[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.It was his personal favorite.If he knew her, she’d have something to say, whether he agreed with it or not.When it came to the table, he took a sip and nodded his approval.Isabel noticed the Montessori label.“Your own wine,” she noted.“Doesn’t it bother you to have to pay for it?”“Not at all.I’m glad to see they serve it here.It’s a ’97 Benolvio that my grandfather was especially proud of.”She sipped it slowly.But did she appreciate the subtle nuances in the taste? How could she? “Very nice,” she said.“Did it ever win any prizes?”“No, but it should have.We may make a wine aficionado out of you yet.”Surprised, she blurted, “Was that a compliment?”He only shrugged.Maybe she’d learn to appreciate wine, maybe not.That wasn’t his purpose in bringing her here.He didn’t know exactly why he’d done that.Maybe because it was a place few tourists knew about.Or maybe because this was where he and Magdalena had often come and he wanted to exorcise the demons.To prove to himself he could enjoy the food and the atmosphere without thinking about her.While Isabel was looking around the room, he glanced at her.She wasn’t the beauty Magdalena was.But he wasn’t the only man looking at her.Maybe it was because she was American, maybe it was her hair, a spot of riotous color in this dim restaurant.Other heads turned and other eyes watched her as she drank her wine along with drinking in the ambience.If only he could get her to relax she might put aside her defenses and realize what everyone knew—the Azienda was not the place for her.He gave her credit for wanting it and wanting to make a go of it.Nothing wrong with a healthy dose of ambition.But she wouldn’t last a week in that place.Maybe not even a day and a night.No matter how much gumption she had, she’d have to be rescued from the bats who flew into her bedroom and the boars that tore up the vines at night.Who else would do it but him?Maybe it was the wine or the light from the sconces on the palace walls, but from across the table he thought she looked more at ease.Her shoulders were no longer stiff as if on military alert, her cheeks had a healthy flush and her warm gaze scanned the room.Maybe she just needed some time to get used to the idea of giving up the Azienda.He could only hope.His gaze was fastened on her, studying her, trying to figure her out.He was glad he’d brought her here.She ought to see something of Sicily besides a worn-out vineyard.She should leave here with happy memories of the island and not feel she’d failed.He knew what that felt like and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.She’d go home with a pocketful of cash, enough to do whatever she wanted to do.Or even stay here, buy a cottage, one that needed no remodeling.He was encouraged to see her let down her guard.And not just because it would make his job easier.She usually looked like she was braced for the worst.What had happened in her life to teach her to be on alert all the time?“What did you do before you left California?” he asked.He’d planned to make polite conversation.But he found he was curious about her.She set her glass down.“I was a graphic artist.”He glanced at her hand on the table, noticing her graceful tapered fingers.He could imagine her in front of an easel with a paintbrush in those delicate fingers.“You’re an artist?”“Of a sort.It’s not like being a painter or a sculptor.I create images for the purpose of selling products for customers.”“Don’t you ever want to paint or draw something for yourself?”“I’m not good enough.”“Why don’t you draw pictures of grapes instead of growing them? I guarantee it will be easier.”“I was thinking I could do both.I plan to design a wine label for myself and my wine.” She picked up the bottle from the ice bucket on the table and studied it.“Look at this.The label doesn’t say anything about your wine.And it’s dated as well.You need something that tells the customer about your product.Something fresh and new.This is old.”“So is the wine,” he said.“It would make a big difference in customer perception.I could design something new for you if you like.”“Thanks, but no thanks.This is the Montessori label.It’s what people know.What they’re used to.And what they look for when they want a fine wine.May I remind you you know nothing about our wine or our tradition?”“Maybe not, but I know something about labels and what sells.” She leaned across the table, her eyes glowing, an intensity in her gaze he hadn’t seen before.She was all earnest and eager to share her knowledge with him.She had confidence in herself, he gave her that.“How are your sales?” she asked.“Fine,” he said brusquely.He would never admit to her they could be better.Why risk changing a label and bucking tradition on the slim hope sales might be improved? A gold medal would improve their sales.Nothing else.“Then keep your labels,” she said, “but when I bottle my wine…”He felt as though a cold wind had blown across the table all the way from the Alps.She’d said when not if.She was a dreamer, and dreamers are not easily convinced to do the right thing.The practical thing.If he didn’t find her a house to buy today, he’d promised to help her harvest her grapes.He’d better think of something irresistible to show her.She was cut off in mid sentence when the waiter brought the appetizer he’d ordered, a small plate of gnocchi in gorgonzola-and-pistachio sauce.Her eyes widened and she inhaled the aroma of the rich sauce.She took a bite and nodded slowly
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]