Ama’s face fell. “It is everything. You tell her.”
Gregorio’s sigh reached the low arched ceiling. He gave his grandmother an exasperated glance and then turned to me. “I do not want to go to Harvard, Profesora. I do not want to run the winery.”
“What?” What was he saying? But as I sat there, tasting his food, suddenly everything made sense. “The cooking?”
Ama’s hands were folded into her wide sleeves, the way they were when she was about to make a pronouncement. “Gregorio wants to be a chef. And he will be one of the greatest chefs in the world.”
“But I don’t understand. Then why are we studying for the admission exams?”
She tilted her head at me as if to say,how can you be such a stupid woman?
“My father doesn’t know.” Misery weighed Gregorio’s words.
I waved my hand across the kitchen. “He doesn’t know you cook?”
“Shh.” Ama quickly shushed me. “Do you want the whole world to hear you?” Her eyes skittered down the long room, checking every hallway, every door.
“He would hate it. And he will hate me for wanting it.” Gregorio looked miserable. It broke my heart to see his pain. “Harvard means so much to him.”
And I knew why. But I wondered if Gregorio knew the reason why Marco insisted on Harvard. “But who would run the family business if you don’t?” I was thinking out loud.
“My son is still young,” Ama said, as if she’d considered every angle of this question.
Yes, Marco was young. He could father many more children. Emptiness filled me. I was a silly, lovesick fool. A woman who was beyond her sell-by date. That kiss? No need to kid myself about that.
A bony hand clutched mine, bringing me to my senses. Ama’s eye pierced me with the same intensity her son had turned on me so many times. “Will you help us?”
19
It took me one week to find the courage to broach the topic of Gregorio’s education with Marco. What should I do? How could I phrase this? Yes, there was no doubt in my mind, that culinary arts was what Gregorio wanted to do with his life, what he should do.
The kitchen scene replayed in my mind like one of those haunting tunes you cannot forget. The joy on Gregorio’s face. The love in Ama’s eyes, teamed with the hope for her grandchild. She wanted him to be happy. In some ways, I’d seriously misjudged her. How could I persuade Marco to want the same for his only son?
August arrived, pressing a heavy hand over the island. When we made a trip into town, even the vegetables seemed limp, drained by the blazing sun. Days stretched longer and hotter. “We are going out on the boat today,” Gregorio told me one morning after class.
“A boat?” Lexi’s face lit up with delight.
“Where do you have a boat?” But then I remembered arriving at the boathouse on that first day. How trepidatious I’d felt back then.
“That boathouse, Mom. When we came here.” Lexi had not forgotten.
“Of course. Sure, I remember.” But I was in a daze. Since discovering Gregorio and his grandmother in the kitchen that day, we had distanced ourselves from each other. That hurt. Gregorio and I had become close. But he was Marco’s son. If I were going to approach Marco about Gregorio’s career aspirations, I had to choose my timing perfectly. Meanwhile I’d been doing research and had discovered some top culinary arts schools.
Lexi and Gregorio disappeared to change for a day on the water. I went upstairs but not to get into a bathing suit. No way would I do that in case Marco might be coming along. When we climbed into the limo that morning, Marco was nowhere in sight. I exhaled.
The day began to look brighter. I could relax. Settling back into the plush leather, I listened as Gregorio told Lexi all about what she might see. “We will take the boat all around the island.”
Excellent. That might give me more of a view of their holdings. Although I’d explored some of the land near the castle on horseback, I had no idea what else the island had to offer. In the library I’d found a map that indicated the island was much larger than what I’d seen riding Tesoro.
When we reached the wharf, a red sportscar sat outside the boathouse. Milo stood next to it, obviously standing guard.
“Oh good. My father’s here already.” Smiling, Gregorio nodded at the car.
My heart was in my mouth. “So he’s coming?”
Gregorio cut me a sharp look. I’d disappointed him. His face fell. But I hadn’t had any opportunities to talk to Marco alone.You could have made that opportunity, Christina.
Taking a deep breath, I got out of the car and followed Lexi and Gregorio into the cool, woody darkness. Our footsteps echoed on the moist planks. The last time I was in this boathouse, I’d been filled with misgivings. Today didn’t feel much different. Yep, here sat the boat that had brought us from Milan. Avoiding Marco on a boat this size would be difficult, if not impossible.
