face, studying my features as if trying to convince himself that I was real. “I got your message and I knew you were arriving today, but still, I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Hi,” I said, feeling unaccountably shy.
He shook his head as if still registering that I was actually standing right in front of him. I understood. I was certain I was staring at him the same way. He kissed my cheeks and then hugged me again.
“So many times, I have imagined you standing right there waiting for me, just like you used to so long ago, and now here you are,” he said. His deep accented voice curled around me like a hug. “I was so happy to hear from you, dolcezza.”
I sighed when he called me sweetheart in Italian just like he used to when we were dating. “Oh, Marcellino, it’s so good to see you.”
I stepped back to study his face and was pleased to note he looked exactly as I remembered. Oh, sure, there were faint lines in the corners of his eyes, and the boyish softness had left his jawline, making it firmer and more chiseled, which only made him even more handsome. I liked that he had become a substantial part of the vineyard that he loved so much. I wondered how the rest of his life had worked out, but I wasn’t sure how to ask.
“Come, let’s get you settled,” he said. He took my hand and laced his fingers with mine. He stared at me as if he was afraid I might vanish. “How long will you be here? Where are your friends? You mentioned being here with guests for the wine festival.”
“They won’t be here for a few days,” I said. I leaned against him in a flirty way that was so not me—well, not me lately, but maybe the me who had been here seven years ago? Was that me then? Or was it me now? Because it occurred to me that I could totally see myself leaning against Knightley. I felt my smile waver as I realized I missed him. I shook my head, trying to be present. This was the moment I’d been working toward.
If Marcellino noticed that I was going banana balls right in front of him, he didn’t remark on it. Instead, he said, “We must . . . how do you say . . . catch up, sì?”
“Sì,” I said with a laugh. “I’d like that.”
“Bene,” he said. “Now come have lunch with me.”
He grinned at me and put his hand on my lower back. Together we walked through the courtyard, retrieving my bag, which Marcellino carried as easily as if it were full of air, and into the castle through a doorway that was reserved for staff. Instead of taking me to the staff lounge on the first floor, where we used to spend time together, Marcellino opened a door to the right and took the spiral staircase that led up to the residential second floor.
I looked at him in surprise. “We’re going up there? Isn’t that where the owner—oh, wait. Are you . . . ?”
“Yes, when I bought the vineyard, it came with the castle,” he said. He grinned at me as I put an embarrassed hand over my face. I knew he’d bought the vineyard, but somehow I hadn’t really thought about the fact that it included the castle.
“This is so crazy. I always wondered what the second floor looked like.” The previous owners had been very private.
“I hope you like it, dolcezza,” he said. He sounded very invested in my response, which made me nervous even though I was certain I was overthinking it. Well, even if I hated it, I would pretend to love it, because that was just polite. Right?
We went through a doorway at the top of the stairs and entered the kitchen. It was completely modern with quartz counters, copper pots, and the latest appliances. Clearly, I was not going to have to fake a thing.
“Wow, this is beautiful,” I said.
The interior of the medieval castle was the same blush-colored stone as the exterior, but instead of being cold and dark, it boasted floor-to-ceiling arched windows that looked out over the vineyard, plus enormous fireplaces that took up whole walls and were painted bright white, while track lighting illuminated the overbearing dark wooden beams that ran across the ceiling.
“How about a glass of Chianti?” he asked. He opened a small wine chiller, which kept the Chianti at