The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

“Stop it,” she told herself aloud. “You have everything you could ever have wanted. More than you deserve.”

She walked through the garden until it grew dark, then went inside to sit on the sofa outside Nico’s home office with an old leather-bound book she’d found on the shelf of the library. By the time Nico shook her awake, it was hours later, nearly midnight.

“Sorry.” He gave her a charming smile. “My lawyers took longer than I thought.”

“That’s all right,” she said, rubbing her eyes, trying to wake herself up and be ready to eat dinner when her whole body said she should be sleeping. She felt totally upended by jet lag.

Outside the villa, there were streaks of velvety stars in the dark purple night. Helping her into his sports car, Nico drove her through the gate and out to the cliff road, twisting along the edge of the black Tyrrhenian Sea.

“The restaurant is just up there. The best pasta in Campania, which means the best in Italy, which, of course, means the best in the world.”

But as he started to turn into the parking lot, a big RV coming from behind clipped the edge of his back bumper, causing the sports car to spin wildly through the gravel lot, rocking back and forth chaotically.

Their car spun toward the edge of the cliff.

Honora screamed. For an instant, she was eleven again, watching the whole world spin in front of her eyes. It was just like before. In selfishly asking for something she wanted, she’d ruined her life. Killed the people she loved most—

Nico gave a low, tense curse, gripping the wheel hard and forcing it to turn.

The car suddenly stopped. But her screaming didn’t.

“Honora. Cara—”

She felt Nico’s hand on her shoulder, heard his gentle voice. She opened her eyes and saw that the world had stopped spinning. Their car was still. Other than a cloud of dust around them, there was nothing to show that they’d nearly plummeted into the sea.

“I’m—sorry,” she choked out. “I didn’t mean to scream.” Suddenly she was sobbing and his arms wrapped around her.

“It’s all right.” His voice was tender as he stroked her hair. “We were never in any danger, but I’m sorry you were scared.” He looked fiercely behind them. “Damned tourists should know better than to try to drive this road in that thing.”

Honora felt embarrassed, making such a fuss when they were trying to have a romantic evening. Pulling away, she wiped her tears. “I’m fine now.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. “Absolutely.”

Opening her door, he helped her from the low-slung sports car and led her into a charming restaurant, which seemed very local. Perhaps because it was after midnight, the restaurant had no other customers. The owner was thrilled to see him. “Mr. Ferraro! I am so glad you are here!”

“Grazie, Luigi.”

“My wife, she said you would come and bring your new American bride, your first night in Trevello. I said no, lovebirds have better things to do than eat! But my wife, she said, doing those things, one always gets hungry...”

“I can speak for myself,” said his wife, who came over, smiling. She had an Australian accent. The two of them were good-looking and gray-haired, and Luigi pulled her into his arms, looking down at her lovingly.

“I will, and I do, and I should always listen to you.” He kissed his wife’s temple. “To listen as well as I love you, which is infinite and forever.”

She looked up at her husband. Luigi abruptly cleared his throat, as if he’d just remembered they had customers. “So Peggy told me you called for a reservation...?”

“Yes. Um...” Nico had the grace to look sheepish as he clawed his hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry we’re so late.”

The wife waved her hand, which was filled with menus. “That is no problem. We expected as much, seeing as it is your honeymoon. We are honored that you chose our restaurant for your first night.” Escorting them to an amazing table by the window, with a view of the moon-swept sea, the lights of the village of Trevello and a flickering candle between them, she handed Honora a menu. “This is your first trip to Italy, signora?”

“Yes,” she replied shyly. She looked at the menu, then said, “Nico says this is the best restaurant in all Italy, and as it is yours, will you please tell me what I should order?”

Luigi beamed at her, then plucked the menu from her hand. “You chose a good one, Signor Ferraro. Signora, I will be most pleased.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was dismayed as they were served two full plates of portobello mushrooms sautéed with spinach in garlic and olive oil.

“Enjoy, signora!” he said.