“Abandoned? Why?”
He didn’t turn to meet her gaze, and for a long moment, he didn’t answer. Watching him, she suddenly realized his neck was strained, as though he were holding something back, something painful. Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but she didn’t dare. So she waited, and finally he spoke.
“I’m sure you know that I was married when I was younger. And that my…my wife died.” His voice almost choked, but he went on firmly. “At the time it happened, everything stopped. Life stopped.”
Turning, he stared into her eyes as though he was forcing himself to do it. “I mean that literally. All the workers were sent away, except a bare skeleton crew to keep the place from completely reverting to the wild.” His eyes seemed to burn. “And I’ve never seen a good reason to bring any of them back.” He stared at her a moment longer, then looked away. “It’s better this way.”
She shook her head. Better for whom? she wanted to say. But who was she to tell him how to live his life?
“It seems so lonely,” was all she dared put out. “And such a waste.”
He shrugged again. “There are plenty of vineyards in Italy,” he said, giving his horse a snicker that started him moving again. “One more or less won’t make a difference.”
She sighed. So he thought she was talking about his grape plants? Well, maybe she was. But she’d meant a lot more than that. A waste, indeed.
They crested another hill and found a small forest barely protecting a group of small stone buildings.
“What’s that?” she called to him, pointing at it.
He turned and looked, then grinned at her. “The family crypt,” he said. “Want to see it?”
“Oh! Yes.”
He helped her dismount and they tied the horses to a gate, then walked slowly into the little glen that held his ancestors’ graves. The garden was overgrown, but not completely shabby. His caretaker had kept it decent, if not pristine. There was a small pond with tiny flashing fishes darting back and forth, a rose garden and a marble chapel. And behind them all was a larger, brooding stone building that had served as a mausoleum to the Rossi family through the Middle Ages and beyond.
Isabella loved it. The place seemed like a secret, enchanted garden, full of history and family stories. But what was most stunning to her as she rounded a corner was a life-size marble statue of a half-naked man with a sword held at the ready guarding the entrance. Carved at the base of the marble was the name Adonis Salviati Di Rossi, 1732-1801.
Isabella gasped, hands to her mouth, then whirled to face Max, who was right behind her.
“It looks just like you!” she cried.
He tried to keep a solemn face and raised one eyebrow cynically, but his pleased sense of humor was hard to hide. It shone from his dark eyes and along the lines that framed his wide mouth. This statue had been a source of teasing and torture for him in his younger days. His friends and cousins had called him “Adonis” and joked about reincarnation and ghostly presences. In fact, Isabella hadn’t been the first to call him a vampire. His childhood playmates had done it as well.
He’d forgotten how much he hated it then. Now, it just seemed amusing.
“How would you know?” he challenged her. “You’re not really sure what I look like at all.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, no doubt in her mind. “I know exactly what you look like.”
She said it with such firm confidence, he looked at her, bemused. He felt so comfortable around her. Whenever he looked into her eyes, all he saw was a candid sort of joy in life. He hadn’t believed her when she’d first told him she didn’t see him as ugly. But ever since, he hadn’t been able to detect one sign of anything negative in her eyes, and he’d definitely been looking for it.
Still, he had to remember that she represented nothing but peril to him. She appealed to him, emotionally, physically, temperamentally—in every way possible. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to hear her laugh. He wanted to feel her in his arms. There was no denying the fact that she made him happy—happier than he’d been in years.
Happier than he had any right to be.
And that was the danger. He had no business dragging her into his private limbo of a life. He would do what he could to help her with her herbal requirements, but that was all. Once he had her supplied, she would be on her way and he wouldn’t see her again. Ever again.
At least that was the way he’d planned it. Now that she was here with him, it seemed almost impossible to think of losing her. She filled a need and a hunger in him he hadn’t even realized he still had.
And so, she was dangerous.
He followed as she explored the mausoleum, chattering happily as she looked into everything, finding all she saw wonderful and interesting. And he wished…
But what the hell was the point of wishing? The more you wanted out of life, the less you got. He was through with wishing. There was a job to be done here and that was all he was prepared to do.
Over and out.
Isabella knew she was talking too much, but she couldn’t help it. The day was so nice and the man she was with was so mesmerizing, she was bubbling with joy just being with him.
And yet, she knew he was troubled. She could sense it in his silence and in the look in his dark eyes. As they got back atop their horses and began the last leg of their trip to the hillside, she ached to help him, if only she knew how.
But that was silly, wasn’t it? He had everything he might want; all he had to do was order it up and it would be there for him. What could she provide that he couldn’t get on his own?
Right behind them in the little courtyard was the evidence of a life that was one of a long line of important people involved in important events. Ordinary people such as she was didn’t find their ancestors memorialized in tombs like this. Here was history, a background to the story of her area. She was a spectator. He was a star of the show.
“What’s it like being an Italian prince?” she asked him at one point.
He shrugged and gave her a look. “You know very well it’s an honorary title these days. The monarchy was abolished in 1946.”
“But you’re still a prince. You still have a special place in history.”
“Bah,” was all he would say.
She smiled. The fact that her own father had been a part, though small, of that background was fascinating to her. She’d wanted to ask her father about his visits to the palazzo in the old days from the moment she’d got home from her visit to Max the day before.
For some reason, she still hadn’t told him that she’d met the prince. She wasn’t sure why she was hesitating, but something told her he wouldn’t necessarily be pleased. So her approach was less direct than usual.
She’d found her father trying to practice using a walker and she’d watched for a while, giving him advice as he’d grown more and more impatient. His ex-friend Fredo had been to see him again and put him in a rotten mood.
“Now he’s threatening me with health violations,” he grumbled. “Me! I’ve always had the cleanest kitchen in the village. And yet he dares to call me a violator!”
She got him calmed down and made him sit in his chair to rest, then brought him a cold lemonade and perched next to him, ready for the inquisition.
“Papa, tell me,” she said, trying to sound casual. “How did you first know about the Monta