As hard as it would be, I could live without touching her again. I couldn’t live without occasionally bearing witness to her bright smile.
“And the winemaking?” she added. My eyebrows rose in surprise. A shy expression set on her face. “There is still a lot more of the process for me to observe. I . . . I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m rather passionate about your wine.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, and as she laughed in return my heart jolted toward her just that little bit more. “I know,” I said, running my thumb over her bottom lip, trying to memorize exactly how she looked right then. “I know how much you adore my wine.”
“I don’t just adore your wine,” she whispered, and by the blush on her cheeks, I knew she hadn’t meant to say that.
She dropped her forehead to my stomach, then after a deep breath, lifted her eyes. “You are allowing me to ride your horse, allowing me to study the process of your award-wining wine. Please, Achille. Just give me a few weeks to try and help you with your reading and writing. Allow me the chance to show you that it is not a lost cause. Just . . . for me. Please, if not for yourself, do this for me.”
My pulse raced with nerves and discomfort. She would see all my flaws. She would see me completely exposed. But . . .
I resolved I would do it for her.
Caresa waited, breath held, for my response. With a defeated sigh, I nodded, giving her the answer she so badly wanted.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She crawled above me and pressed her lips against mine. The surprise act of affection caught me off guard, but not enough for me not to respond. My hand cupped the back of her head as the innocent kiss deepened with our escalating need.
Wanting to have her again, craving another moment of being joined so closely, I rolled her onto her back, crowding the space where she lay. Caresa broke from my mouth and looked into my eyes. “We can only have tonight.”
“I know.” I turned to look out of the window at the high moon, then back to her. “But the night is not yet over. The sun is still asleep.”
Caresa’s fingers brushed through my hair. “Then kiss me again.”
I did as she asked, exploring more of her than before. I kissed every patch of her skin, stroked every strand of her hair. This time it was slower. We savored each second, nothing rushed, everything unhurried.
But eventually sleep came calling for Caresa. It didn’t for me. I held her tightly to my chest, breathing in the peach and vanilla from her hair, the floral notes from her expensive perfume. I watched the unwanted sun begin to rise behind the distant green hills of Umbria and heard the birds bring their morning song. With every ray of light chasing shadows from my small bedroom, a little piece of me died.
I couldn’t stay here.
I couldn’t be here when she woke. I couldn’t see the flecks of gold in her eyes that I had never known were there before, nor the freckles peppering her cheeks that had grown more and more prominent with each day she spent with me in the fields under the sun.
But worse, I couldn’t hear her goodbye.
I would see her again of course, when this night had passed. When I didn’t have her scent on my skin and the fresh memory of what she felt like under me, in my bed, cradled in my arms.
As gently as I could, being careful to not rouse her from sleep, I laid her down on the mattress, pulling the comforter over her naked bronzed skin to stave off the morning chill.
I dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt then left her to sleep. I needed fresh air. I slipped on my boots and went outside. The minute the door was shut, I inhaled a much-needed deep breath. I tipped my head back, drinking in the dawn sky. Purples and pinks slashed through the fading black, the stars being forced to bed. I heard the distant sound of tractors already in the fields; the winemakers’ and farmers’ day had already begun. I shook out my hands and began the painstaking task of buttoning up my shirt and jeans—another simple task that never came easily to me.
Ten minutes later, I had tacked up Nico and made my way past the perimeter of my vineyard and out into the mass of the estate’s acres beyond. I rarely left the security of my home. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been out here. I was always out here as child, playing in the trees with my best friend, or fishing in the fully stocked man-made lake.
I arrived at the edge of another vineyard. I let my eyes drift over the already harvested vines. This was one of the mass-produced reds. I shook my head as I squeezed Nico into a steady trot. I couldn’t imagine being such a winemaker. Not being at one with the earth and the vines.
I could never be so distant or unappreciative of anything in my life.
That thought brought the image of the prince to mind. I hadn’t spoken to him in years. He hadn’t even come to my father’s funeral. Somewhere over the years he had changed from fun and kind to cold and stuck up. He looked down on everyone on this estate. He looked down on Umbria. He ignored the raw unkempt beauty of the region in favor of Tuscany’s pretty, perfectly landscaped views. The king had spent most of his days here. Zeno spent all of his days in Florence.
I knew nothing of the business side of Savona Wines. But I knew my wine was essential to the royal family’s wealth and status in the wine world. I was paid a small, living wage, though I rarely touched anything I earned. I knew it was nothing to the profits that the king, and now the prince, would be making from my blood, sweat and tears. But I cherished my home, my horses and my vines. Most of what I ate came from the land. I didn’t need much else.
At least the king would visit us twice a month, asking me to show him the work my father and I had been doing. He would sit with me and eat lunch while my father continued his work in the fields. He wouldn’t speak much, but I didn’t mind his company—he was cold in demeanor, standoffish, but not unkind. At least he cared about getting to know his employees and took an interest in the work we did on his land.
Prince Zeno couldn’t care less.
He didn’t deserve this place. Knew nothing of this rare jewel he now owned. My head convinced me I was referring to these sprawling vineyards, but my heart knew I referred to something—someone—else.
Because he didn’t deserve her either. I knew of his reputation. Even as a child he had been cocky and arrogant. He would never know Caresa’s worth. She would just be another shiny toy to add to his burgeoning pile.
The thought of her being treated this way almost caused me to scream out in frustration.
She deserved more.
She deserved someone who would love and cherish her . . . who would never be parted from her side . . . not even for a moment.
Needing to feel the rush of cool air on my face, I pushed Nico into a canter. We sped along the dirt track, kicking up the still-wet mud in our wake. We pushed on until we reached the end of the long track. I slowed him to a trot, and I saw we had arrived at the botanical gardens. Greenhouse after greenhouse stretched for the length of the land. Nico walked us past the nearest greenhouse, and I noted the rows and rows of rose bushes inside—full white flowers standing proudly on deep-green stems. These greenhouses provided fresh flowers for both the main house and for the Savona florist in Orvieto.
I scanned the area. There was no one in sight.
Acting on impulse, I dismounted Nico, tied him to a fence post and jumped over the fence. I rushed toward the greenhouse and slid back the glass door. The intense smell of the roses hit my nose like a tidal wave. There was a pair of shears on a wooden table; I took them and cut the fullest, purest white rose from a bush. I ducked back out of the greenhouse and scampered back to Nico like a thief in the dawn.
I tucked the rose in my shirt and cantered all the way back home. As I arrived, the sky was turning from purple and pink to blue. Fluffy white clouds chased away the remaining gray, promising a bright, warm day. I untacked Nico and let him and Rosa out into the paddock.
When I approached my cottage, I peered though my bedroom window. My chest tightened. Caresa was still lying in the spot where I had left her, her dark, now-wavy hair splayed out over the pillow, her chest gently rising up and down in sleep. I had never seen anything more beautiful.
I clutched the rose in my hand as I simply watched her sleep. Ordering my feet to move, I entered the cottage and padded silently into the bedroom. My hands shook as I sat on the edge of my bed, careful to not wake Caresa. She murmured in her sleep, the comforter slipping down to reveal her bare full breasts.