The Villa

"You were a girl then. You're a woman now, and you've chosen a better man. Cara." Tereza framed Pilar's face, kissed both her cheeks. "I'm happy for you. Now I have a question."
    "All right."
    "Why did you send him home, then bring me tea? Why didn't you bring him in to ask my blessing, and Eli's and drink champagne, as is proper? Never mind." She waved it away. "Call him now. Tell them all to come."
    "Mama. He's tired, not well."
    "Not so tired, and well enough to have mussed your hair and kissed the lipstick off your mouth. Call," she ordered in a tone that cut off any argument. "This needs to be done properly, with family. We'll go down, open our best vintage and call Sophia at the castello. I approve of his children," she added, turning to the desk to close her logbook and return it to its place. "The girl will have my mother's seed pearls, and the boy my father's silver cuff links."
    "Thank you, Mama."
    "You've given me—all of us—something to celebrate. Tell them to hurry up," she ordered, and strode out, straight and slim, calling for Maria to bring the wine.

 
    PART FOUR
    The Fruit
    Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
    Or sells eternity to get a toy?
    For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
     
    —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
    ~•~

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
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    Tyler was filthy, his back carried a nagging ache dead center, and he had a nasty scrape, poorly bandaged, across the knuckles of his left hand.
    He was in heaven.
    The mountains here weren't so different from the jagged outcroppings of his own Vacas. Where his soil was gravelly, this was rocky, but still high in the pH that would produce a soft wine.
    He could understand why Cezare Giambelli had put the roots of his dream here, had fought his plow through this rocky soil. There was a rough beauty in the shadow of these hills that called to certain men, that challenged them. It wasn't a matter of taming it, Ty reflected, but of accepting it for what it was, and all it could be.
    If he had to spend time away from his own vineyards, this was the place to do it. The weather was perfect, the days long and sweet and the castello operator more than willing to use the time and skill of another vintner.
    And the muscle of one, Tyler thought as he strolled back through the rows toward the great house. He'd spent a good part of his days helping the crew install new pipelines from the reservoir to the young plantings. It was a good system, well planned, and the hours he'd spent with the crew had given him a chance to have a hand in this arm of the company.
    And to casually question the men about Donato.
    The language barrier wasn't as much of a problem as he'd anticipated. Those who didn't speak English were still willing to talk. With hand signals, facial expressions and the generous assistance of various interpreters, Tyler got a clear enough picture.
    There wasn't a man in the fields who considered Donato Giambelli more than a joke.
    Now, with the shadows lengthening toward evening, Tyler considered that opinion. He moved from field to garden where hydrangeas bloomed big as basketballs and rivers of pale pink impatiens wound a trail up a slope toward a grotto. Water spewed there in a fountain guarded by Poseidon.
    The Italians, he thought, were big on their gods, and their fountains and flowers. Cezare Giambelli had certainly used them all here in this pretty palace tucked in the hills.
    A very rich little palace, Tyler mused, setting his hands on his hips as he turned a slow circle. The kind of place an ambitious man with a demanding wife would covet.
    Personally, he thought it was a nice place to visit, but how could anyone live there, with all those rooms, all those servants. The grounds alone, with the gardens, the lawns, the trees, the pools and statuary, would require a small army to maintain.
    Then again, some men liked to have little armies at their disposal.
    He passed between the mosaic walls with their bas-relief figures of well-endowed nymphs, walked down the steps circling yet another pool swimming with lily pads. From there he couldn't see the fields, the heart of the realm. More accurately, he decided, those who worked the fields couldn't see whoever lingered here. He supposed Cezare had wanted some privacy in certain corners of his empire.
    What could be seen, beyond the flowers, the sprawl of terraces, was the swimming pool. And rising out of it, like Venus, was Sophia.
    She wore a simple black suit that sleeked over