THAT’S
AMORE
A
Tuscan Legacy
Book
1
When
Rafaele and Jayne meet again two years after dancing the night away together in
Tuscany, is it a matter of fate or of faith?
After deciding to take a
six-month sabbatical, Italian lawyer Rafaele Rossi moves from Florence back to
Villa Rossi in the middle of Tuscany, resigned to managing the family farm for
his aging nonna after his father’s passing. Convinced a family get-together is
what Nonna needs to lift her spirits, he plans an eightieth birthday party for
her, making sure his siblings and cousins attend.
The Keswick jewelry store where
Jayne Austin has worked for seven years closes its doors. Jayne takes her
generous severance pay and heads off to Italy—Tuscany to be precise. Choosing
to leave her fate in God’s hands, she prays she’ll miraculously bump into the
handsome best man she’d danced the night away with at a friend’s Tuscan wedding
two years ago. She hasn’t been able to forget those smoldering brown eyes and
that rich Italian accent.
Jayne’s prayers are answered
swiftly and in the most unexpected way. Before she knows what’s happening,
she’s a guest not only at Isabella Rossi’s birthday party, but at Villa Rossi
too.
When Rafaele receives what
appears to be a valuable painting from an unknown benefactor, he’s reminded
that he doesn’t want to lose Jayne again. After what he’s done to drive her
from the villa, though, what kind of a commitment will it take for her to stay?
First
scene extract (prologue)
NO PARENT SHOULD EVER HAVE to
bury a child, let alone all of them.
Isabella
Rossi gathered her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. She headed toward
the front door of the enormous home which was too big for only her and Maria,
who had been her trusted and faithful housekeeper for decades. Isabella had
held the ashes of all three of her children, their once vibrant lives reduced
to the contents in the ceramic urns. Now, only she remained. And her
grandchildren. But most of them were scattered like chaff in the wind, and her
heart pained at how far from the fields of Tuscany her descendants had drifted.
Oceans now separated them; her first and last born grandchildren, Rafaele and
Alessa, the only ones left on Italian soil. And even they were separated from her—and each other—by entire cities.
Since
his father died three months ago, Rafaele had done his utmost to come home most
weekends. To help his nonna. How long
would that last, though? He had his own life, his own career, in Firenze. He’d
long ago chosen that world above these lands.
Dawn
peeked its golden head over the horizon as Isabella slipped out the front door
of the place she’d called home for sixty long and glorious years. Villa Rossi.
She’d cherished every moment here since the day her beloved Benedetto had made
her his bride. Even the bad times she had buried deep in her heart.
Her
fingers, wrinkled and bent from old age and arthritis, clutched the shawl
tighter, shutting out the crisp spring morn; the cold not nearly as bitter as
her own heart. This wasn’t how life was intended to be. They were meant to have
all lived and died under the Tuscan sky, here on this beautiful estate that had
been in their family for generations. She blew out a breath that carried with
it the cumbersome burden she bore. Which of her grandchildren should inherit
this place once she passed on? Would any of them even care to be bound by a
property they barely visited anymore, in a country far from what they now
called home?
She
glanced back at the two-story building, her very being swelling and then
quickly sagging at the collection of happy and sad memories. Through the
generations, so much loving and living had happened under that roof. The ebb
and flow of life.
Until
now.
Now
it seemed that life merely ebbed, dragging the very soul of Villa Rossi with
it.
With
her husband’s help, she’d raised three children within those stone walls:
Massimo, their firstborn, named after Benedetto’s father; Francesca, after the
child’s paternal grandmother; and lastly, Albertino, her baby, who had taken
her own dear papà’s name. Benedetto and she had rigidly kept to every Italian
custom. Sadly, the same could not be said for her own children, God rest their
departed souls. Isabella crossed herself and the shawl slipped from her clasp
with the action. She quickly tugged it up over her shoulder again, her heart
pressing against her ribs at the painful memory of her children breaking from
tradition—at least Massimo and Francesca had—and naming their children whatever
they’d wanted with no respect for their customs. None of her grandchildren bore
her nor Benedetto’s names as they should have.
And
poor, sweet, Albertino…he never had a chance to name his child. Never even knew
he’d fathered one. Perhaps he
would’ve called his daughter Isabella…if his life hadn’t been snatched from him
so quickly.
If
only they hadn’t argued.
If
only he hadn’t sped away on his motorcycle, angry.
If
only he hadn’t met that English woman.
If…
Isabella
shook her head and stepped off the narrow dirt road into the vineyard. So many
ifs. So many regrets. When her son had ached to marry Maggie Golding, she’d
told him to leave and never come back. She had never meant for his departure to
be final. Irreversible.
Maggie
had returned to Wales after Albertino’s death, and the child born out of
wedlock was given the name Rachel instead. Not even an Italian name but a
Jewish one. Like her surname. What had she expected, though, from that
foreigner who’d led her Albertino astray. She blamed Maggie for his death.
She
blamed herself.
The
child should’ve been a Rossi, but her illegitimate granddaughter knew nothing
of her heritage.
Perhaps
it was for the best. One less grandchild to turn their back on their
grandmammà.
Ambling
between the vines that lined the slope behind the homestead, Isabella reached
her hand out to snatch a poppy growing tall between the grass. Big. Bright.
Red. Then another. The first of the spring blooms. Soon the hills would blush
with their rubescent hue. Here and there she clutched the slender shoots of
wild legumes, plucking them to add a touch of mauve to her monotone bouquet.
By
the time she reached the other side of the vineyard just before the olive
groves, she held a rather large bunch of wildflowers in her hand. Still, she
had to split it five ways. Five memorials. Five loved ones lost—her husband,
her children, and Massimo’s beloved wife, Alessandra. He’d never overcome her
death. Now he was finally reunited with her.
Before
the cancer took her Benedetto, he made Isabella promise to have his remains
cremated and placed in this special spot between his vines and olive trees.
She’d argued against the notion at first—the church did not favor cremation.
The Lord Jesus himself was buried in a tomb, and weren’t they all to follow his
example? But she’d eventually relented. Keeping her word, she had Massimo and
Albertino demarcate this area after her husband’s death.
She
trailed her fingers over the low wrought-iron palisade then pushed open the
gate and headed toward the tombstone erected in Benedetto’s memory and the
cremation urn bearing his ashes on the grass in front of it.
Barely
a year later, she’d had a second stone erected. To her beloved Albertino—her
baby. Losing her youngest son was even harder to bear than losing the love of
her life.
Thirty-four
years had passed since that fateful day.
And time had not healed the still
raw wounds.
Character
Interview:
1. Tell us your name and a
little bit about yourself? My name is Rafaele Rossi, with
seven letters not three or four. So Raf and Raef are out. Please. My papà wanted
me to farm at Villa Rossi like him, settle down and raise a family. I rebelled
in both the work and home departments, hence my career choice and single status
at thirty.
2. Tell us about where you live
and why you choose to live there? I live in Firenze,
which English readers will know as Florence. Like my sister, Alessa, it was
close enough to Villa Rossi to see my Nonna, and far away enough from my papà.
Besides, I studied there so the transition to a law firm in Florence seemed
natural.
3. What is a quirk of your
personality that most people wouldn't know? I’m a
romantic at heart…love letters, flowers, chocolates for that special lady (and
the other special women in my life like my two sisters and my Nonna).
4. Name two things would you
hate people to know about you? I fear that I will be a
bad father one day, like my own papà was. I fear I will become obsessed with
the woman I fall I love with, like my father was with my mammà.
5. Tell us about your special
lady. What makes her special? Jayne Austin is to
sweetest, most beautiful woman I know. And she really does know how to take the
jokes about her name in her stride.
6. The first time you saw her,
what did you think? Did you like her immediately, or did she have to grow on
you? I thought she was beautiful. But beauty aside, I
did like her personality right away. The reason I danced the night away with
her at my best friend’s wedding in Tuscany. I was a fool to let two years go by
between that first magical encounter with her and the next. And if it hadn’t
been for Jayne’s determination to follow her heart, we probably would never
have met again. It was great picking up where we left off.
7. What would she hate people to
know about her? Her head spins at the smell of a wine
cork.
8. What is your favourite thing
to eat and drink? Espresso, red wine, and Maria’s pici
pasta. You can tell I’m Italian, can’t you?
9. If you had to fight, what
would be your weapon of choice and why? The weapon I
always use is my insecurities and fears. If it were up to me though, I’d choose
to be a lover, not a fighter.
10. Pepsi or coke Coke.
11. Tea or coffee Coffee—how it’s served would depend on the time of day.
12. Elephant or tiger Tiger…reminds me of my younger brother, Ric [starts singing
Eye of the Tiger].
13. Roast dinner / burger and
chips (fries for our US readers) or pizza I’m
Italian…what do you think?
14. Classical music or pop Classical
15. Sunrise or sunset Sunset.
16. Walk or run A nice leisurely stroll through the olive groves with Jayne.
17. Chocolate or crisps (chips
for our US readers) For myself, neither. To impress a
woman, or say sorry, Venchi chocolates.
18. What would you like on your
epitaph? Before my salvation: Not cut from the same
cloth. After my salvation: His father’s son.
A Novel Place to Fall in Love
USA Today bestselling author, MARION UECKERMANN’s passion for writing was sparked when she moved to Ireland with her family. Her love of travel has influenced her contemporary inspirational romances set in novel places. Marion and her husband again live in South Africa, but with two gorgeous grandsons hanging their hats at the house next door, their empty nest’s no longer so empty.
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