TWENTY-SIX
I blinked at the bright light streaming in through the window as my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached over, rubbing my eyes, and saw Gia’s name flashing across the screen. I looked over to see the other side of my bed empty. Sophie must have left extra early this morning.
“Buongiorno, Charlie!”
Gia’s voice rang through the phone, already full of energy, “Ready for today?”
I couldn’t help but smile. Gia’s enthusiasm was infectious. “I’m more than ready! What’s the plan?”
She laughed, the sound warm and comforting. “Same as we discussed last night. My brother, Matteo, will be picking you up at eleven. He will stop by our mother’s house on the way to the vineyard—which he’s refusing to do before picking you up. He’s dropping off wine, and you’ll love meeting her. She’s great.”
“That sounds perfect. I’m good with that.”
“I just wanted to double-check… You’re okay with Matteo driving you? He’s young and very in love with himself,”
she added with a teasing edge.
I laughed, rolling out of bed, “I can handle anything he’s offering, promise.”
“Good! He finds himself very important—he’s the youngest of the family and it shows. We’re excited to have you visit today. I’ll see you later,”
Gia assured me with sincerity in her voice.
The line went dead, and I found myself grinning. This day was starting to feel exciting. My phone beeped with a new text message. Actually, it beeped a few times before I looked. It was Luca.
Luca: Gia just told me you are heading to the Vineyard for the day.
Luca: It’s the perfect day for it.
Luca: Let me know if my brother doesn’t behave—he won’t!
I laughed reading that last bit, obviously a family trait.
Me: Sounds like your brother!
Me: Does he look like you?
Oh, I struck a nerve. Those three little typing dots on my phone keep appearing and disappearing. Something does ruffle this Luca Lione’s feathers and I found that very entertaining.
Luca: He IS my brother, so I would say yes.
Luca: Why…
Me: No reason.
Me: Just curious.
Luca: He’s my youngest brother. He’s reckless.
Me: And I think he’s here.
Me: Will I see you today?
Luca: I plan on it.
Luca: I have a few calls first.
Me: Great!
Luca: That picture last night…
Me: …
Luca: Really?
Me: You didn’t like it?
Luca: It was just after 3 am.
Luca: I never went back to sleep.
Me: You were up late?
Luca: It woke me up!
Me: You don’t silence your phone at night?
Luca: …
Luca: You’re impossible.
Me: We were pretty tipsy. It sounded fun.
After sending that last message, I questioned myself—was I excited about seeing Luca? I definitely wasn’t upset about it—this was just new. I don’t want to act weird, especially in front of his family. I know seeing him will make it difficult to focus.
Matteo showed up right on time, and I couldn’t help but notice how he practically was a younger Luca, that kind of casual confidence you only saw in people who were used to moving fast, getting everything the wanted, and never missed an opportunity to have fun. We made our introductions and knew we would get along perfectly.
As he opened the door to the car, he threw something in Italian at me with a grin that had me raising an eyebrow. “You’re molto bella.”
I didn’t respond directly, but the smile tugging at my lips felt a little mischievous. I was going to let him believe I didn’t understand Italian, though the truth was, I did, and the way he said it made me almost want to respond with something flirtatious. Luca and him shared a very similar charisma, that broody charm plus dark hair with cerulean blue eyes. Damn—I believed this car ride was going to be enjoyable.
Matteo’s English was beautiful, not quite the flawless quality of Luca and Gia, but still fluent. His accent was much heavier than Luca’s, but undeniably he was attractive. We chatted about this and that. It only took about fifteen minutes until we pulled up to their parent’s house—the front door opened before we even had the chance to knock, and there she was—their mom.
She directed some Italian fury at Matteo, and he went to get the wine cases out of the trunk. He mumbled something about how she didn’t appreciate him like he deserved. She greeted me with a hug so tight, it was as if we’d known each other for years. “Ah, benvenuta! Welcome, welcome!”
Her accent was thick and her voice boisterous. She practically pulled me inside, beaming. “You’re here! It’s fate. Gia told me all about you.”
“You’re a businesswoman, yes? I can see it in your eyes,”
she said, examining me like she could read my entire life. “I have a pasta class tonight! Matteo brings me more wine to serve at it. I sell it after my class. Everyone takes one home. I’m very persuasive,” she added with a wink, already making me feel like I had no choice but to love her.
“I was actually planning on signing up for a class by the hotel for myself. I didn’t know you did pasta classes,”
I started, but she cut me off before I could finish.
“No, no, you must come to me. My pasta is the best in Positano. This will be much better! Tomorrow evening, you will come, no excuses.”
Her voice was firm, but her smile was so warm I couldn’t argue.
I smiled, already giving in. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Well, it’s settled. The two of us will make pasta tomorrow evening,”
she said, clapping her hands together with a satisfied grin. “I will teach you everything.”
Matteo and I made it to the vineyard in less than an hour. I was positive it was due to his love of speeding, but he was a decent driver. I felt safe, so no complaints.
He detailed how he was upgrading all the technology and growing their social media presence. He was very intelligent and clearly skilled in his field. They were lucky to have such great but different skills in one family. Amelia and I were so differently involved in careers. I couldn’t imagine a way they could pair together.
The moment the car stopped in front of Vine di Mare, I felt my breath catch. The sprawling vineyard stretched out in every direction, a mosaic of lush greens and rolling hills that disappeared into the horizon.
The air smelled faintly of salt, kissed by the nearby sea, and the golden sunlight made the scene feel like a postcard brought to life. This place wasn’t just beautiful—it was breathtakingly alive, with workers moving through the vines and laughter drifting from somewhere behind the stone villa.
Matteo stepped out first, rounding the car to open my door with an exaggerated bow. “Your chariot, signorina,”
he said, his grin wide and shamelessly charming. His brown eyes sparkled like he knew the effect he had on women, and I wasn’t immune to it—not entirely, anyway. I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop a small smile from slipping through as I let him take my hand.
“You’re laying it on thick, Matteo,”
I said as I stepped out. My heels crunched on the gravel driveway, and I adjusted my purse on my shoulder, already feeling the hum of anticipation in my chest.
“Only because you inspire it,”
he replied, holding my hand a beat longer than necessary.
I laughed despite myself. Matteo had that boyish, devil-may-care energy that made it hard to take him seriously, but he was sharp—sharper than he let on. And his teasing was just enough to distract me, if only briefly, from the thought of seeing Luca again.
“Matteo,” I called.
“Yes,”
he turned to me.
“Grazie, buona giornata” I smiled.
“No, problem,”
he started walking towards the massive entrance and immediately turned around to face me. He scowled at me, but with a smile.
“Matteo, parlo italiano,”
I admitted.
He started laughing, “Certo che lo fai.”
The heavy wooden doors of the villa loomed ahead, flanked by climbing vines that bloomed with delicate flowers. My pulse quickened as I smoothed the fabric of my dress. Somewhere inside, Gia was waiting to give me the grand tour, and Luca… Well, I wasn’t sure.
Matteo pulled the door open for me, stepping aside with a theatrical gesture. “After you, Charlie. Try not to fall in love with the place too quickly.”
“I’ll try,”
I shot back, stepping past him and into the cool, stone-walled interior. My heels clicked against the polished floor as I crossed the threshold, ready for whatever the day—and the Lione family—had in store for me.
Gia greeted me with a smile that could light up the entire place. Without wasting a second, we began our tour. As we walked, she told me about the family’s history, how they’d carefully cultivated these lands for generations, always with a focus on quality and authenticity.
The tour ended at the distillery, where the rich scent of aging wine filled the air. Gia looked at me, eyes twinkling. “This,”
she said, “is where the magic happens. This is our signature wine.” She gestured toward the tanks with pride. “It’s Taurasi, made from Aglianco grapes. One of the best wines you’ll ever taste.”
I could already tell I was going to love it.
“How about a wine tasting this afternoon?”
Gia asked, and I felt my excitement spike.
“Absolutely,”
I said, smiling widely. It was the perfect way to immerse myself further in their world, and an excellent opportunity for the business side of my brain.
We made our way toward the events area, where a long table was already set up with glasses, bottles, and charcuterie. As we approached, I spotted Luca coming toward us, a slight apology in his eyes. “Sorry I’m late,”
he said with a grin. “My meeting ran over.” He leaned in and kissed both my cheeks with that familiar warmth.
Gia noticed how at ease we were with each other, the way Luca’s friendly, familiar smile lingered. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, just gave us both a knowing look.
“Would you mind if I join you for the tasting?”
Luca asked, his voice casual but full of interest.
I nodded enthusiastically, already anticipating how much I was going to enjoy the experience. “Join us.”
As we settled into our seats, I took a step back, suddenly remembering the business side of things. “Do you mind if I take some pictures for my business content?”
I asked, pulling out my camera. “It’s best to do it before we start drinking all the wine,” I added with a laugh.
Gia and Luca chuckled, and I quickly snapped a few shots of the vineyard, the wine bottles, and Gia in her element. I caught her laughing in one photo, a perfect shot of her natural, unforced charm. Getting the aesthetic of places like this was essential and one of my favorite parts.
“Female CEOs, entrepreneurs, and managers are going to love the fact that a woman heads this place,”
I said as I showed them a few of the pictures. “It’ll drive bookings. Women love supporting women in business.”
Gia beamed. “You’re right, Charlie. We’ve been focusing on that more lately. I’m glad you see the potential.”
With the photos wrapped up, we turned our attention to the wine tasting. Glasses were filled with their most popular white. I was excited to taste it.
Gia looked at me, curiosity flashing in her eyes. “So, Charlie…tell me about you?”
“Sure, what do you want to know,”
I asked open to whatever she was interested in knowing.
“Luca told me a little bit about your background, that your parents are French and American. How did that happen?”
“Oh, so like a real origin story. I can do that,” I joked.
And that’s where I started, “My dad, an American, was attending graduate school in Paris. He arrived a few weeks before the term started, so he could get to know the city. He studied art history and was making his way through a list of museums and galleries. My mom worked at a smaller gallery in the city. Her gallery was on his list. He stopped in her place one afternoon.
“He saw her and was smitten. He tried to play it cool by asking her questions about all the art. He knew the art. My mom, even at twenty-two, was a force of nature. He never stood a chance with her. She was born fierce and independent, but with an endless capacity to love and laugh. I love her laugh. My dad was undeterred by her lack of interest. She even told him she was seeing someone. He still asked her to dinner. She said no, politely. He told her, ‘La prochaine fois’ and she laughed at him. He was determined to find a way to get her to go out with him.
“Classes started shortly after that—he went to the gallery another time but she wasn’t working. On the second day of classes starting, he went into some gothic art theory lecture and there she was—in that same class as him. The seat right next to her was open. He sat down giving her no time to disagree. They ended up having two classes together. He was persistent and found any reason for them to spend time together. Studying. Checking out new exhibits. Coffee. Comparing notes. He wore her down. Eventually, he asked her out again and she said yes.
“They ended up getting married the following year. My mom managed a gallery while he completed his education. After he graduated, they bought a little home in Meaux—both commuting into Paris for work. Eventually, I came along. My sister, Amelia, followed three years later. We lived in that little home, outside of Paris until I was ten. It was the perfect childhood.
“My dad accepted an opportunity in Boston. So, we packed up and moved that summer. We loved living in Boston—it’s a great city. We came back to France every summer to visit. Never missed one. My mom’s very close with her brother, Jacques, and his family. We grew up with them. My cousins are just a few years younger. I saw them last week while in Paris.”
Gia asked, “That’s a big change. Did you miss France?”
I thought about it for a few seconds making sure I answered it fairly. “Being a kid, I didn’t miss it because it was always such a big part of our lives. We visited and called. You know what, I missed smells and tastes. When we were younger, our parents took us into Paris around Christmas. We had our traditions and my favorite was visiting the Dior facade on Avenue Montaigne. It was pure magic during the holidays. Everything glowed gold from the windows to the little decorative stars and trees, and the ridiculous amount of sparkling mini Eiffel towers. It had such an overly touristy vibe that it circled back around to being completely French. I missed moments. If that makes sense.”
Gia listened. She remained quiet wanting me to continue.
“My sister and I attended college where my parents worked because the tuition was considerably discounted. Big bonus! My mom started working there, too, shortly after we settled in. I moved to New York City with my best friend, Lena, and that’s where I started my business. It’s been almost four years,”
I stopped there needing to take a break.
I reached for my glass of wine. The pale wine with a slightly golden hue was refreshing. I inhaled and detected notes of citrus blossoms, green apples and some kind of herb. Maybe thyme or rosemary. I wasn’t quite sure. It was pure magic brushing my lips. Immediately, the zesty lemon and pear flavors danced in my mouth. Oh, I really liked this. I let out an audible sound of enjoyment, almost embarrassed hearing it pass my lips. Gia smiled in acknowledgment, but I felt Luca’s eyes on me. He watched me.
“That’s a beautiful story. Do your parents plan to move back to France, ever,”
Gia asked.
“Yes, my mom’s already in planning mode. My father died two years ago, heart attack,”
I still hated saying those words. It never was easier. It felt like a lie.
Gia grabbed my hand and squeezed tightly—in solidarity. I looked down at the point of contact in understanding.
“Our father died almost five years ago. Sudden. A stroke. No warnings. No signs. Maybe he ignored them. Didn’t tell us. He had the stroke while walking in the vineyard. He did this every day. He had a special relationship with the grapes—unnatural but beautiful. He was connected. He smoked like most Italian men. He was healthy. Vibrant. Full of life. In one moment, he was gone. No preparations. No goodbyes,”
she shared. I heard the hitch in her voice.
I knew that feeling well. I recognized myself in her words. I had never talked about my father to someone beyond my family like this. Never allowed myself to be vulnerable. Here I was, at one of the most beautiful vineyards, with people I hardly knew and I felt safe with those raw emotions. It was okay to talk about him. To feel and endure the waves of emotions experienced by losing someone so suddenly. It was a release my soul needed.
“No goodbyes,”
my breath caught. In those two words, I freed my mourning. My sadness. My anger. “I didn’t know you lost your father. I’m truly sorry for you loss,” I said sincerely. All of us sat in silence enjoying our wine taking a break from the heavy turn of our conversation.
I breached the subject that we all knew Alessandro and how small that made the world. Both Gia and Luca were shocked to know my mom and him grew up close family friends and still talked on a regular basis. To my surprise, they all lived in a close enough proximity to share social circles. They had known Alessandro for over ten years, and done business with him most of that time—both being involved in wine. I mentioned that he would be in Amalfi over the next few days and we hoped to meet up. I didn’t remember the last time I visited Europe and we didn’t find time to have a meal or drink together. He was my family. I loved seeing him.
Gia excused herself, a buzzing phone pulling her attention away. “I’ll be back shortly. Duty calls,”
she said with a small smile as set her glass down before heading toward the villa.
That left Luca and me sitting together. No big deal. He hadn’t said more than a dozen words over the last hour. He swirled the wine in his glass and watched the sunlight dance in the hypnotic motion.
“Would you like to see the vineyard?”
he asked, his voice low and casual, but his eyes held that familiar intensity that made my heart skip.
I nodded and set my glass down. “I’d love that.”
He stood and extended a hand to me, his touch warm as I slipped mine into his. “Come on. I’ll show you my father’s favorite spot.”
The conversation was casual and comfortable. We easily found the ease of it. We walked past rows of vines heavy with grapes, their earthy scent mingling with the salt-tinged breeze. The ground was uneven, but Luca moved with practiced ease and glanced back occasionally to make sure I was keeping up. His presence was steady, grounding, and somehow intense all at once.
“He used to say the vines spoke to him,”
Luca said, breaking the silence. His tone was soft, thoughtful. “He’d spend hours out here, talking to them like they were old friends. We used to laugh about it, but now… I get it. There’s something alive about this place. It demands respect.”
I glanced at him, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his voice. “It sounds like he loved it here,”
I said. “Like it was part of him.”
Luca nodded, his gaze distant. “It was. He poured everything into this land. And now, we try to honor that.”
We continued walking until we reached a small hill overlooking the vineyard. A weathered wooden bench sat beneath an ancient olive tree, its branches twisting and reaching like something out of a storybook. Luca gestured for me to sit, and I did, taking in the view. The rows of vines stretched endlessly, meeting the blue sky at the horizon.
Luca sat beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, but not so close it felt intentional. “You seem… different out here,”
he said, glancing at me.
“Different how?”
I asked, turning to meet his gaze.
“Lighter. Freer, maybe,”
he said, his voice quieter now. “Relaxed.”
The observation caught me off guard, and I felt a flicker of defensiveness rise before I let it go. He wasn’t wrong. “Maybe I am,”
I admitted. “I think it’s this place. It makes me feel like… there’s more. Like I can breathe. The grandeur of the entire area.”
He nodded, his eyes searching mine. “That’s how it should feel.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it was comfortable, charged with something unspoken. Luca shifted and leaned back against the bench. “You know, I was kind of unsettled about today,”
he said, his tone teasing but his eyes serious.
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”
“Because being around you is bewildering,”
he said, his voice low and steady.
The weight of his words hung between us, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. So instead, I let the silence speak, the breeze rustling the vines below and the distant hum of life on the vineyard wrapping around us.
My silence made him continue, “I can’t stop thinking about you— or the other night.”
There it was. The unspoken thing I’d been wrestling with, finally laid bare between us. I turned toward him and searched his face for something, though I wasn’t entirely sure what. His eyes held mine, steady and unflinching, as if he dared me to deny the pull between us.
I swallowed hard. My pulse raced. “The other night was…,”
I lingered, the words leaving my lips before I could second-guess them.
A faint, almost relieved smile tugged at his mouth. “Maddening. In a good way,”
he said simply. “What happened the other night… that wasn’t normal. Not for me, anyway.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, leaning back against the bench. “Same,”
I said softly, more to myself than to him.
For a moment, we sat in that fragile space, the tension crackling like static in the air. I wanted to ask him what he thought it meant, what he wanted, but the words felt too heavy, too dangerous. Instead, I let my guard slip, if only for a moment.
“It feels complicated,”
I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. “It doesn’t have to be.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is,”
he said, his tone serious now. “Or at least, it could be. If we let it.”
I raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “Is that how it works for you? Easy, just like that?”
His expression softened, but there was something resolute in his eyes. “No,”
he said. “Not with you. You’re not… like anyone else.”
The quiet that followed was different this time—no longer hesitant, but charged with something deeper. I wasn’t ready to answer him, not here, not yet. But as we sat there, the vineyard sprawling out around us and the weight of his words lingering in the air, I realized I didn’t want to leave this moment behind.
“Tomorrow, I want show you some of my favorite places in Amalfi,”
Luca suggested, his voice casual buy laced with intent.. There was zero chance of me refusing that offer—or any other ones he might propose.
“I would love that, but I do have plans tomorrow evening,”
I agreed, letting just the right amount of mystery color my tone.
Luca made a low, thoughtful ‘huh’ noise that sent a warm feeling from my mouth all the way down to my center. His lips curved into a playful smirk, the kind that could melt just about anyone. “Plans in the evening, huh? Interesting. Some charming Italian, maybe?”
“Actually, yes,”
I let the words linger for effect. I arched a brow and locked my gaze with his, a playful challenge in my eyes. “I’m sure you’d be welcome to join us. It could be fun.”
Luca smirk faltered, just slightly, and took a deep breath. “Fun,”
he repeated, his tone skeptical buy amused. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or worried.”
I laughed softly, biting my bottom lip to hold back a grin. “Well, you’re very good at reading people, Luca. What does you intuition tell you?”
He narrowed his eyes, pretending to consider it. “That you’re trying to make me jealous,”
he said, his voice low. “And it’s working.”
“Good,”
I shot back, unable to to stop the mischievous grin from spreading across my face.
He shook his head, but there was something heated in his expression now. “So, who is this charming Italian?”
I hesitated, savoring the moment before finally relenting. “Your mother,”
I confessed, barely suppressing a laugh. “She invited me over to make pasta.”
Luca blinked, caught off guard, and then broke into a laugh so genuine and deep that it made my chest tighten. “You’re spending the evening with my mother?”
he asked, his grin wide. “And you thought I’d be jealous?”
“Who wouldn’t be jealous of that? I teased, shrugging innocently. “She’s delightful.”
“She is,”
he admitted, still laughing.
The tension between us shifted, playful but simmering with something unspoken.
“We should head back—Gia won’t appreciate me commandeering all of your time and she’ll make it known. Plus, there is more wine to try,”
he promised and we started walking back towards the main building.
Luca stopped suddenly in front of me and I crashed into his back. It was inevitable because I had to watch the ground to avoid tripping. I put my hand on his back to right myself.
“Sorry,”
I pleaded, as he turned around.
His eyes moved down to look at my hand, now rested on his chest. I felt his firm body below his shirt—I couldn’t stop myself from imagining him the other night. In his room. In my room. All the places my hands had touched on him.
Luca moved his hands to cup my face, pulling us closer together. Our lips touched, softly at first, asking permission. Next, there was purpose, passion.
Why would I want to give up something that felt this good—even for a minute while it was in reach? I’m calculated, but never stupid. I’d be lying if I pretended that I didn’t want to spend every second of my vacation wrapped around this man.
“Just one kiss,”
he added with a heady voice. I wanted to protest but knew I was here on business. This was highly unprofessional—a line I had never crossed.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.