to Mancini’s and tell Rafe that.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No. No! He’s way too much for me. Too intense. Too everything . He has me working twelve-hour days when I’m supposed to be on holiday finding my foster mother’s relatives, enjoying some time with them before I go home.”

“You’re leaving me?”

Dani raised her eyes to meet Louisa’s. “You’ve always known I was only here for a month. I have just over two weeks left. I need to start looking for the Felice family now.” She smiled hopefully because she suddenly, fervently didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want the thoughts about Rafe that would undoubtedly haunt her now that she knew she couldn’t accept Paul’s proposal. “Come with me.”

“To Rome?”

“You need a break from studying everything that’s wrong with the villa. I have to pay for a room anyway. We can share it. Then we can come back and I’ll still have time to help you catalog everything that needs to be fixed.”

Louisa’s face saddened. “And then you’ll catch a plane and be gone for good.”

Dani rose. “Not for good.” She caught Louisa’s hands. “We’re friends. You’ll stay with me when you have to come back to the States. I’ll visit you here in Italy.”

Louisa laughed. “I really could use a break from staring at so many things that need repairing and trying to figure out how I’m going to get it all done.”

“So it’s set. Let’s pack now and go.”

Within an hour, they were at the bus station. With Mancini’s and Rafe off the list of conversation topics, they chitchatted about the scenery that passed by as their bus made its way to Rome. Watching Louisa take it all in, as if trying to memorize the country in which she now owned property, a weird sense enveloped Dani. It was clear that everything was new, unique to Louisa. But it all seemed familiar to Dani, as if she knew the trees and grass and chilly February hills, and when she returned to the US she would miss them.

Which was preposterous. She was a New York girl. She needed the opportunities a big city provided. She’d never lived in the country. So why did every tree, every landmark, every winding road seem to fill a need inside her?

The feeling followed her to Rome. To the alleyways between the quaint buildings. To the sidewalk cafés and bistros. To the Colosseum, museums and fountains she took Louisa to see.

And suddenly the feeling named itself. Home . What she felt on every country road, at every landmark, gazing at every blue, blue sky and grassy hill was the sense that she was home.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She told herself she wasn’t home. She was merely familiar with Italy now because she’d lived in Rome for months. Though that made her feel better for a few minutes, eventually she realized that being familiar with Rome didn’t explain why she’d felt she belonged at Mancini’s.

She shoved that thought away. She did not belong at Mancini’s.

The next day, Dani and Louisa found Rosa’s family and were invited to supper. The five-course meal began, reminding her of Rafe, of his big, elaborate dinners, the waitresses who were becoming her friends, the customers who loved her.The weepy sense that she had lost her home filled her. Rightly or wrongly, she’d become attached to Mancini’s, but Rafe had fired her.

She had lost the place where she felt strong and smart and capable. The place where she was making friends who felt like family. The place where she—no matter how unwise—was falling for a guy who made her breath stutter and her knees weak.

Because the guy she felt so much for had fired her.

Her brave facade fell away and she excused herself. In the bathroom, she slid down the wall and let herself cry. She’d never been so confused in her life.

* * *

“Rafe, there’s a customer who’d like to talk to you.”

Rafe set down his knife and walked to Mila, who stood in front of the door that led to the dining room. “Great, let’s go.”

Pleased to be getting a compliment, he reached around Mila and pushed open the door for her. Since Dani had gone, compliments had been fewer and farther between. He needed the boost.

Mila paused by a table with two twentysomething American girls. Wearing thick sweaters and tight jeans, they couldn’t hide their tiny figures. Or their ages. Too old for college and too young to have amassed their own fortunes, they appeared to be the daughters of wealthy men, in Europe, spending their daddies’ money. Undoubtedly, they’d heard of him. Bored and perhaps interested in playing with a celebrity chef, they might be looking for some fun. If he handled this right, one of them could be sharing Chianti with him that night.

Ignoring the tweak of a reminder of sharing that wine with Dani, her favorite, he smiled broadly. “What can I do for you ladies?”

“Your ravioli sucked.”

That certainly was not what he’d expected.

He bowed slightly, having learned a thing or two from his former hostess. He ignored the sadness that shot through him at even the thought of her, and said, “Allow me to cover your bill.”

“Cover our bill?” The tiny blonde lifted a ravioli with her fork and let it plop to her plate. “You should pay us for enduring even a bite of this drivel.”

The dough of that ravioli had serenaded his palms as he worked it. The sweet sauce had kissed his tongue. The problem wasn’t his food but the palates of the diners.

Still, remembering Dani, he held his temper as he gently reached down and took the biceps of the blonde. “My apologies.” He subtly guided her toward the door. The woman was totally cooperative until they got to the podium, and then she squirmed as if he was hurting her, and made a hideous face. Her friend snapped a picture with her phone.

“Get it on Instagram!” the blonde said as they raced out the door. “Rafe Mancini sinks to new lows!”

Furious, Rafe ran after them, but they jumped into their car and peeled out of his parking lot before he could catch them.

After a few well-aimed curses, he counted to forty. Great. Just when he thought rumors of his temper had died, two spoiled little girls were about to resurrect them.

He returned to the quiet dining room. Taking another page from Dani’s book, he said, “I’m sorry for the disturbance. Everyone, please, enjoy your meals.”

A few diners glanced down. One woman winced. A couple or two pretended to be deep in conversation, as if trying to avoid his misery.

With a weak smile, he walked into the kitchen, over to his workstation and picked up a knife.

Emory scrambled over and whispered, “You’re going to have to find her.”