As Ruby listened, her heart filled with admiration and love for him. Surely her father would agree that Niccolò was a young man of the highest character.
More than that, Ruby was convinced that Niccolò was her soulmate.
They changed trains in Milano, and by the time they arrived in Varenna, the sun had crested the alpine ridge. Ruby was in awe. She stepped off the train at the small station and drank in the scent of honeysuckle that tumbled along a stone wall. Niccolò led her down narrow cobblestone streets to the edge of the lake.
“And there it is,” Niccolò said, speaking in a reverent tone. “Isn’t this a marvelous view?”
Ruby leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you brought me here.”
She had never seen terrain like this—except in the pages of National Geographic magazines in the mobile library van that visited the county once a month.
Spinning around to take in the view, she felt dizzy with sensory overload. Tall cypress trees, swaying palms, and leafy mulberry trees lined the banks. Standing here with a vast, crystalline lake lapping at her toes and snow-capped peaks rising majestically from the water’s edge to kiss the sky was a dream come true.
“I want to show you everything I love here,” Niccolò said, pointing across the lake. “There’s Bellagio on that triangular tip—we’ll go there—and there’s the ferry we’ll take, and we’ll have the finest food you’ve ever tasted.” He spun her around. “And up there, that castle, Castello di Vezio. We’ll explore that, too.”
“Does anyone live there?”
Niccolò shook his head. “It was built a thousand years ago for Teodolinda, the queen of Lombardia. Some say she still walks the grounds.”
Ruby slapped his shoulder and laughed. “I’m not going to a haunted castle.”
“It’s only a little bit haunted,” he said with a chuckle. “The villa that belongs to my aunt and uncle is not far from here. It’s an easy walk, and you can meet them and my cousins.”
He slung her bag over his shoulder, and they set off along a narrow lane. Stone walls rose steeply from the road, and mountains soared behind hillside homes. Golden butterflies flitted among azaleas and ferns as they walked, and Niccolò told her about how his mother’s family shared the small villa. Her elder brother inherited it, but it was for the entire family to enjoy when they visited.
Soon they turned onto a lane lined with oleander trees festooned with blazing pink flowers. The road led to a stone villa perched on a hill that sloped to the lake. All around them, roses bloomed in profusion, spilling over stone walls and climbing a sun-bleached pergola in wild abandon.
“Here, you can step outside the villa and enjoy a feast,” Niccolò said. He pointed out a variety of trees surrounding the house. “We have pomegranate, fig, chestnut, and olive trees. And over there is the citrus orchard with lemon, mandarin orange, citron, and grapefruit.”
“I love the thought of that,” Ruby said. Although it was too cold in the Texas hill country to grow much citrus, she loved the ruby red grapefruit shipped from McAllen near the Mexican border. All around her, the sweet scent of citrus blossoms perfumed the air. As they passed under an archway laden with purple wisteria, Niccolò slipped his arm around her waist, and Ruby thought this was the most romantic place she’d ever visited.
“Italy is such a beautiful country,” Niccolò said. “We’re spoiled. Long stretches of beaches, the rolling hills of Tuscany, the islands off our coastline, and this…a deep, clear lake filled with fish, and mountains topped with snow. Does Texas have anything like this?”
Ruby shook her head. “It’s a different, rugged sort of beauty. We’re in the hill country in the middle of the state. We have lakes, but we also have plains that stretch on forever. We have ancient oak trees, the sweetest pecans, and the meanest rattlesnakes. Rivers and streams that you can fish in and swimming holes where you can strip down on a hot day to cool off. It gets blistering hot in the summer, so we move the beds onto the screened-in porch where we sleep in the night breezes.”
“We have many types of winds here, too,” Niccolò said. “The gentle Tivano early in the morning from the north, and the stronger Breva just before noon from the south, among others. I’d like to see Texas sometime. I want to meet your parents and ride horses with you. It sounds like a John Wayne western film. Do you wear holsters and carry guns?”
“My grandpa did, but it’s not what you think now,” she said, laughing. “Still, we set up tin cans on the wooden fence for target practice. Out there, sometimes your life depends on your ability to shoot. You can’t sweet-talk a hungry mountain lion.”
Niccolò looked impressed. “Hollywood must be pretty different. Playground of the stars, right?”
“You’ve been reading too many fan magazines.” Ruby thought about the mild climate, palm trees that rustled in the breeze, and kids her age who spent weekends at the beach. “But I’m there to work, not play.”
“Do you go to the beach and surf?”
She laughed. “I’ve been once, but I didn’t surf. I work as much as I can.”
“And what are the guys like there?”
“Nothing like you.”
Niccolò grinned. “I saw Marlon Brando in Streetcar Named Desire.” He gave her a brooding frown and tucked a thumb into a belt loop, mimicking Brando. “And Gene Kelly in An American in Paris. Wow, the way he dances.” He did a fancy step and twirled her around. “People say Paris isn’t like that, but I haven’t been there. Have you ever met Frank Sinatra? His family is from Italy, you know. Liguria and Sicily. Oh man, what a voice.”
Just as he began to sing, I’m a Fool to Want You, Ruby burst out laughing. “I think you’re going to be a great actor.”
“I want to travel the world with you. We’ll see everything there is to see.” He took her in his arms. “Will you do that with me?”
“I’d love to,” she murmured. Niccolò’s enthusiasm was infectious.
Bending toward her, he teased her lips with his, brushing against her cheeks, smoothing a hand over her hair. Every nerve in her body tingled with delight at his touch. Compared to the clumsy pawing efforts of the boys she’d met at dances, Niccolò’s touch was gentle and respectful. They came together naturally—two halves of a perfect union.
“Cuore mio,” he murmured, dragging his lips along her neck.
Here, under the wisteria, the sun dappling their shoulders, Ruby yearned to tell Niccolò she loved him. Surely he already knew; surely he felt as she did.
She’d never dreamed she would fall in love in Italy. Closing her eyes, she knew her life would never be the same again. Niccolò was her destiny; she knew that as certainly as she knew her heart would beat from one moment to the next.
“Let’s go inside,” he said, his voice sounding thick.
Niccolò knocked, but there was no answer. His mother had given him a key, which he slipped into the old lock. Pushing open the door, he called out, but his voice only echoed in response.
Niccolò dropped their bags and led her into the kitchen, where propped against a wine bottle was a note. He read it. “They’ve gone to Como, but we’re welcome to use the villa.” He turned to her. “We have the place to ourselves.”