She wore an apron the next day, washing dishes with Alessia at her side. They caught each other’s eyes and suppressed smiles. Tabitha had promised them an American breakfast and had made a batch of pancakes. She couldn’t find maple syrup in the small bottega near Giovanni’s house, so she’d topped them with jam and Nutella. Now they scrubbed the dishes together, splashing suds on each other and taking great pains not to let Giovanni see them horsing around. He sat at the table with Nicoletta, helping her with math studies, and pretended to glare at Alessia every time she squealed. But when Tabitha caught his eye, he winked at her, with a tiny smile that told her volumes.

Nicoletta was brash and mouthy, wore her heart on her sleeve and let her emotions carry her away if her father or sister didn’t step in to soothe her. Alessia stood back and studied every situation. She wanted people around her happy. She grew dismayed at any show of anger or ugliness, and Nicoletta would quickly rush to protect her, to shelter her. Tabitha felt an incredible affection for both of the girls. Nicoletta, with her impulsive ways and loud mouth, would get herself into trouble, fall in love with the wrong person over and over again, and wind up brokenhearted more times than she could count. Tabitha did not wish this on her, but she suspected it to be the truth. Alessia would remain steady, would absorb the pain of others and be able to open her heart to help them heal when they most needed it. Tabitha had an incredible urge to pull her into a hug and then call Gabrielle. We need these strong, quiet ones, she thought.

There was a knock at the door, and Giovanni stood to answer it, calling instructions over his shoulder as he left the table. Tabitha and Alessia took the opportunity of his absence to flick suds in each other’s faces and dissolve into giggles.

“Mama!” Nicoletta called, jumping from the table and rushing into the arms of the most stunning woman Tabitha had ever seen. Aurelia pulled her daughter into an embrace, then leaned back and smoothed Nicoletta’s hair out of her face. She spoke in crisp, precise English, without a trace of an accent. “Your father tells me you have forgotten all about our weekend. It’s so late in the morning—why aren’t you dressed?”

A flash of anger crossed Nicoletta’s face, and she jerked her head away so her curls fell wildly around her face again. Tabitha looked past them to Giovanni, who stood helplessly behind them, his hands at his sides.

Alessia stood stricken and immobilized for the briefest moment before she pulled a towel from the rack and went to greet her mother.

“You have soap in your hair,” her mother said, making a tsk-ing noise as she took the towel from her hand and wiped the suds out of Alessia’s dark curls. Aurelia hadn’t yet looked up, but even without eye contact, Tabitha knew in her bones that this woman had assessed her already. After kissing the top of Alessia’s head, Aurelia handed the towel back to her and finally turned her full attention to Tabitha. Tabitha could only stare dumbly, as if she were gazing directly into the sun.

“And you. You are an American, so naturally, you don’t speak Italian.”

Taken aback, Tabitha nonetheless refused to let herself glance down, make any nervous adjustments to her clothes or hair. Though she desperately wanted to. Before this goddess arrived, she was so comfortable in her lounge clothes—cotton drawstring pajama pants of Giovanni’s and a soft, old t-shirt. She’d pulled the apron on over her head when she started breakfast and hadn’t bothered to smooth out her hair, which she knew must be sticking out in wild pink spikes all over her skull. Neither Giovanni nor the girls had commented on her appearance all morning; it only looked weird now, in front of this woman who was taking up all of the oxygen in the tiny farmhouse kitchen. Every line on Amelia was sharp and polished.

Giovanni took two steps to Tabitha’s side immediately. “This is my friend Tabitha. She’s a sommelier from America. Staying here with us for now.” Tabitha saw one of Aurelia’s eyebrows rise slightly at the word “friend,” but she kept her face otherwise impassive.

“You must be why everyone has forgotten I was picking up my daughters this weekend.”

“It’s my fault,” Giovanni answered before Tabitha could open her mouth. “Her visit was something of a surprise. We’ve been busy, and lost track of a few things during her visit.”

Aurelia turned her glittering eyes on Giovanni, but before she could answer, he turned to the girls. “Go pack your bags. Andiamo! We will finish this project when you get home.”

Nicoletta had already shoved her books into her bag and run into their bedroom, but Alessia remained, staring at the adults as if unsure how the conversation might play out. She looked at Tabitha as she folded her kitchen towel and placed it carefully on the counter. “I’m sorry I can’t help you finish the washing,” she said.

Tabitha’s heart nearly cracked when she looked into her eyes, so sensitive and worried about the feelings of everyone in the room. She plastered a smile on her face and answered brightly, “It’s no problem! I can finish it myself. Thanks for your help.” She nodded at Alessia, who seemed relieved, and then glanced at her mother and seemed confused again.

Giovanni took her hand. “I’ll help you.” He led her out of the kitchen but turned back and murmured to Aurelia, “Comportati bene.”

Alone in the kitchen, the women stared at each other. Aurelia’s eyes traveled slowly down Tabitha’s body, taking in the lack of makeup, the rumpled pajamas, the fuzzy socks on her feet. Tabitha could feel the cold from her eyes as it went over her skin. Then she swept back up to look her in the eye.

The urge to chatter nervously came over Tabitha, an urge so intense that she had to bite her tongue to keep the words from spilling out of her mouth. She wanted to talk, to cover up this spiky silence that threatened to tear off her skin. But she kept still, not flinching, not speaking, not letting her gaze waver from Aurelia’s mineral-flecked eyes.

Giovanni returned to the room, glancing at the women. Tabitha was nearly trembling with the effort not to speak, but she met his gaze. Aurelia had not moved a muscle. When the girls entered behind their father, she greeted them with a smile. “Finalmente! Siete pronte a stare con la mamma!” She turned back to Tabitha and extended her hand. “It was so lovely to meet you.”

Aurelia leaned in to peck Giovanni on the cheek; he submitted with an amused look on his face and then embraced both of the girls, kissing the tops of their heads and murmuring into their ears.

Alessia leaned in for a kiss on both cheeks as if it were a perfectly normal interaction. Nicoletta did the same, but then surprised Tabitha by flinging her arms around her shoulders.

“You’ll be here? When we come home?” Tabitha glanced up at Giovanni, whose chin moved just a fraction in a nod.

Tabitha kissed the top of the girl’s head. “I’ll be here, cara. When you come home.”

“She reminds me of my mother.”

Giovanni nodded. “She was surprised to find you there today. This is the first time she has seen me with another woman. She is shocked that she no longer has a hold on me.”

He pushed back a tree branch so that Tabitha could duck under it. They walked a new path every day, sometimes talking, sometimes just holding hands and breathing in the air around them.

“She’s very beautiful.” The words tasted metallic in Tabitha’s mouth, but she said them anyway. It had to be acknowledged. There was no way to pretend that Aurelia wasn’t extraordinary to look at.

To his credit, Giovanni didn’t try to deny the obvious fact, or worse, pit the women against each other. “She is.”

“Do you miss her?”

He thought for a long time before he answered.

“I was alone when I was married to her. Then we divorced, and I learned it was better to be alone without her.”

They walked for a long time along the ridge that encircled his small town. A path had been worn into the overgrowth, and they alternated between fields and dense forest areas.

“How many lovers have walked here before us?” she wondered.

“Thousands. Perhaps millions.”

“Warriors, too, maybe.” They had reached the ruins of a castle, overgrown by years of neglect.

“This is not Scotland. Italians don’t fight. We are lovers.”

Tabitha laughed. “Is that so? You Italians just peacefully build castles and live there happily ever after? The princes and peasants were all just as jolly as could be?”

“Do you want to walk to the top?” He pointed to an open door at the base of a corner tower.

“Inside? Are you on drugs?”

He looked to the tower and then back at her with a quizzical expression.

“We go up there all the time, ever since I was a child.”

“But we can’t just go in there. Doesn’t someone own this place?”

“It is Italian. We all own it.”

He took her hand and pulled her inside the darkened tower. She could smell the mineral dampness from years of neglect and put her hand on the rough stone to steady herself along the curving staircase.

“This would never happen in America. There is not even a handrail! One person would fall off this staircase and sue someone else, and then no one would ever be allowed near here again.”

“Italians don’t fall off stairs,” he said.

Tabitha’s laugh echoed off the walls and rang in the air. She turned her head up to the light coming from the top of the tower, trusting her feet to fall in place on the stone stairways. Giovanni walked a few steps in front of her, and she had been gripping the waistband of his pants for safety as she walked. But now she let go, letting her hands fall to her side, relying on her own footfalls.

They reached the top and clambered out on top of the tower, ringed by only a few feet of stone, and surveyed the valley below them. The golden hills below them, the lush woods to the west, the sound of a running creek on the east side of the castle. She circled the tower slowly, examining the land, breathing in the wonder of the beautiful country.

“You can have the world,” she murmured, “if I can have Italy.”

Giovanni remained still, watching her drink in the scenery around her, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

His eyes never left her face. “I like watching you see this place.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Do I still need to seduce you?”

Tabitha met his eyes across the tower and smiled at him. He took steps around the edge toward her, but she continued her circle so they remained on opposite sides of the stairway.

“No. You don’t need to seduce me anymore. I’m seduced. But you can pretend I’m not and keep trying. I like it.”

“We used to chase each other around in these hills. All of the kids from my village. The boys played swordfights through this castle. I fell once, and broke my arm”—he pointed to a wall along the north embankment—“off that wall. I thought I was a pirate.”

They continued their circle, eyeing each other like prey.

“When I was twelve, a girl kissed me up here.”

“Oh, of course. Portia. Who now makes cheese, correct?”

“Correct.”

“She chased you?”

“I was shy.”

“What about Aurelia?”

He looked startled, almost as if he’d forgotten about his ex-wife.

“I did not meet Aurelia until college. She was from Milano. Not the country.” He never broke his stride as he circled toward Tabitha.

“How many girls did you kiss up here?”

“Thousands. All the girls in the village.”

“Oh, you are a funny guy.” Tabitha rolled her eyes, but could not wipe the grin off her face.

“The rumor in my village is that you can only have a happy marriage if you propose to your wife on this tower.”

Tabitha scoffed. “And scores of divorced people throughout Italy don’t disprove that rule?”

He stopped walking, and Tabitha paused too, watching his face as he seemed to shuffle through his memory.

“My parents are still married. My uncle and aunt as well. Everyone I know who proposed up here is still married. I did not propose to Aurelia here.”

“Why not?”

He moved his shoulders in a sad half-shrug that said nothing but also pointed at everything in his past.

“She did not like this area. Never liked the village. It was not special enough to stand outdoors in a tower to become engaged.”

“This must have been before you started making that magical Prosecco. Because we all know that can melt even the coldest of all ice queens.”

“I was making it then. But I proposed to her with French Champagne.”

“Hunh. I accepted Royal’s proposal at the base of the Eiffel Tower. Surrounded by tourists. I was mortified, but at the time I thought it was excitement.” He smiled at her then, and they continued strolling slowly. “Why do you think we do that? Try to convince ourselves that we are right for someone, or that they are right for us? And then we work so damn hard to make it right? The signs were always there. We just didn’t bother to look at them.”

She stopped walking, and Giovanni started to close the gap between them.

“We want to be loved,” he said. “We convince ourselves the person is right because we don’t know that love is supposed to feel good.”

She had stopped walking, and he reached her in a few steps. They faced each other, and she looked into his sad brown eyes, the tenderness in them taking her breath away.

“How many girls did you kiss up here?”

“The girl when I was twelve. And now you.”

He took her hand in his, and with his other hand he stroked his long fingers down her cheek and lifted her chin. She leaned in and let her lips touch his; a tender kiss, warm and gentle. Her mouth parted to meet him, and she dropped his hand to put her palms on his arms. She raised them slowly, feeling his arms beneath her hands as his mouth continued to explore hers. Her hands clasped behind his neck.

Seduced.