The Sicilian's Bride by Carol Grace Page A

and a change of clothes. And how when she moved up here she’d be roughing it. No hot baths, no clean clothes. She’d give herself one more day. She’d wallow in luxury a little longer, then she’d move up here. She could do it. She could make her little house comfortable. As soon as the grapes were picked and crushed, she’d get busy on the house. She’d make it look like home. Put it back in shape—the shape it must have been in long ago. She could picture it being a blend of old-fashioned charm and modern improvements.
    When the ice was delivered all the way to her ancient icebox, she felt a wave of gratitude toward Dario. He didn’t have to do that for her. Now she was that much closer to moving in. She opened another bottle of sparkling water, then she went back to the hotel.
    She had no idea when and where she was expected for dinner at his family’s home or who would be there besides Dario and his grandmother. She hoped it would be a big group, because with a large family his presence would be diluted. Sitting across the table from him, eating bread and cheese and drinking wine at lunch while bumping knees from time to time was enough for one day. He made her uneasy. She wasn’t sure why he was being so helpful when it went directly against what he wanted.
    He was too big, too strong, too Sicilian, too confident, too sure of himself and of course too good-looking. How couldany woman resist him? He and Miss Sicily must have made a striking couple. She’d been part of a couple once, but no one had said they were striking. But that was because no one knew they were together.
    Isabel wanted to make a good impression tonight. Not just because these were Dario’s relatives, but because they were big landowners, they’d been here for generations and they were her neighbors. She pulled out of her suitcase the one and only dress she’d brought with her, a blue-green cotton sundress with tiny straps and a slim skirt. Was it appropriate? Her nerves were getting to her. Her imagination was running wild tonight. It was fatigue, it was worry and it was him. She was seeing entirely too much of someone she wanted to avoid and who wanted to avoid her. She could only hope his family would show her the famed Sicilian hospitality he’d promised.
     
    Dario went to the hotel at seven to pick up Isabel. The sun was low in the sky and the air had cooled a little. He paused at the front desk and asked if the signorina was in. She was. Now that the dinner was looming, he almost wished she’d turned down the invitation for some reason, then he could avoid the scene completely.
    He’d made his position clear to his family. As far as he was concerned, there was only one way to make up for losing the land and that was to get it back. But he hadn’t considered that Isabel could possibly deserve the land as much as he did. Now, after seeing her toiling away as he’d never seen anyone work, he wondered. Maybe she did.
    He had the clerk call up to Isabel Morrison’s room and say he would be in the bar waiting for her. He couldn’t risk another face-to-face encounter with her in her robe. He’d sworn off women, all women, after Magdalena had walked out on him, but he wasn’t made of stone. That much was clear. Then whathad possessed him to bring her lunch today? Simply repaying her for the dinner last night. After all, Sicilians had never let their enemies starve, whether they were Phoenicians, Normans, Vandals or American heiresses.
    At that moment he looked up when Isobel entered the bar. She looked stunning. The total opposite from the last time he’d seen her only hours ago at lunch, her face sunburned, her hair damp, her face dripping perspiration. Tonight she looked as though she’d stepped right out of an American movie in a turquoise-colored dress that set off her fiery red hair. A more amazing transformation from disheveled and frustrated vineyard worker to glamorous woman he’d never seen. His gaze met hers and held