Tears rushed to my eyes when they ran over the messy scrawl. Gianmarco was watching me with huge eyes. “You did this?” I said softly. He nodded his head. “Then I’ll treasure it always,” I whispered through a thick throat.
Gianmarco’s mother came over to take him back to the courtyard for gelato. As he left, Pia said, “When we told him we were coming here today, he asked if he could write you this note.” Her hand fell on my upper arm. “We are extremely grateful for the help you have given him. And for Sara.” Sara was an American educational psychologist I knew in Florence. I had arranged for her to give Gianmarco more intense tutoring than I ever could. With the approaching wedding, my time was becoming more and more limited.
“You’re welcome,” I said, my voice finally clearing of emotion.
Pia released my arm and cast her gaze to Zeno, who was talking with a tall blond gentleman. “So, he’s returned?”
I sighed. “He arrived back this morning for the festival and banquet, but I’m sure that he will leave again shortly after. This place makes him uneasy for some reason.”
“At this rate, Caresa, you might have only spent a few days in your husband’s company by the time you marry.”
“I know,” I replied. I felt numb.
“How is the horse you’ve been riding?” Pia asked out of the blue. My head snapped up at her words, and my heart began to race. I had told Pia in confidence about Achille’s vineyard and Rosa. I had not told her about Achille . . . anything about us . . . about what had happened.
“She’s good,” I replied evasively.
Pia’s eyes narrowed. “And the winemaker?”
I knew my face must have blanched. I could feel the warm blood draining from my cheeks. “I don’t . . . I’m not sure . . .” I stumbled over my words. My strange response seemed to be all the confirmation Pia needed. Her eyes softened and she nodded knowingly.
“Will he be coming here today?”
I should have kept it from her. I should have denied everything, all her suspicions, but something within my heart wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t deny Achille. It pained me to do so. He had been pushed aside his entire life; I didn’t have it within me to add to that rejection.
I shook my head. “I don’t know how it happened,” I whispered. “But he somehow became embedded in my heart and connected to my soul. It . . . I don’t know how it happened . . .”
“Oh, Caresa,” Pia said softly. “You love him?” I froze, completely froze, opening my mouth to most certainly deny that claim.
But my mouth and my heart appeared to be in agreement that I would not deny this either.
Because . . . I . . . I loved him.
Mio Dio, I loved Achille . . .
“I don’t think you realized it, but every time I came here with Gianmarco, you always talked about the horse you were schooling in dressage, but more, the winemaker. You said nothing obvious. I’m sure no one else suspects a thing. But I heard something different in your voice when you spoke of how he taught you about his wine. About how you would ride and talk for hours. The tone in your voice and the happiness in your eyes gave your affection for him away.”
“You can’t say anything,” I said sternly. “I ended it. It happened one time, and we knew that was all we could be. We both agreed we had to leave that one night as a single moment in time.”
“I wouldn’t ever say a thing,” Pia said, just as vehemently. She sighed and, taking me by the elbow, pulled me out of sight behind a wall. I was flustered, my body consumed by an overwhelming need to protect Achille. He had no one looking out for him. I was all he had. I couldn’t let society gossip hurt him.
“First,” Pia said firmly, “I consider you a friend. I may have only known you a little while, but I like you. We share the same views about certain things and, in our world, that is something I cherish—people like you are few and far between.” I relaxed a little, my hands shaking just a little less than before. “And secondly, I feel for you. You have found someone your heart calls for, yet you are stuck in this farce of an engagement. That is heartbreaking by anyone’s standards.”
“I have no choice.” I dropped my head in defeat. “I think . . . I think that Savona Wines is in worse condition than I knew. It is our family’s livelihood. This marriage needs to happen.”
“If the business is worse than you thought, then I am not so sure your marriage will be the remedy. Zeno is at the head of Savona Wines now. It is up to him to keep that position or give it to someone who actually wants to do it. Who knows this industry and knows about the wine it produces. It would not surprise me if Zeno didn’t know his Shiraz from his Chianti, even if it were poured over whichever new gold digger was vying for his attention that week. Your marriage is not the fix; he needs to be.”
I blinked at hearing her fight so hard for me and Achille. She looked me in the eye. “I fell for a teacher two years ago, Caresa. I was on the Amalfi coast for the summer, and so was he.” She dropped her gaze, but not before I saw the pain in her eyes. “I fell for him hard, so much so that my heart breaks now even thinking of him. Like there is something missing in my soul.”
“Split-aparts,” I whispered.
Pia furrowed her brow at my cryptic remark, but carried on. “When I told my father I wanted to be with Mario, to move to his home in Modena to be with him, I was forbidden. I was told that if I married so far below my station, I would be cast from our family.” She met my eyes. “I adore my family, Caresa. My sister, little Gianmarco. So in the end I chose them. I lost him and chose them.”
“Pia,” I murmured, reaching down to hold her hand.
“As much as I love my family, if I had to do it again, I would have left. I would have been with him. I would have chosen not to live with this pain in my chest as I do now. Breathing, existing, but not living. Attending these ridiculous ceremonies and luncheons as if any of it even matters.”
“Then find him,” I said. “Go and find him. Be with him.”
“He has someone else now,” she said, her voice cracking. “He moved on.” A tear fell down her cheek. “I broke his heart so badly. I killed the possibility of us when I let this pathetic title of mine stand in the way of our happiness. Now someone else is making him happy, repairing the hole in his heart that I caused.”
I squeezed her hand as she looked away into the distance and dried her face of tears. “People think they understand our world, Caresa. They see the titles, the money and the family histories and think we have it easy. I am not a spoiled little rich girl crying because she didn’t get her way. I know people have it harder in life than we do—it would be silly to try and say otherwise. But these titles are a leash, a tight leash to our happiness. Look at the late king. He was miserable most of his life, his wife taking refuge in Austria, living like a hermit so she wouldn’t be judged for wanting another life. Zeno looks as though he wants to bolt from this festival, and has done from the minute you entered the courtyard. And you, you stand so rigidly next to Zeno, a false smile on your face because he is not who your heart wants.”
Her words were a dagger to my heart.
“Tell me,” Pia said and moved right before me. “Are your parents happy? I assume they were arranged. Does your mother look at your father with nothing but adoration? Does your father dote on your mother?”
I pictured my parents and immediately knew the answer. “No.” I stilled. “They love each other, respect each other, and love me. But they are not in love. They don’t even sleep in the same room. They haven’t done since I was a child.”
Pia leaned back against the wall of the courtyard. “What a tangled web.”
I was silent for a moment
“Are you staying for the dinner tonight?” I asked eventually. Pia looked at me, and I saw the disappointment in her face. I could see I had let her down by not entertaining this topic any further.
She released my hand. “Of course. Can’t miss the new king being officially crowned, can we?”
I stepped forward to say something to her, to tell her that my mind was a jumbled mess, torn between love and duty and panic and worry. But just as I did, a horn sounded, announcing there was a contest winner.