CHAPTER 27
THREE MONTHS LATER
BRENDA'S POV
"I'm coming!" I yelled out to Nella who was downstairs. We had just arrived in Tuscany. And my oh my, it was everything I thought it would be—and even more. Rolling hills stretched in every direction, painted in shades of gold and green, dotted with cypress trees standing tall like sentinels over the landscape. The farmhouse we chose was rustic yet charming, with terracotta roof tiles sun-kissed to a warm orange hue and ivy climbing along the stone walls, curling around the windows and doors.
Nella was against the idea, but somehow I coerced her into agreeing. The house was surrounded by a large vineyard; where you turned to look, clusters of grapes glimmered in the sun, deep purple and green, hanging in perfect rows that made the fields look like nature's own embroidery. The scent of fresh earth mixed with the faint sweetness of ripening grapes, filling the air with a calm I hadn't felt in years.
"My name is Matteo and I'll be giving you a tour of the farm, just for you to familiarize yourself with the environment!" A handsome young man introduced himself. He was like fine wine—rich, intoxicating, impossible to ignore. His jet-black hair fell to his shoulders in a perfect, messy disarray that somehow made him look effortless. I poked Nella in the ribs.
"He fiiiiine!" she murmured, just enough for me to hear.
We were so engrossed in his looks that half of his words floated past our ears like music in a distant room.
"Ladies?" he called for the fourth time, and I squirmed slightly, realizing he might have noticed our lingering eyes.
"After you!" I smiled, trying to hide my embarrassment.
We trailed behind him. The tour was on foot, winding through neatly trimmed hedges, rustic wooden fences, and rows of grapevines heavy with fruit. The sunlight dappled the path in gold, and the soft buzzing of bees mingled with the distant bleating of sheep in the fields. Through it all, Nella kept glancing at his ass.
"Would you stop staring for crying out loud!" I finally gritted through clenched teeth. It was too much. Yes, he did have a firm, sculpted butt. I could only imagine what he looked like bare—though my thoughts were strictly under wraps, unlike Nella's unabashed gawking.
"I can't! Apart from my husband, have you ever seen a man sooo damn fine in your life?" she whispered, eyes fixed on him.
I rolled my eyes and hurried towards Matteo. We wrapped up the tour, and he led us to the backyard. A huge round table was laid out, gleaming under the sun, covered with a vibrant assortment of cheeses—creamy mozzarella, tangy pecorino, sharp parmigiano—arranged like jewels. Four bottles of wine, red and white, bore labels I couldn't even read, each one promising the richness of Tuscan vineyards. Plump, freshly picked grapes glistened in the sun, their juices spilling onto the polished wood.
"Please enjoy this little treat while we prepare dinner for you!" Matteo said, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and I watched, entranced, until my eyes caught Nella's face. I stomped on her foot—slightly, enough to jerk her out of whatever fantasy she had entered.
"We? We who?" I returned my attention to Matteo.
"Me and my colleagues, who are actually my friends!"
"So there's more of…" Nella didn't let me finish. "You got some friends that look like you?" she piped in.
Matteo let out a hearty laugh, the kind that warmed the air like the Tuscan sun.
"Please, do feel free to call on me if you need anything!" His face carried the hidden amusement he tried so hard to suppress.
I turned to Nella once he was out of sight.
"Would you stop being so desperate and forward? This ain't America!"
"I know it ain't America, but it certainly is inviting," she noticed my less-humorous expression. "Can't a sister appreciate God's creation?" She rolled her eyes and took a piece of cheese.
We were two glasses into the wine when Nella shifted in her chair.
"I bet all his friends are as hot as him. I can also bet that all Italian men are gorgeous! Oh lord, why did I get married too early?"
I honestly thought we were over that. We obviously weren't!
"You can divorce your husband then!" I suggested. I didn't mean it, but it was necessary to snap her out of it.
"God forbid!" Nella said with her Nigerian accent.
I burst into laughter at the way her face got fixed when she heard my suggestion.
"Do you know how hard it is out there? Men who speak Spanish, darling, aren't to be played with. Spanish men that are pierced…to be precise!"
"Ewww! I don't wanna hear that!" I blocked my ears. Now it was Nella's turn to laugh at me.
BRENDA'S MARKET VISIT
Dinner was served at six p.m., but that was too early for me, so I carried my own food to my room. I decided to go down to the nearby market just a short drive from the farmhouse. I had seen it on the way here—a bustling cluster of stalls nestled against a backdrop of terracotta rooftops and pastel-colored buildings, their shutters flung open to catch the golden Tuscan light.
"Nah, I'll pass on that bullshit!" Nella said, throwing her head back into the pillow.
I took the jeep, craving the solitude and speed of being alone. The market was vibrant, alive in a way that made every sense tingle. The cobblestone streets were uneven underfoot, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. Wooden stalls overflowed with fresh produce: plump tomatoes gleaming like rubies, fragrant basil spilling over the edges of baskets, golden lemons piled high, their scent sharp in the warm air. Shouts in melodic Italian—some teasing, some firm—punctuated the hum of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional bark of a dog weaving between legs.
It was like entering a stall mall, a carnival of color and scent. Olive oil glistened in ceramic bottles, hand-painted with bright yellow sunflowers; cured meats hung in rows, releasing a rich, savory aroma. Handmade leather sandals and bags were displayed with care, their subtle scent of tanned hide mixing with the sweet smell of pastries cooling on wooden boards.
I made my way to a stall with big hats reading "I LOVE TUSCANY!" I picked one and placed it on my head. The vendor let out a hearty laugh—it was a beautiful exchange of smiles.
"I'll take these two!" I pointed to the hats I wanted. As he packed them, a shiver ran down my spine. That familiar feeling—the prickling on the back of my neck, the weight of unseen eyes—settled over me. Hesitantly, I scanned the market, hoping to spot who it could be.
"Here!" The vendor brought me back to reality. I smiled and paid, then wandered to the next stalls. There were so many goodies to catch my eye: jars of honey thick and golden, colorful ceramic plates painted with Tuscan landscapes, sun-warmed focaccia still soft to the touch.
I took out my phone—Nella was calling.
"Hello? When are you going to be back?" she asked.
"Whenever I feel like!" I teased, knowing she must have gotten bored alone.
"Too bad! If you don't find me in my room… I'll be in the cottage outside!"
"For?" I asked, curiosity peaking.
"I hope it ain't about those boys, Nella!"
I heard light chuckles from the other side.
"Not at all, Brenda! I'm just going to have a massage here. And before you ask, yes, the masseuse is a woman!" she clarified.
After a little more talking, I hung up. It was already sundown, the sky painted in molten gold and deep rose, Tuscan cypress trees casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The strange feeling returned again. I scanned the market—but everyone seemed absorbed in their business, oblivious to me.
The ride back to the farmhouse was filled with emotions I had tried to bury three months ago. Rolling vineyards, sun-kissed hills, the scent of lavender in the evening air—it all reminded me of Vegas, the trip that was supposed to be ultimate, but had marked the beginning of a drastic end. Christian's face flashed before me, his smile so warm and playful I found myself smiling despite the ache in my chest. Rage and longing tangled in my throat, bitter and heavy.
I pulled over, staring at the endless vines stretching into twilight. I let it out—a scream from the top of my lungs. My chest tightened, throat burned, and for a fleeting moment, the weight on my shoulders lightened.
Driving again, I pictured how this trip could have been with Christian. The longing ached in my being. Despite the kindness of the people around me, there was a void—darker than the Tuscan night falling over the hills.