The Villa

late."
    "Yeah. I was translating. With Ty."
    "With… Oh. Oh."
    "I'm starving, how about you?" Enjoying herself, Sophia pulled open the refrigerator. "I never got around to dinner." She spoke casually, with her head in the fridge. "Do you have a problem with me and Ty?"
    "No—yes. No," Pilar stuttered. "I don't know. I absolutely don't know how I'm supposed to handle this."
    "Let's have pie."
    "Pie."
    Sophia pulled out what was left of a deep-dish apple. "You look wonderful, Mama."
    Pilar brushed at her hair again. "I couldn't possibly."
    "Wonderful." Sophia set the dish on the counter and reached up for plates. "I had a few emotional bumps about you and David. I wasn't used to seeing you as—to seeing you, I suppose. But when I run into you sneaking into the house in the middle of the night, looking wonderful, I can't help but see you."
    "I don't have to sneak into my own house."
    "Oh." Wielding a pie cutter, Sophia asked, "Then why were you?"
    "I was just… Let's have pie."
    "Good call." Sophia cut two huge hunks, then smiled when Pilar stroked her hair. She leaned in, and for a moment the two of them stood in the bright kitchen light in silence. "It was a long, lousy day. It's nice to end it well."
    "Yes. Though you gave me a hell of a shock outside."
    "Me? Imagine my surprise, reliving my teenage years, then running into my mother."
    "Reliving? Really?" Sophia carried the plates to the kitchen table while Pilar got forks.
    "Oh well, why dwell on the past?" Grinning wickedly, Sophia licked pie from her thumb. "David's very hot."
    "Sophie."
    "Very hot. Great shoulders, that charmingly boyish face, that intelligent brain. Quite a package you've bagged there, Mama."
    "He's not a trophy. And I certainly hope you don't think of Ty as one."
    "He's got a terrific butt."
    "I know."
    "I meant Ty."
    "I know," Pilar repeated. "What, am I blind?" With an unladylike snort, she plopped into a chair. "This is ridiculous, it's rude and it's—"
    "Fun," Sophia finished and sat down to scoop up some pie. "We share an interest in fashion, and more recently in the business. Why shouldn't we share an interest in… Nonna."
    "Well, of course we share an interest in…" Pilar dropped her fork with a clatter as she followed the direction of Sophia's blank stare. "Mama. What are you doing up?"
    "You think I don't know when people come and go in my house?" Somehow elegant in a thick chenille robe and slippers, Tereza swept into the room. "What, no wine?"
    "We were just… hungry," Sophia managed.
    "Ha. No wonder. Sex is a laborious business if done properly. I'm hungry myself."
    Sophia slapped a hand to her mouth, but it was too late. The burst of laughter erupted. "Go, Eli."
    Tereza merely took the last piece of pie as her daughter stared down at her plate, shoulders shaking. "We'll have wine. I believe the occasion calls for it. I think this is surely the first time all three generations of Giambelli women have sat together in the kitchen after making love. You needn't look so stunned, Pilar. Sex is a natural function, after all. And since you've chosen a worthy partner this time, we'll have wine."
    She chose a bottle of sauvignon blanc from the kitchen rack and uncorked it. "These are trying times. There have been others, and there will be more." She poured three glasses. "It's essential that we live while we move through them. I approve of David Cutter, if my approval matters."
    "Thank you. It does, of course."
    Sophia was biting her lip to hide a grin when Tereza turned toward her. "If you hurt Tyler, I'll be both angry and disappointed in you. I love him very much."
    "Well, I like that." Deflated, Sophia set her fork down. "Why would I?"
    "Remember what I said. Tomorrow, we'll fight for what we are, what we have. Tonight." She lifted her glass. "Tonight, we celebrate it. Salute."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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    It was a war, waged on several fronts. Sophia fought her battles on the airwaves, in print and on the telephone. She spent hours updating press releases, giving interviews, reassuring accounts.
    And every day she started over, beating back rumor, innuendo and speculation. Until the crisis passed, her time in the vineyards was over. That was Tyler's battlefield. She found herself resenting not being able to soldier there as well. To take part in the disking, the frost vigils, in the careful guarding of the emerging buds.
    She worried about her grandparents, forging their front on the Italian line. Every day the