At first, after her difficult labor, and exhausted and zombielike from lack of sleep, sex had been the last thing on Rosalie’s mind. She’d even moved out of their bedroom to sleep on a cot in the baby’s nursery. She was waking up so continually with the baby; it seemed cruel to disturb Alex’s sleep, as well. After all, he wasn’t able to take catnaps with the baby throughout the day, but had to go out into the vineyard to put in fourteen-plus hours of hard physical labor.
But now Rosalie was getting more sleep, and she’d been given the all clear by her doctor two weeks ago, after her six-week checkup. But she was still sleeping alone in the nursery.
Her great-aunt Odette, who’d arrived three days earlier for her long-promised visit to see the baby, had looked at the lonely cot in the nursery and said, “Are you a single mother now, ma petite?”
“No, we’re married, of course I’m not!”
“Then why are you sleeping alone?”
Rosalie had blushed. “I’ve been busy, and so has he...”
Odette had narrowed her eyes, looking intently up at her niece, then shaken her head with derision. “You must change this, Rosalie.”
&
nbsp; “I don’t know how.”
“You simply go back to his bed.”
“I’m...” Swallowing hard, she’d admitted quietly, “I’m not sure if he wants me there.”
Her great-aunt’s dark eyes had glinted. “Then you should find out.”
Find out. Right. It should have been the easiest thing in the world. All Rosalie had to do was ask her husband if he still wanted her.
Except she was afraid she already knew the answer. He hadn’t so much as kissed her since their baby was born, beyond an occasional disinterested peck on the cheek.
“I can’t,” Rosalie had whispered. She half expected Odette to offer a scornful response. Instead, her great-aunt put a gentle hand on her arm.
“When you’re stuck, Rosalie, the only way to move forward is to change. Take a risk. Be bold.”
Thinking about it now, as she walked through the long downstairs hallway of the villa with her baby on her hip, Rosalie was wistful.
Take a risk. Be bold.
Easy for her Aunt Odette to say. She’d never been afraid of anything. But Rosalie—
How could she just climb back into her husband’s bed, when for two months, he hadn’t touched her? When they’d barely spoken? They’d become like two strangers, living in the same house. When she had news to share, she sent him a text.
Her aunt was right, she thought in horror. What had happened to their marriage?
But at least tonight, harvest would end. It was the final night of vendemmia, with the last grapes picked. At dusk, all the workers would celebrate by gathering around a bonfire, indulging in a feast, telling stories and polishing off last year’s wine.
Take a risk. Be bold.
Maybe she could find a way to—
“Contessa, there is a phone call for your husband,” called the housekeeper anxiously.
“He is out in the fields...”
“Sì, but the man says the conte does not return his calls, and it is urgent. Would you speak with him, per favore?” Rosalie hesitated until the housekeeper added, “He says he is his cousin.”
“His cousin!” Rosalie brightened. “Of course I will speak with him!”
Propping Oliver against her hip, she reached for the house line in the kitchen. Cesare Falconeri did not seem surprised when Rosalie introduced herself as Alex’s wife.
“Yes,” the man replied. “My wife told me Alex was married. She read about you online. And I’ve heard you have a child?”