“What?”
“How can you suggest she let Valentini go?”
“I’m sorry, Lil, but I don’t know what you expect me to do.”
“I was thinking that if you were coming home for Christmas, our family could come up with ways to try to help her.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“I don’t know why I bothered to call you. Pia told me you didn’t give a rat’s about her, and I guess she was right. Happy Christmas, Miles.”
The call ended, and I knew it wasn’t because it had dropped.
Before I got involved in Edge’s mission, my intention had been to go to Italy to explain what happened in London. Was there anything stopping me from going now? I rang Lily back, hoping she’d answer. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll go to Valentini?”
“If you think it will help.”
“I think that would be brilliant, Miles. I’ve another idea. This is about the farmhouse.”
“Go on.”
I’d just set a packed bag by the front door when I heard a knock.
“I’ve come to talk to you about Christmas,” said Edge when he came inside. “Going somewhere?” He pointed at my bag.
“Have a seat.”
“I don’t want to keep you.”
“I’m leaving for a while, Edge. I don’t know exactly how long I’ll be gone.”
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “It’s Pia.”
“Is she okay?”
“My sister fears she’s about to lose the winery that’s been in her family dating back to the mid-1500s. My gut, though, is telling me there’s something more to it.”
“Like?”
“Her father’s accident, primarily.”
“Are you bloody serious?” he exclaimed when I told him Pia’s father had been run over by a forklift.
It was cold as hell the night I left the ranch to catch a flight to Italy. This kind of weather exacerbated the pain and discomfort of my skin graft. Whoever said that what I experienced was psychosomatic, as some doctors did, should keep their opinions to themselves unless they’d suffered through the same trauma as people like me had.
I turned on the news station as I drove to the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport. Evidently, it hadn’t snowed in this area in ten years. Ten years. I met Pia ten years ago. God, what a lot had happened in that time. Our lives had completely changed. Mine far more than hers, although was that fair? She’d lost her father, and if what my sister told me was true, she may be about to lose her home.
Travel time to Florence was over fifteen hours, including a layover in Frankfurt. By the time I reached Valentini, it would be Christmas. I wished I’d thought to bring Pia a gift. A real gift. Not something I picked up at the Frankfurt airport.
I settled into my sleeper seat, hoping I would be able to stop my brain from coming up with scenarios or theories as to what Pia was up against.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Stone?” asked the flight attendant. A sleeping pill would be nice. Not that she could or that I would ask.
I’d hired a car and was on my way from Florence to Val d’Orcia when my sister rang to wish me a happy Christmas. Hearing all the noise in the background, I regretted not being with them, especially with my nephews and niece.