Read Online The Sicilian's Bride by Carol Grace - Free Book Online Page A

didn’t contradict her, she had a feeling she was right. Those grapes were ready and so was she. She couldn’t miss this harvest or she’d be behind a year in her quest for a new career.
    “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. Then he got into his car and drove away without a backward glance. She stood there wondering if she’d ever see him again. He was disappointed that his plan hadn’t worked. No, he was more than disappointed. He was angry. He couldn’t believe she was still holding out on him. She wondered if he’d really keep his promise.
    If he never came back, she’d have to scour the town, begging for workers in her broken Italian with the possibility she’d hired a crew of thieves and jailbirds. She needed his help. Badly.
    She hated that feeling of being needy. Of depending on someone. It brought back the familiar empty feeling in the pit of her stomach she’d had when she moved from one house to another. From one family to another. No place to call home. No one to turn to. No one who cared about her.
    She’d thought things would be different here. Her ownhouse, her own business. She’d be in charge. No landlord, no boss. Instead, she was more vulnerable than she’d ever been.
    She was too restless to hang around her hotel room studying her Italian audio tapes or reading how-to books about winemaking. All those chapters about yeast cells and tank-fermentation only made her feel more insecure and nervous about the future.
    She took a shower to cool off, changed clothes and headed for the village to look around. For all she knew there might be a group of day laborers standing on the corner looking for work the way they did back in California. She put her Italian phrase book in her pocket, grabbed her camera case and walked the half mile to town down a road lined with lemon trees and almond groves. With the sun low in the sky, the air was deliciously cool.
    Villarmosa wasn’t a big town. Centered around the town square was everything one needed for the simple life. She took a few photos of the small, leafy park in the center of town and the cluster of old houses around it. Then she walked over to look at an ancient stone church, passed a post office, a garage and a handful of shops, one of which was a greengrocer’s where the bins outside were filled with colorful cherries, ripe peaches and juicy melons.
    The lawyer’s office was located above a small café. She glanced up at the windows where she’d gotten the news about her inheritance, but the shades were drawn and it looked deserted. Maybe her uncle had been Signore Delfino’s only client. She didn’t see a single worker on any corner asking for jobs.
    Her first stop was at a brightly lighted food shop with a mouthwatering display in the window. Small jars of anchovies and sun-dried tomatoes were flanked by tall, hand-blown bell-shaped glass jars filled with colorful marinated vegetables. Figs, dried apricots and dates were strung like necklaces and hung from the ceiling. Isabel snapped some more pictures, then hung the camera around her neck.
    There was no way she could walk by and not go in for a closer look and maybe even a small purchase. Even though she’d had a large and delicious lunch, her mouth was watering and she couldn’t resist. Immediately behind the window was the counter where a portly man in a beard and a white apron was slicing prosciutto in paper-thin slices, carefully laying a piece of wax paper between each slice.
    The air was redolent with the mingled scents—cured meats and flavorful cheeses. The whole place was like a shrine to the god Epicurus and she’d never seen anything like it. A bell rang when she opened the door and every customer turned to look at her, the new girl in town. Of course, her camera marked her as a tourist, but who was she going to fool anyway? She smiled tentatively.
    While she waited in line she studied her phrase book to see how to ask for a small amount of what she wanted. When it was her