of cool, clinical detachment, she could imagine that consummation so vividly. Wonderfully. And she didn’t want to wait. She took another sip of coffee, hiding her face from Vittorio’s knowing gaze. She wasn’t about to admit as much, not when Vittorio was all too content to delay the event.
‘Thank you for that sensitivity,’ she murmured after a moment, and Vittorio nodded and returned to his list.
‘I thought a small wedding, but do let me know if there is anyone in particular you would like to invite.’
‘I’ll have to think about it.’
‘I realize if we invited only some of the local winemakers, others will be insulted at not being included,’ Vittorio continued. ‘So I thought not to invite any…We’ll have a party at the castle a few days after the wedding. Everyone can come then.’
‘All right.’ Ana wished she could contribute something more coherent to this conversation other than her mindless murmured agreements. Yet she couldn’t; her mind was spinning with these new developments, realizations. Implications.
In a short while—as little as two weeks—they could be married. Would be married. Her hand trembled and she put the coffee cup back in its saucer with an inelegant clatter.
‘We will need witnesses, of course, for the ceremony,’ Vittorio said, reaching for his own cup. If he noticed Ana’s agitation, he did not remark on it. ‘Is there a woman friend in particular you would like to stand witness?’
‘Yes, a friend from university.’ Paola was still her best friend, although they saw each other infrequently ever since her friend had married a Sicilian. She’d moved south and had babies. Ana had moved home, caring for her father and the winery. ‘She’ll be surprised,’ Ana said a bit wryly. She could only imagine Paola’s shock when she told her she was getting married, and so suddenly. ‘And what about you? Who will you have as your witness?’
‘I thought your father.’
‘My father!’ Ana couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice; she didn’t even try. ‘But…’
‘He is a good man.’
‘What about your brother?’
‘No.’ Vittorio’s voice was flat and when his gaze met Ana’s his eyes looked hard, even unfriendly. ‘We are not close.’
There was a world of knowledge in that statement, Ana knew, a lifetime of memory and perhaps regret. She longed to ask why—what—but she knew now was not the time. ‘Very well.’
Vittorio finished his coffee and folded his list back into his breast pocket. ‘I assume I can leave the details of your dress and flowers to you?’ he asked. His eyebrow arched, a hint of a smile around his mouth, he added, ‘You will wear a dress?’
Ana managed a smile back. ‘Yes. For my own wedding, I think I can manage a dress.’
‘Good. Then I’ll leave you to work now. I thought you could come to dinner this Friday, at the castle. You will need to meet my family.’ Again that hardness, that darkness.
Ana nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’
And then he was gone. He rose from the table, shook her hand and left the office as if it had just been another business meeting, which, Ana recognized, of course it had.
That evening, over dinner, she told her father. She could have told him that morning, but something had held her back. Perhaps it was her own reluctance to admit she’d done something that seemed so foolhardy, so desperate. Yet, now the wedding was a mere fortnight away, she could hardly keep such news from her father, especially if Vittorio intended for him to stand as witness.
‘I said yes to Vittorio, Papà,’ Ana said as they finished the soup course. Her voice came out sounding rather flat.
Enrico lowered his spoon, his eyes widening in surprise, a smile blooming across his dear wrinkled face. ‘But Ana! Dolcezza! That is wonderful.’
‘I hope it will be,’ Ana allowed, and Enrico nodded in understanding.
‘You are nervous? Afraid?’
‘A bit.’
‘He is a good man.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’
Enrico cocked his head. ‘You aren’t sure?’
Ana considered this. ‘I would hardly marry a bad man, Papà.’ Vittorio was a good man, she knew. Honourable, just, moral. She thought of that hardness in his eyes and voice when he spoke of his family. He was a good man, but was he a gentle man? Then she remembered the whisper of his thumb on her cheek, the soft words of comfort. It’s all right…rondinella.
She didn’t know what to think. What to believe or even to hope for.
‘I am happy for you,’ Enrico said, reaching over to cover her hand with his own. ‘For you both. When is