The Playboy of Rome

He cut his thoughts off short. He realized that it was thoughts like this that had gotten him into trouble in the first place. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that this silent treatment was doing him in.

“Are you ever going to speak to me again?” He struggled to keep the frustration out of his voice.

“Yes.”

More of the one-syllable answers. “Did you enjoy your visit to the vineyard?”

“Yes.”

“Enough with the yeses and nos.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel, trying to get a grip on his rising frustration. Worst of all was the fact he had no clue how to fix things between them. And whether it was wise or not, he wanted Lizzie to like him. “My grandfather seemed quite taken with you. In fact, the whole family did.”

Nothing.

She crossed her arms and huffed. What did that mean? Was she about to let him have it? His muscles tensed as he waited for a tongue-lashing. Not that he could blame her. He deserved it, but it wouldn’t make it any less uncomfortable.

Her voice was soft and he strained to hear her. “How do you do it?”

Well, it was more than one syllable, but he didn’t have a clue what she meant. And he was hesitant to ask, but what choice did he have?

“How do I do what?” The breath caught in his throat as he waited for what came next.

“How do you drive away from that little piece of heaven at the end of each weekend and return to the city?”

This wasn’t the direction he’d expected the conversation to take. His family wasn’t a subject he talked about beyond the generalities. How’s your father? Is your brother still working at the vineyard? Did they have a good harvest? But no one ever probed into his choice to move away—to distance himself from his family.

“I prefer Rome.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love the city life. But I was born and bred in a city that never sleeps. I think it’s in my bones to appreciate the chatter of voices and the hum of vehicles. But you, you were raised in the peace and tranquillity.”

“It isn’t the perfect slice of heaven like you’re thinking.” He tried not to think about his childhood. He didn’t want to remember.

“What wasn’t perfect about it?”

He glanced her way, giving her a warning stare to leave the subject alone.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted me to talk. I’m talking. Now it’s your turn.”

He could see that she wasn’t going to leave this subject alone. Not unless he let her know that she was stepping on a very tender subject.

“Life at the DeFiore Vineyard wasn’t idyllic when I was a kid. Far from it.”

“Why?”

She really was going to push this. And for some unknown reason, he wanted to make her understand his side. “I’m the reason my mother died.”

“What?” She swung around in her seat, fighting with the seat belt so that she was able to look directly at him. “But I don’t understand. How?”

“She died after she gave birth to me.”

“Oh. How horrible.” There was an awkward pause. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

“No, not directly. But my father blamed me. He told me that I took away the best part of his life.”

“He didn’t mean it. That...those words, they were part of his grief.”

Dante shoved his fingers through his hair. “He meant it. I can’t help but feel that I bring sadness and misery to those closest to me—”

“Nonsense. Listen, I’m so sorry for your loss. I know how tough that can be, but you’re not to blame for her death or how your father handled his grief. We all handle the death of family members differently.”