When they sat down to eat, Caterina served a mouthwatering lamb stew with warm biscuits and salty butter, while Domenico presented a special vintage of Brunello to go along with the stew. The mixture of flavors exploded deliciously on Lillian’s tongue. For dessert, they enjoyed a dark-chocolate-and-cherry cake with whipped cream and coffee.
Lillian noticed that Anton was more reserved than usual. He didn’t seem quite himself. She was also conscious of how Teresa and Matteo seemed to be hitting it off at the far end of the table. Anton hardly looked at Teresa, but he met Lillian’s gaze frequently. He watched her while others were talking and while she was simply enjoying her meal. Whenever she felt his eyes on her, she looked up and shared a private communiqué with him, which she recognized as a desire to be alone together. She wanted it, and she knew he felt the same. It was real. She had imagined nothing.
Afterward, no one batted an eye when Anton announced that he was walking Lillian back to her guest suite. It was a gorgeous summer evening under a three-quarter moon. Teresa said good night and was picked up by her father in front of the villa. Mr. and Mrs. Guardini wandered off hand in hand, laughing as they talked, and Matteo remained at the table with Francesco, discussing petrol prices and American cars and dipping into a bottle of scotch.
As soon as Anton and Lillian were beyond the gate and alone on Cypress Row, with nothing but the beam of the flashlight illuminating their way, Anton said, “I’m glad you came tonight.”
“Me too,” she replied. “But you were quiet. Is everything all right?”
The air was humid, and it caused her sundress to stick to her skin.
Anton looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry about that. Something happened this afternoon.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
He paused, then took a breath. “After I left you at the pool and went back to the villa, there was a message that my wife had called, so I called her back.” He hesitated again, and Lillian waited for him to continue. “She told me that she didn’t want to come here anymore, that the children were better off in LA, near her family. She wants a divorce.”
Lillian’s heart ached for him. “Oh, Anton. I’m so sorry.”
“I asked her to reconsider,” he continued. “I suggested that we get a house here for her parents to come and stay whenever they want. Maybe a flat in Montepulciano or even Florence if they prefer the city. But she didn’t like that idea. She made it clear that she preferred America over Italy and that she wanted her children to grow up there. Not here.”
“But they’re your children too.”
“I did remind her of that, but she’s going to put up a fight.”
Lillian lifted her gaze. “How could anyone not want to raise children in a place like this?”
“I wish she shared your feelings. Now I’m looking at another legal battle. I suspect she’s going to bleed me dry, financially.”
Lillian looked up at the sky. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine. I wish there was something I could do to help, but I don’t know what that would be.”
“You’re doing it.”
She wasn’t entirely sure what he was referring to and was afraid to ask.
They reached the quiet corner of the estate where her guest suite was located and paused in the gravel parking lot. Lillian dug into her purse for her key.
She wondered if she should invite Anton inside to continue the conversation. Uncertainty abounded as she allowed him to shine the flashlight on the dark stairs while she climbed to the top and inserted the key into the lock. When she pushed the door open, she turned to him.
He looked very forlorn. And handsome. She didn’t want to say good night. She wanted to talk some more.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked.
He nodded and started up the stairs.
Lillian switched on the overhead light. They both squinted, so she moved to the small lamp by the sofa and lit the room more gently.
It was stiflingly hot in the apartment. While Anton stood at the door, Lillian went from room to room, opening all the windows. She returned to the kitchen to switch off the main overhead light, and the room took on a cozy golden glow.
Anton had not moved from his spot at the door. “Lillian . . .” The timbre of his voice held a note of apology.
Did he not want to stay?
He wet his lips. “I’d understand if you would prefer that I go.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re married, and your husband is away, and I’m . . . well, I’m still married. And you work for me. I don’t want there to be any questions about—”