Читать книгу Tuscan Heat - Deborah Mello Fletcher - Страница 13

Chapter 4

Donovan stood nervously outside the luxury villa. After settling into the one bedroom cottage the university had rented for him for the next year, he’d asked the property owner for directions to the winery. The rotund woman looked like soft biscuit dough and spoke little if any English. She had stared at him, chattering away in Italian, and despite the obvious communication issues, he’d felt right at home. It had taken a moment, but she’d eventually pointed him in the direction of the groundskeeper, who spoke perfect English and had been happy to give him a ride.

Donovan had read the winery’s promotional brochures, scouring their website for anything he could learn. Cantina Moderna was a restored country farmhouse situated on a luxurious hilltop. It was surrounded by vineyards and olive groves, and the views were breathtaking. He knew from his readings that the entire wine estate included the vineyards, a state-of-the-art wine cellar and the private villa.

The bottaia, or wine cellar, was modern, yet sat in perfect harmony with the surrounding landscape. It showcased massive, hand-hewn oak barrels that held aged and refined wine. There was a meeting room that looked out to the Ombrone Valley and could host up to sixty people, and a tasting room with panoramic views equipped with one hundred indoor seats and a professional, gourmet kitchen. There were also rooms for the actual wine-making and a warehouse that had been designed to carry out the production needs of the winery from wine-making to bottling.

Now, standing at the edge of the floral beds that bordered the stunning home and wine facility, Donovan found himself feeling like a teen on his first date, anxiety flooding every muscle in his body. In one hand, he held a stunning bouquet of orange and pink roses, lisianthus, orchids and vibrant green ruscus tied with a simple yellow ribbon. In the other, he clutched a bottle of homemade strawberry vinaigrette, courtesy of his landlady, because how could you bring wine to a family with their own winery? He took a deep breath, and then a second one before moving slowly toward the entrance to knock on the front door.

Donovan was just about to knock a second time when Franco Martelli swung open the door, greeting him cheerily. The man pumped his arm enthusiastically as the two shook hands. “Benvenuto, Dr. Boudreaux!” he said as he pulled him inside the home, the door closing easily behind them.

Donovan smiled. “Buonasera, Signor Martelli. Thank you for having me in your home.”

“Please, call me Franco.” The patriarch gestured around the room. “Let me introduce you,” he said as he pointed to a man sitting on a stool at an oversize counter. “This is my son-in-law, Graham Porter. Graham is married to my daughter Carina.”

Graham came to his feet, extending his hand in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, eyeing Donovan with reservation.

Donovan nodded. “The pleasure is mine. Gianna has told me a lot about you. She holds you in very high regard.”

Graham smiled ever so slightly as he and Franco exchanged a look. “The girls should be out in a moment,” he said. “You know how women do. It takes forever to make sure their faces are just right.”

Donovan nodded his understanding. “I have four sisters. I understand perfectly.”

“If you are like my husband and my father, then I’m sure you exaggerate,” a warm voice chimed from the other side of the room. “We really are not that bad.”

Donovan turned, his eyes skipping anxiously in the direction of the voice. He was greeted by a bright smile, the young woman moving quickly to his side. “Donovan, hello. I’m Carina Martelli-Porter. Gianna’s sister. Welcome!”

“Carina, hello!”

“How was your trip?”

His head continued to bob up and down. “It was good. Very good. Thank you for asking.”

Carina moved to her husband’s side. An awkward silence suddenly filled the space, the family watching Donovan anxiously. They all seemed to take a collective breath, heavy sighs blowing around the room.

Carina pressed a palm to her husband’s chest. “Darling, pour Dr. Boudreaux a glass of wine!” she said, her voice quivering ever so slightly. She shifted her gaze in Donovan’s direction.

“Dr. Boudreaux, please, have a seat!” she said as she gestured toward the couch with her hand.

“Thank you, and please, call me Donovan.”

He suddenly remembered the bottle in his hand. “This is for the family. It’s...”

Carina interrupted. “Strawberry vinaigrette! You must be staying with Signora Rossi.”

He smiled. “I am. How did you know?”

Carina held up the bottle he’d passed to her. “This stuff is pure gold and hard to come by. I’d recognize it anywhere. We are always trying to copy her recipe, and no one in the village has ever been able to get it right!”