The Sicilian Surrender. Sandra Marton
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Stefano stared at his former lover for long moments. Then he spat at her feet, brushed past her and headed for the house.
So much for his dreams.
She had defiled this place.
Maybe his grandfather had been wise to have left the island behind.
CHAPTER TWO
ALL the oceans of the world looked the same from 35,000 feet…and wasn’t it sad when you’d flown so often that you could think of nothing but that when you were almost seven miles above the Atlantic?
Fallon O’Connell sat back, pressed the button that fully reclined her soft leather seat and wondered when she’d turned into such a world-weary cynic.
Across the aisle, a little boy traveling with his mother sat with his nose almost pressed to the glass, enthralled by the cloudless view of the ocean miles below and by the wonder of leaving Connecticut this evening and arriving in Italy tomorrow morning…but then, the kid hadn’t made this trip a million times.
She’d been as excited as he was, her first flight to Europe ten years ago.
Fallon closed her eyes.
She was on her way to an island in the Mediterranean for a one week shoot, a suite in a mansion waiting for her as well as the best makeup artist and cameraman in the business ready to work their magic…
Her mouth twitched.
A little enthusiasm might be a good idea right about now.
She sighed, sat up straight and peered out the window again.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want the job. What model wouldn’t? The inaugural cover of Bridal Dreams and inside it, pages and pages of glossy photographs devoted to her.
Of course, she wanted it.
So, what was the problem? That was what her brother Cullen had asked her last night, after Keir’s and Cassie’s wedding.
The newlyweds had finally made their laughing escape, but the O’Connell clan wasn’t finished celebrating. They’d moved the festivities from the lushness of the Tender Grapes restaurant up to the handsome stone house that overlooked Deer Hill Vineyard.
Sean lit a fire on the massive hearth.
Anybody want to roast an ox? he’d said, to much laughter.
Cullen opened another bottle of Deer Hill’s prize-winning Chardonnay.
Damn good thing Keir bought himself a vineyard instead of a soft drink franchise, he’d said, to more laughter.
Cullen filled all their glasses. Sean went through Keir’s collection of CDs and put on something soft and classical while their mother and stepfather settled on the sofa. Megan, Briana and Fallon kicked off their stiletto heels and groaned with pleasure.
How about taking the dollar tour? Bree said.
Yeah, Megan answered, looping her arm through Bree’s. Maybe we can finally figure out how many rooms this place really has.
She held out a hand to Fallon, but Fallon smiled and shook her head.
“You guys go ahead. I’m going to step outside for a breath of air.”
Her sisters trooped off and Cullen looked over at her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, flashing another smile. “I just want to take a look at the sky. I’m not used to seeing all these stars.”
Her brother grinned. “Me, neither. Us city types tend to forget.”
Fallon nodded, opened the sliding glass doors and stepped out on the terrace. The stars shone down with crystalline brilliance from a black-velvet sky; the ivory moon seemed caught in the uplifted branches of a stand of trees.
The warm air of the Connecticut summer night enveloped her.
Wineglass in hand, Fallon went down stone steps that still held some of the day’s heat. She made her way slowly along the gentle slope of the hill and through terraced rows of grapevines.
There, the earth was cool and moist against her bare feet—she and her sisters had decided to forgo panty hose under their long bridesmaids’ gowns. The breeze, perfumed by heavy clusters of ripening grapes, smelled delicious.
It had been a lovely day. A wonderful weekend. Her mother was blissfully happy with Dan, who’d turned out to be the kind of stepfather that gave the word luster. Spending time with her sisters and brothers was always fun, and her oldest brother was so crazy in love with his Cassie that it almost made you believe in love.
For someone else, at least, if not for yourself.
Fallon stopped walking, sipped some of the wine, ran a hand lightly over a cluster of velvety grapes.
Then, how come she was feeling so—so—
What? What was she feeling? Weary? Under the weather? Maybe even a little bit down? There was no reason for it, none at—
“Hey.”
She gasped and spun around just as Cullen reached her.
“You scared me to half to death,” she said with a little laugh.
“Sorry. I figured you heard me coming.” He grinned. “I guess I have a delicate walk.”
Fallon grinned back at him. “Delicate” was not a word anyone would use to describe her brothers. Cullen, like the rest of them, was big, six foot two in his stockinged feet.
“Uh-huh. About as delicate as a moose. What are you doing out here?”
Cullen shrugged. “Same as you, kid. Checking the stars, stretching my legs, taking a breather. It’s been a long day.”
“A long weekend, you mean. Fun, though.”
“The gathering of the O’Connell clan always is. Fewer fireworks than usual this time, at least.”
Fallon laughed. “Probably out of deference to Cassie. I guess none of us wanted to scare her off. She scored lots of points, being able to tolerate all of us at one clip.”
“Uh-huh. She seems terrific.”
“I agree.”
Brother and sister sipped their wine.
“Amazing,” Cullen said, after a while. “That Keir got married, I mean.”
“It happens,” Fallon said lightly.
“Sure, but not to us.” They both laughed. “It was a great ceremony.”
“Mmm.”
“Those vows they wrote were cool.”
“Mmm,” Fallon said again, and took another sip of wine.
“Touching.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Touching?”
“Yeah. You know, the sentiments they expressed. Isn’t a man permitted to use the word? You thought so, too.”
Fallon blinked. “Were we talking about me?”
Cullen, who’d hours ago discarded his tuxedo jacket and bow tie, opened the top buttons of his shirt.
“You cried a little,” he said softly. “At the end.”
“Me? Cry at a wedding?” Fallon turned toward him and poked a finger into the middle of his chest. “Cullen. My darling little brother—”
“You’re only a year older than I am, kid. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“The point is, I do not cry at weddings. Why would I? When you’ve been a bride nine trillion times—”
“A magazine-cover bride, six times, and don’t look