She shook her head, still surprised at her luck. “I don’t think I was any better than others, but the casting director told me I had the right look. My agent arranged a few acting classes for me, and the next thing I knew, I was boarding a ship for Italy. It’s all been so exciting.”
Ruby had been thrilled and amazed—especially that her father let her go to Italy. Her mother had begged him to let Ruby have a little adventure before she married and settled down. If only her mother could have come, but the fare to Italy was too costly. Her mother emptied her secret pin money earned from selling eggs that she kept in a boot in the back of the closet. Mercy Smith bought her daughter a camera and film to capture what she would never experience. Ruby promised to return with pictures.
Niccolò stopped at a narrow shop open to the street with a sign that proclaimed, Gelato fatto in casa.
“It’s as good as homemade,” Niccolò said as they ducked under an awning. “Salve, come va?” Niccolò said to the gelato vendor, an older teenager.
“Bene,” the boy replied.
While the two spoke in rapid Italian that Ruby couldn’t follow, she gazed over bins of the most luscious swirls of a frozen treat she’d ever seen.
Niccolò turned to her. “What would you like? Limone, fragola, cioccolato, pistacchio?”
“What’s fragola?” she asked.
Niccolò grinned and pointed to a rosy pink bin. “Strawberry. And that’s pistachio.”
“I can’t decide,” she said. “I like them all, but I definitely want to try pistachio.”
Niccolò said something to the other boy, who began to scoop out several flavors onto wafer cones. “You can try several,” he said. “We can share if you don’t mind.”
Balancing cones, they strolled along the strada until they reached a fountain, where they stopped to sit. The water cooled the air.
After Ruby had tried every flavor on their cones, Niccolò asked, “Which one is your favorite?”
She wanted to say, you, but instead, she said, “Pistachio. I love it.”
“Better than American ice cream?”
“Different,” she said. “But absolutely delicious.” Her cone began dripping in the heat, and she quickly licked every delectable drip.
Niccolò laughed. “Come here.”
Ruby felt a cold spot on the tip of her nose.
“Mi permetta,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Like a puppy, no?”
Ruby dissolved into gales of laughter, and then, taking her finger, she swiped strawberry gelato across his nose. Making funny faces and crossing his eyes, he tried to reach it with his tongue. Finally, she swiped the gelato off with a napkin, giggling as she did.
* * *
The rolling motion of the van ceased, and Ruby shifted in her seat.
“Scusi, Signora,” Matteo said. “We have arrived at the hotel.”
“I guess I dozed a little.” Ruby blinked and sat up.
“Signora, per favore.” Matteo stood by the open door, ready to assist her down the little stone steps to the entry. Bellagio was primarily a walking village—or comune—with narrow lanes that led down the hillside to the lake.
Ruby stepped from the van. She wasn’t ready to return to her room. A cool drink at the terrace bar would be perfect, she thought, straightening her shoulders to make her entrance. She’d grown a head taller than her mother, but Mercy Smith had always insisted that Ruby hold her head high. Even now, her mother’s words rang in her mind. Her mother was named Mercy—Mercy Raines—at birth, because of the torrential downpour that had broken a drought on the day she was born. No matter how dark the day, her mother always looked on the positive side.
Ruby walked through the marbled entryway.
Years ago, paparazzi might have lurked near the entry, but not today. Tossing the long edge of her scarf over her shoulder, she strolled through the hotel to a table outside overlooking the lake. The view was so exquisite that it made her heart ache with memories. Though she’d had her share of romantic partners along the way, none had ever compared to Niccolò.
A waiter appeared by her table, and Ruby ordered a Bellini with prosecco.
“Pane e olio?” The waiter asked.
“Grazie.”
As Ruby sipped the refreshing concoction of sparkling wine and peach puree, she studied the photos that Matteo had taken on her phone. One was of the for-sale sign, while others were of the villa and its gardens. Maybe this wasn’t such a far-fetched thought.
She tore a small piece of fragrant rosemary bread the waiter had brought and dipped it into the olive oil, reveling in the taste. Gazing at images, she wondered how her life might have turned out. She might have lived with Niccolò in that very villa overlooking the lake. Sipping her cocktail, she let the story play out in her mind, imagining their children, boating on the lake, leisurely dinners spent gazing at the Alps. Making love under clear, starry skies or rainy nights.
A story. Only a story. One that was never destined to come to life.
Sighing, Ruby took another drink. If she hadn’t been an actress, she might have become a writer. Still, she was proud of her work and her ability to provide for those she loved and others.
While her parents’ property in the Texas Hill Country wasn’t anywhere near as large as the nearby Hillingdon ranch, Ruby had eventually erected a new house for her parents. She’d also built a new barn, invested in the ranch, and supported her older sister and her husband when they needed it. That was only right, all things considered.
Ruby blinked back tears that lined her lashes at the memories. They were all gone now. She’d done the best she could for her family. In her heart, she’d made the only decision she could at the time, although it hadn’t been easy.
She’d promised her parents she’d never sell the ranch. After their deaths, she hadn’t visited as often as she thought she would, so she converted the ranch into a nonprofit organization for underprivileged kids from the city to have a break and learn outdoor life skills. She’d taken Ariana there when her niece was younger to ride horses, appreciate authentic, melt-off-the-bone barbecue, and sleep under stars that crowded the night sky.
Suddenly, Ruby’s phone chirped a tune, surprising her. She assumed it was Stefano, her Palm Springs houseman, though it was still early in California. He’d be having coffee, or maybe working out at the local gym. She checked the number that appeared on the screen and smiled. Ariana.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“I’m glad you picked up, Aunt Ruby.” Ariana let out a little squeal. “I’m so excited I’ve hardly slept. You’ll never believe it, but Phillip and I are finally getting married.”
Should Ruby try to be happy for her niece? Ariana knew how she felt about Phillip.
“He proposed?” Ruby asked, stalling. Obviously.
“Yes, and we’re getting married right away. At that little church in Studio City you used to go to.”
“It’s quite charming,” Ruby said.
“They had a cancellation. How soon can you return?”
“Tell me your date, and I’ll be there.” The tour could continue to Venice without her.
Ariana did and then hesitated on the line. “And I’d really like for you to give me away.”