Tenting her hand above her eyes against the sun’s reflection off the shimmering lake, Ariana surveyed the vista stretching before her. Homes dotted the shoreline, and ferries and pleasure craft crossed the water. “We’re right on the lake,” Ariana said, struck by its beauty. As she stared, tension eased from her shoulders.
I could stare at this forever, Ariana thought, surprising herself. Glancing at Ruby, she saw her aunt was looking at her with smug triumph.
“You win,” Ariana said. “This is stunning. And the house has potential, I suppose.”
“And just look at these gardens,” Ruby said.
An untrimmed citrus grove flanked one side of the wide terrace, and a weedy flower garden lined the other. Climbing pink and white roses tangled together on a broken trellis while a voluptuous magenta bougainvillea with arching floral bracts encroached on a quaint gazebo.
“And here’s where yachts can pull alongside the steps,” Ruby said, gesturing to a wide stone staircase that led directly to the lake. Water lazily lapped the stone steps. “Imagine, door-to-door water taxi service.” She framed majestic, snow-capped peaks in the distance with her hands. “It looks like a painting. Isn’t this one of the most gorgeous views you’ve ever seen?”
“This is an incredible location.” And it must have cost her aunt quite a lot, despite the condition of the property. “Aunt Ruby, can you really afford this?”
Ruby waved her hand. “Years ago, I had an excellent agent who negotiated many of my film contracts with gross percentages. With videos, DVDs, streaming services, and all sorts of other distribution and remake deals, royalties have been flowing in and adding up for years.”
“But it’s another mortgage. And the repair costs…”
“Honestly, Ariana,” Ruby said, jabbing her hands on her hips. “Give me some credit. I paid cash for my Palm Springs house. Plus, I’ve invested well.” She raised her shoulders in an elaborate shrug. “What else will I do with it all?”
Ariana couldn’t begrudge Ruby her pleasure, though she couldn’t help wondering just how much her aunt was worth—not that it mattered much to her. All these years, Ruby seldom talked about money. “I suppose you have a point.”
“More important, I have an offer for you.” Ruby put an arm around Ariana. “Help me restore this home, and it’s yours when I pass on to that great theater in the sky.”
“Aunt Ruby, I can’t accept this.”
“Why not? Who else is there to leave it to? You and your daughter.”
Ariana made a face. “It might be a boy. Leave it to charity,” Ariana said. The thought of this much responsibility was overwhelming.
Ruby tapped Ariana on the chest. “If you want, you can give it to charity. But believe me, my favorite charities will be plenty happy with what I’ve already planned. Why shouldn’t I enjoy my last days in style?”
Ariana didn’t want to argue with her aunt over such a morbid thought. “You’ll live a long life. You’ve said so yourself.”
Again, Ariana wondered about her aunt’s motivation for buying a home here. Ruby was shrewd. She’d surrounded herself with equally smart agents and managers. One didn’t reach the top of the entertainment industry and stay there by accident. Yet, Ruby’s generosity was legendary as well. Several young female directors owed their career breaks to her, as she’d funded their initial projects.
Ruby twirled around the terrace, her long, turquoise silk skirt fluttering in the breeze. Her aunt lived for self-expression and connection. Throwing parties and introducing friends made her happy. She loved connecting people, and many had benefitted from her introductions.
Chuckling at the absurdity of it all, Ariana went back inside. Matteo followed her.
“I want you to know that I didn’t influence your aunt,” Matteo said earnestly. “Signora Ruby has a strong will. She asked me to take photos, but I had no idea she would buy the villa. Most tourists look at property and dream about living here, but few people act. I just thought she was a nice middle-aged woman on a sightseeing trip.”
Even though middle-aged was a compliment, Ruby would still bristle at that term because it sounded so pedestrian, and she was perennially young at heart. “You didn’t recognize her?”
“Not until she mentioned she had been in films.” He looked sheepish. “I read a lot.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” Ariana could understand. Even working in the industry, she couldn’t keep up with all the stars on every streaming series. But because of that explosion in television series, there was more work than ever for actors, writers, and behind-the-scenes workers like herself.
Ariana glanced at the dirty floors. She had less than a month now. Feeling frustrated, Ariana shook her head. “I have a job to go back to in Los Angeles, and a boss who wouldn’t understand if I’m even a day late.” And a doctor to check in with. She chewed the side of her mouth.
Kingsley probably thought she was on her honeymoon since she hadn’t been in touch with the studio. Nor had she invited anyone from the studio to her wedding, preferring to keep her private life private. Only a few of her closest friends from school were at the little chapel. But would Phillip broadcast the news?
The last thing she wanted was for her boss to insist she return to work. She could just hear Kingsley now. No marriage, no honeymoon? No vacation. We need you here. Come back.
No, this was the only way she could take a break that she desperately needed. Ariana seldom took her vacation time, and she had more weeks accrued than anyone else. She’d need them soon. For the baby.
Ruby whisked through the door, her turquoise and coral silk scarf billowing around her. “Ariana, darling, would you take notes as we go through the house?”
“Notes?”
“Well, of course. If we’re moving in at the end of the week, we have a lot to do.”
“Excuse me,” Ariana said as she followed Ruby through an elaborate hall. “We’re not staying at the hotel?”
“No longer than needed. Why would we stay there when we have this gorgeous place?”
As Ruby twirled her hand in the air, her silver bracelets jingled. “Formal dining room here—just look at that chandelier. A music room there—with a piano, aren’t we lucky?” She stopped and swung open a door. “And the kitchen, voila.”
“Oh, wow…” Ariana stepped inside the cavernous space, a 1950s professional kitchen with vivid, hand-painted Italian tiles covering the backsplashes and counters. In the center of the room, a stainless-steel cooking station stretched out. Cooktops, griddles, grills, and prep stations topped a bank of ovens. She ran her hand along the surface. The medallion on the tomato-red porcelain read Bertazzoni.
“Imagine the banquets that have been served from this kitchen,” Ruby said, her eyes sparkling.
Ariana shook her head. “Kind of wasted on me. All I need is a coffee pot and a microwave.”
Behind them, Matteo coughed. “But this is Italy.”
“And that means…?” Ariana was nonplussed.
“Food and wine are like making love here,” Ruby said as Matteo looked slightly embarrassed, though he nodded in agreement. “The freshest ingredients, the finest wine. Slow cooking, slow living. We’ll take our time making meals—osso buco or risotto alla Milanese with saffron, lake trout or perch. We’ll watch the sun set, share wine from Montevecchia, Brianza, and Valtellina. Oh, darling, we’ll make many new, wonderful friends.”