Chapter Thirty-Five
The whirlwind kidnapping negotiations ended up with me feeling guilty about skipping my final workout of the day, until we reached our destination. The promise of an authentic northern Italian meal with local wine was too good to pass up, and
the town of Nizza Monferrato was absolutely stunning. I could only imagine how beautiful it would be come summer, although
it was still almost too quaint to be true even in the deep winter freeze.
“Have you been here before?” I asked as I climbed out of the rental car.
We wound up at a cream-colored stone farmhouse with tan shutters and a terra-cotta tile roof. It was perched on the hillside,
looking out over a dormant vineyard.
“Yup,” he said as he stretched his hands over his head and rolled out his neck. “I have.”
The trip from Milan wasn’t long, just an hour and a half, but the narrow twisty roads and lawless drivers added some stress
to the navigation.
“A bunch of times, considering it’s where my dad’s family is from,” he added.
“Oh no way,” I exclaimed. “Are there any Martinos left here?”
“There sure are,” he grinned at me. “And you’re about to meet them.”
I froze. “Hold on. You brought me to meet your family?”
His expression went impish, and before he could answer I heard happy chatter heading our way.
“Ecco il mio bel ragazzo!”
A tiny, stooped, white-haired woman in a black coat ambled toward Ben, alternating between clapping and stretching out her
hands to him. When she reached him she took his face in her palms and her expression turned almost wistful as she studied
him.
“Sembri proprio lui!” She pulled him close and kissed him on both cheeks, then wrapped him in a hug.
I couldn’t tell if he understood her or was just nodding along until a translator showed up, but I was impressed just the
same.
“Zia Matilde,” he laughed as she squeezed him. “Bona sira!”
“Ach, devi avere una fame da lupi! Sei pelle e ossa.” She clasped his shoulders and frowned at him, then patted his stomach.
“Oh, I’m definitely not too skinny,” he replied. “And we’re both looking forward to your cooking.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. He did understand.
“I’ve been spiegando to my, uh, fidanzata that your food is mandato da Dio.” He pointed to me. “That’s Quinn. Quinn, this is my Great-Aunt Matilde.”
She turned to me and her eyes went wide. She pressed her hands to her chest. “Bella, bella, bella!”
The next thing I knew I was wrapped in a hug as well.
“Questo è l'atleta?” she asked Ben over her shoulder.
“She sure is an athlete,” he answered. “Il migliori.”
Zia Matilde took my hands in hers while she studied me, her dark eyes familiar. ‘L'é na campionessa. Dio l’ha volù!”
Ben burst out laughing. “Well, okay then. Zia Matilde says that god has willed your win, so you’re all set.”
I laughed with him. “Grazie.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “L'é un gran bel acsent!”
“She said your accent is great,” Ben explained.
A man strode out to join us and the pair looked like a matched set of salt and pepper shakers. He was just a few inches taller
than Matilde, and had the same stooped posture.
“Welcome,” he boomed at us. “Happy, happy!”
He walked over and hugged Ben tightly, slapping his back so hard that it probably left a mark.
“Ziu Carlo, this is my friend Quinn.”
“Fidanzata,” Matilde added.
He looked down at my hand then back at Ben.
“Fidanzata?” Carlo pressed.
Ben went white as he seemed to translate what was happening. “No, I mean amica! Quinn is my friend.”
“Oh ho, very nice!” He walked over to me and wrapped me in a gentler hug. “Hungry? Yes?”
I nodded. “Always.”
“Good, we eat! Come.”
They started toward the house and Ben fell back to walk in with me. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to give you a
reason not to come.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m loving this. I didn’t know you spoke Italian.”
“Speak,” he made air quotes. “More like ‘desperately tries to recall my high school Italian and the junk I picked up around the house.’ I’m not conversant but I understand a lot of it. My parents both speak, and obviously with my mom’s opera I heard it all the time.”
I followed them inside.
“Wow.” I glanced around. The front door opened directly into the dining area with a long rustic table beneath dark, exposed
beams, probably unchanged since it was built. There was a fire lit, and the smell of something delicious and garlicky in the
air.
Matilde went into the kitchen and came out clutching a big silver pot. “Sit!”
Carlo made a fuss as he pulled out a chair for me, then took a seat next to me. Ben sat across from me.
“Oh, Zia, did you make agnolotti del plin?” he asked.
“Sì,” she nodded.
“It’s my favorite. She makes her own pasta, by hand,” he explained. “It’s like a miniature ravioli stuffed with braised beef,
sautéed spinach, and parmesan, with a butter and sage sauce.” He paused. “Shit. Is that okay for you to eat, or . . .”
“Are you kidding me? There is no way I’m turning down handmade pasta. In Italy.”
Ben rattled off something to Matilde and she started scooping pasta into bowls.
“She serves everyone. It’s going to be way more than you can handle,” he said under his breath.
“We’ll see about that,” I said as I eyeballed the feast headed my way.
“Uffa,” Carlo said, jumping to his feet. “Un bicchiere di Nizza!”
“He’s getting the red wine,” Ben explained. “Made with grapes from this vineyard.”
Carlo placed a tulip-shaped glass in front of each of us.
“Un po’ for me,” Ben said, holding his thumb and pointer finger an inch apart.
Carlo nodded and tipped the bottle to my glass. I laughed when he went well beyond the appropriate fill line.
“He’s giving you my share,” Ben said. “I’m only having a couple of sips.”
I leaned across the table and lowered my voice. “Is that . . . okay for you?”
“Oh, I still drink on special occasions like this one. But it’s rare. Honestly, it would be a bigger deal if I didn’t have some. It’s our family legacy.”
“Alla nostra,” Carlo said, raising his glass to us and kicking off a wonderful meal.
Somehow, the evening seemed to exist in a space out of time. The only thing that mattered was this food, this joyfully shouty Italian-English conversation, this cozy room with a roaring fire. For the first time in ages I was able to detach from my striver self and not worry about what
I was eating or how it would impact me the following day. I gave myself permission to be fully in the moment, because there
would never be another one like it.
We finished our meal and we all seemed to exhale in unison.
“Fare una passeggiata.” Matilde swept her hand toward the door.
“Good idea,” Ben answered. “I’ll show Quinn the vineyard before it gets too dark.” He stood up and fixed his eyes on me. “We’ll
stroll a bit then head back.”
“Grazie for, uh . . .” I turned to Ben. “How do you say ‘dinner’?”
“Cena,” he answered.
“Grazie for cena,” I said to his aunt and uncle.
They oohed and clapped in unison at my sad attempt at Italian. I pulled on my jacket and followed Ben into the cold twilight.
“Are you okay to stay for a little bit longer or should we head back now?” he asked.
I shook my head as I surveyed the landscape spilling out in front of me. We were in a fortress on a hill, surrounded by similar
looking houses dotting hills on the horizon. The vineyard stretched down in front of us, with rows of grape vines so symmetrically
planted that they looked like lines on a legal pad. The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, leaving a highlighter
trail of pink and orange along the edge of distant hills.
“No way I’m ready to go. It’s beautiful here,” I sighed. “This is the kind of place where you can forget everything.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“In this moment, yeah,” I said quietly. “I could use a little meditation in the now instead of worrying about what comes next.”
“Good,” he said. “Let’s walk and meditate.”
The cold was bracing but not uncomfortable, like everything about the region was calibrated to be welcoming. Ben described
the history of the home and land, and talked about his summer staying with his aunt and uncle back when he was thirteen, working
the vineyard alongside them and his cousins. We ended up at a white stucco barn.
“Why is every inch of this place so picturesque?” I asked as we paused outside of it. “This is a utility building and I’d
live in here.”
“It’s the way the architecture merges with the landscape,” Ben mused. “There’s harmony. And old-world craftsmanship.”
“What’s that?” I pointed up to a wall made of lattice brickwork beside an open doorway on the second floor.
“It’s for air flow. We process grapes up there, and age barrels. Want to check it out?”
I nodded, and Ben led me into the barn to a floating staircase. It was dark inside so he switched on his phone flashlight.
“Careful,” he said as I climbed the stairs. “It’s a little creaky. Repairs happen slowly around here, if ever.”
Once I got to the second floor I walked toward the light fading through the lattice. In addition to the tapestry of hills
and dollhouse homes dotting the landscape, I was now greeted by a field of twinkly stars waking up above us.
“Heaven,” I sighed. “I love it here.”
“I’m glad.”
We were side by side, staring out at the horizon and pretending that the poetry of the moment wasn’t having an impact on us.
As if being alone in the Italian countryside with the moonlight casting a blue glow on our faces was just like any other day.
I wished I could add another amendment to our agreement.
Ben turned to me and stepped closer without a word, and my heart fluttered wildly off beat. He took my hands in his.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
I willed my voice to stay steady. “For what?”
He dropped my hand and reached up to palm the back of my neck. “For this,” he whispered as he pulled me to him.
Our noses bumped and we giggled self-consciously, but the moment our lips connected we melted together.
The idea that we’d maintain our boundaries despite what happened in Connecticut was laughable and we both knew it. There was
no “getting it out of our systems.” We were now addicts trying to navigate life with permanently altered DNA.
“This is a terrible idea,” he whispered against my lips. “We can’t . . .”
“But we are,” I insisted, kissing him harder.
I squeezed my eyes shut but I was tempted to keep them open, so I could drink in the perfect moment. Stars, moonlight, Italy . . .
Ben.
I stopped feeling the cold and instead found myself wishing I could wrench off my clothes. Ben’s hands dropped to the hem
of my jacket and pushed under it, searing my skin at the same time cold air grazed it.
“Do you want me—”
“Yes,” I scold-panted as we kissed. “I want all of you. Why do you even have to ask? I’ve always wanted you.”
“I guess you don’t want me to stop, then.” I could feel Ben’s smile curving against my mouth.
“Never,” I sighed as he dotted kisses down the side of my neck.
I’d somehow convinced myself that we wouldn’t have to worry about crashing into each other this way again in the days leading
up to competition, seeing as we were both here facing career-defining scenarios. Life defining. But the pull to be as close as humanly possible canceled out all the discipline that had defined our lives.
My body felt like it was sinking into his, and Ben adjusted to support my weight. I was letting go in every possible way,
signaling to him that I was his. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue over mine as his hands found their way to the bare
skin of my back.
I felt weak, but at the same time my whole body was tensed, bracing for the next shock of pleasure.
Ben’s hands migrated from my back to cup my breasts, his thumbs grazing my nipples over the thin fabric of my bra as if we had all the time in the world.
I closed my eyes, my breath coming in short bursts, like I’d just finished a marathon.
My hand moved down to the front of his jeans to find him straining there.
Ben made a deep, rumbly noise as I pushed against him and rubbed. He inhaled sharply, like my touch through thick denim was
enough to leave him unmoored.
I was blinded by how intensely I needed him. I fumbled with the zipper on his pants and pushed it down, forcing my hand between
the layers of fabric to grip him. He went concave as my hand circled his hardness, and then dropped his forehead to my shoulder.
“Quinn,” he rasped.
We moved together, hindered by our clothing and the cold that prevented us from stripping. If we’d been in this spot during
the heat of summer I had no doubt that I’d be naked beneath him, sweaty and happy. For now we had to settle for the stolen
bits of skin we dared to expose.
I still felt feverish with need for him despite the barriers between us. I yanked his zipper down and started lowering myself
to my knees.
Then we heard something echoing in the distance. I paused, hovering in a half squat in front of him.
“Fuck,” Ben grumbled through gritted teeth. “The fucking bell.”
I stood up slowly and listened. Sure enough, I heard the sound of a handbell bouncing off the hills.
“What does it mean?” I whispered. “Is there a problem?”
“It’s how they signal the workers in the field to come in. She’s trying to tell us we need to come back, probably for port and torcetti before we leave.”
The bell continued calling us home.
“Will she keep on . . .”
He nodded, frowning at the timing. “Yeah. We should go. Otherwise she’ll start making jokes about leaving the hay outside
the barn.”
I tipped my head, questioning the translation.
He snorted softly. “She told me that was how girls avoided getting pregnant back in the day. The men ‘left their hay outside
the barn.’”
It took a little bit to figure out what she meant.
“Oh my god,” I giggled when it dawned on me. “She told you that?”
“Oh yes. Zia has no filter.” Ben adjusted himself and sighed. “It’s probably for the best. We’re supposed to be avoiding this.”
I snuggled up against him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Then we probably shouldn’t be alone together, because I can’t
resist touching you.”
My heart fumbled at the idea of not having another chance to be this close to him.
He kissed the top of my head. “Deal. We’ll make sure we have a chaperone. And I’m going to get even busier next week, once
everything starts. The only time I’ll get to see you is our final interview, postcompetition.”
“Hold on. You’re not covering the press conference we’re doing tomorrow?”
He frowned at me. “They haven’t mentioned a word about that. Weird.”
The bell started clanging again.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said unconvincingly as we set off for the house.
It was fine that we’d be forced apart. Better, in fact. We’d both navigate the insane pressures ahead of us, and then once
we were on the other side, we could figure out what the hell we were to each other.