Modern Romance September 2018 Books 5-8. Heidi Rice
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with a grin.
“Amazing,” she said, shivering.
“Don’t worry. There’s a modern wing that’s a little more livable. This way.”
It was funny, she thought. For all her life, since her mother had read her fairy tales as a child, Tess had dreamed of castles. As a student, she’d pasted pictures of famous castles on the cover of her writing notebooks. From a distance, the castle of Gioreale had indeed looked majestic and awe-inspiring.
As she walked through the windowless hallways, she was forced to face the hard truth that old castles were indeed dark, cold and uncomfortable inside. Sometimes, it seemed, reality was not nearly as good as the fantasy.
But sometimes... Tess looked at Stefano’s broad shoulders as he walked ahead of her, carrying their luggage. Sometimes it was even better.
“In here,” Stefano said, pushing a thick oak door open. Following him, she gasped.
They were in a traditional great hall, with a fireplace as tall as Stefano. The high ceiling had exposed beams and was painted with old family crests and insignias. There were windows, and the furniture looked comfortable and new. Well, comparatively new. Golden light flooded in from lead-paned windows overlooking the cloistered courtyard.
“The modern wing,” he said.
“Modern?” she said faintly.
“Sí.” He grinned. “It’s only three hundred years old.”
“Only!”
Setting down their luggage, Stefano looked at the crackling fire in the fireplace. “It’s strange we haven’t seen any of the staff. Maybe they’re in the kitchen.”
With Esme in her arms, Tess followed him down a different hallway, then another. Finally he pushed open a door. Inside was a gleaming kitchen—far more modern than three hundred years old—filled with people. They were all bustling about, preparing food.
A woman gave a shocked cry as a dish shattered against the tile floor.
A short white-haired woman pushed through the crowded kitchen. Her wrinkled face lit up as she stared up at Stefano in shock. With a cry, she threw her arms around him. Tenderly he hugged her back, speaking in rapid Italian.
Stefano finally pulled away, looking a little sheepish, but happy for all that. “Tess, I’d like you to meet Gerlanda, my old nanny. She’s now housekeeper here.” He looked down at the white-haired woman, now wiping her tears with an apron. “Gerlanda, I’d like you to meet my bride from America, Tess, and our daughter, Esme.”
The elderly woman’s eyes went wide, and then she gave a joyful cry. Turning back to the others, she said a few quick words in a strange dialect of Italian—Sicilian?—and all the others began to exclaim joyfully as well. Tess found herself surrounded by smiling people, all patting her shoulder and stroking the baby’s head, welcoming her in English, in Italian or just by the warmth on their faces.
“Thank you, thank you.” Gerlanda shook her hand joyfully at Tess. “For bringing him here.” Tears were streaking her kind face. “Welcome, my princess.”
Awed by all the raucous, noisy delight now filling the gleaming kitchen, Tess turned to look at her husband.
They all hated my father, he’d said. I doubt they’ll be glad to see me.
From the happy shouts and tears, she saw he’d been completely wrong.
“What are you all doing here?” Stefano said, looking at the platters of food being assembled on the marble counter. “Is there a party?”
The others burst into laughter and a cacophony of Italian and Sicilian.
“The festival of harvest,” one of them explained, glancing in Tess’s direction. She realized they were speaking in English so she’d understand and was touched at their kindness.
“It will be our biggest one ever, since we also celebrate the success of the winery.”
“It’s doing well?” Stefano sounded mystified. The people around him laughed, their faces in broad smiles.
“Our Moscato—it just got the top rating from a famous wine critic.”
“The bottle price, it will go very high.”
“Extremely high.”
“More tourists will come to Gioreale. More hotels to open, more restaurants, more everything,” another said happily.
“The harvest festival is this afternoon,” a young woman said. “Please, you must come!”
In the corner of her eye, she saw Stefano hesitate. He glanced questioningly at Tess.
“Please, Princess, make him come!” a girl pleaded. “And your sweet baby.”
“Of course we’ll come,” Tess said, smiling at them.
Everyone cheered. Speaking in rapid Italian, Gerlanda pulled off her apron.
“But you have traveled far. You must be hungry. Your bags are inside? Salvatore,” she snapped her fingers, speaking to a nearby man. The man immediately left the kitchen, smiling as he passed them.
Gerlanda turned back, cooing at the baby. “I will make you some lunch. Just to tide you over.”
“We’re not terribly hungry,” Tess began. She was still full from the lovely breakfast that Louisa had prepared them on the private jet.
“Of course you are,” the Sicilian housekeeper said briskly. “You are too skinny. You must keep up your strength! For Stefano! For Gioreale! And this sweet little one.” She stroked Esme’s dark curls. “The festival is hours away. You will starve. I will bring you food.”
Tess tossed her husband a pleading glance.
“Thank you, Gerlanda,” he interceded. “But I’d like to show my new bride around the estate. And perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “visit the winery.”
“Yes!” The older woman’s face lit up. “See what you have done for us.”
“What has Stefano done?” Tess said.
“After his father died, Stefano always made sure to send money for the village. Even when his company was small and he had nothing. He always sent it to us. Always.” Her eyes gleamed with tears as she looked up at him. “Now you are here, so you can see your sacrifice was not in vain. Or your belief in us.” Abruptly she turned away. “You are not hungry, fine, so I will make you a picnic.”
Stefano stared after her with a smile tracing his lips. “Same old Gerlanda.”
“She calls you by your first name,” Tess said wonderingly. “No one else does. Not even your assistant.”
“Gerlanda was my nanny for two years, from the time I was eight until ten.” His smile lifted to a grin. “I think in her mind, I am still ten years old.”
“If she loved you, why did she leave?”
The smile dropped. “She didn’t. My mother fired her. She always got rid of any servant I started to care about. She didn’t want me to get too attached to them.”
Tess stared up at him in disbelief. “What?” she breathed. “Your parents abandoned you—then wouldn’t let you love any of your caregivers?”
“Not just caregivers.” His voice was casual, but she saw the tightness around his eyes. “Anyone I loved would disappear. After Gerlanda was forced to leave, I made friends with kids in the village. But at the end of the summer, they were told not to play with me or their parents would lose their jobs. So I roamed over the countryside with the gardener’s dog.” He paused. “My parents thought it was vulgar. So they told the gardener to get rid of his dog. When he refused, he was fired.”
“Oh, Stefano,” Tess