A Veil of Vines by Tillie Cole
Movement from the bottom of the stairs caught my attention. I smiled when I saw my father, my bouquet of Bella Collina’s white roses in his hand. The flowers were as beautiful as every rose Achille had ever given me. Yet the best part of the bouquet was the vines threading between the roses—vines from Achille’s land.
They matched my veil perfectly.
I descended the stairs, my bridesmaids and mother walking behind me. When I reached the bottom, I had to quickly turn away when I saw tears building in my father’s eyes.
“Papa.” I whispered. “Don’t cry. You’ll make me cry too.”
I heard him sniff and clear his throat. When I faced him again, his eyes were still glistening, but he had composed himself. He reached out for my hand and brought it through his arm. “You look so beautiful, Caresa,” he said and pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “Like a vision.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
As my father handed me my bouquet, and the familiar, comforting scent of the roses filled my senses, I felt a calmness wash over me.
You are marrying Achille. In just over an hour, you will have soldered your soul to his in every way possible.
Vintage cars were waiting outside. The photographer snapped away as I slid into one. My father slipped in beside me and held my hand tightly.
It was a short trip to the Duomo from the palazzo. We parked behind the Piazza del Duomo and got out of the car. Paparazzi flashes blinded me as my father took my hand and guided me out onto the street. My mother and bridesmaids joined me, and we slowly made our way to the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, the vast duomo that dominated the center of Florence. The air was crisp from the biting winter chill, delicate white snowflakes falling around us like confetti. The sounds of early New Year’s Eve celebrations sailed on the wind to our ears, and the sun shone brightly in the sky above the Duomo, God’s blinding spotlight blessing our special day. As we approached the main entrance, tourists and locals out for dinner and drinks stopped to watch us pass by. Many shouted their well-wishes, only attracting more attention to us.
By the time we made it to the entrance, quite a crowd had gathered, taking pictures and videos on their phones. My heart was beating at a million miles an hour as my mother kissed me on my cheek and went into the main body of the church to take her seat.
I could hear the mass of people inside. But my thoughts only went to one person—Achille. All I could picture was Achille in his suit, standing in front of the hundreds of people gathered here today to witness our union.
We waited behind the closed doors. My father kept his head straight forward, but just as the music began to play—Andrea Bocelli’s “Sogno”—he squeezed my hand and whispered, “I am so very proud of you, carina. So very very proud.”
My throat thickened as he moved before me and pulled my veil over my face. The doors slowly opened, and just like we rehearsed, my bridesmaids began their journey down the long aisle.
Then it was my turn to make that leap forward. My legs shook and my heart hammered a symphony as we began our slow walk down the aisle. I kept my eyes forward, trying to focus on breathing, as we passed the first row of guests. Through the thin veil I could see a sea of faces, all blurring into one. I heard their gasps of awe, their whispered well-wishes that echoed off the huge cathedral walls. It was all a swirling whirlwind, until my father squeezed my hand and said, “Look up, carina.”
I hadn’t even realized my eyes had cast down. Inhaling deeply, hearing Bocelli’s perfect voice building to a crescendo, I did as my father said. And the minute I did, my body filled with uncensored joy and light and life.
Because before me, waiting for me with a small, adoring smile on his face, was Achille. And everyone else fell away. My feet felt lighter, my heart calmed in its erratic beating and air filled my lungs.
Because this was my Achille.
My heart, my conscience and my soul.
We reached the end of the aisle. My father placed my hand onto Achille’s waiting one . . . and I was home.
I closed my eyes and sent a silent prayer to his two fathers and his mother for gifting me this beautiful man. All their pain, all their sufferings, would now be turned into nothing but happiness and love. I promised them I would look after their boy.
He would be safe in my arms.
I felt him move beside me. When I opened my eyes, Achille was lifting my veil . . . my veil of vines, the vines I knew had always represented the other half of my soul. My sweet winemaker of the Bella Collina merlot.
He pushed the veil back from my face, and I sucked in a sharp breath. My eyes grazed down Achille’s tall, broad frame. He was dressed in a designer tux, and his usually messy black hair was combed back from his face, showing the beauty of his turquoise, Mediterranean-sea eyes.
And when our gazes locked, I played the story of us in my mind. From the first day in the vineyard, to him brushing his hand past mine, our kiss, making love, and finally being back in his arms after we were split apart. I played it all—the memories a fingerprint on my soul.
Because sometimes, just sometimes, the sun and the moon align, bringing two people to the same place at the same time. Sometimes destiny guides them to exactly where they are meant to be. And their hearts fall in a tandem beat and their souls merge as one.
Split-aparts.
Soul mates.
Two halves, now one whole . . .
. . . Achille and Caresa.
Per sempre.
Epilogue
Bella Collina Estate, Umbria
Three years later . . .
Achille
“Santino, come here, carino,” I said, laughing as my two-year-old son let go of his mother’s hand and ran down the long row of vines to reach me. As he stumbled his way toward me over the uneven earth, his face was bright, and his infectious laughter carried on the wind. I couldn’t help but feel blessed.
Santino fell into my arms, and I brought him to my chest. I stood with him in my arms and kissed his chubby cheek. I took his hand and ran them over a full bunch of grapes, warm from the sun, and asked, “Are these ready yet, carino?” Santino’s little fingers ran over the skin of the grapes. “Well?”
“Yes!” he shouted. I tickled his waist, and he burst into laughter.
“Very good!” I praised and spun him around as he laughed harder. I looked at Caresa, who was watching us from the end of the row with a look of happiness in her eyes. Her hands were cupping her pregnant stomach as her long hair blew around her in the warm breeze.
We were having a little girl. And I couldn’t wait to meet her.
“Shall we run to your mamma?” I asked Santino, and he clapped his hands.
I set off in a steady jog as we made our way to Caresa. “Mamma!” Santino shouted and held his arms out for her.
She lifted him up for a moment, but then placed him back down on the ground. She pointed toward the cottage. “Look who’s come to see you!”
Santino turned at the same time as I did. Zeno was standing near the trees, dressed in his usual suit and tie. He waved my way, then crouched to the ground. “Santino! Your favorite uncle has come to see you!”
“Zio Zeno!” Santino screamed and pushed his little legs to their maximum speed as he ran across the field and into Zeno’s arms. I laughed as Zeno put him down and began to chase him around the grass.
“He’s so good with him,” Caresa said affectionately.
I nodded in agreement, then turned to my wife. I cupped her face with my hands and brought her in for a kiss. When I broke away, I pressed my forehead to hers. “I love you forever.”
“I love you forever too,” she murmured back, then ran her hand down my bare chest. “I love this time of year, because I get to see you dressed like this every day as you bring in the harvest.”
“Then I’ll always look forward to October,” I said and kissed my wife again, because I could.
I threaded my arm around her shoulders, and we walked toward Zeno and Santino. When Zen
“Of course,” he replied. We all walked back to the cottage. Since I had taken on the title of prince and become part of Savona Wines, Caresa and I had stayed here on the Bella Collina estate. The main house was ours, but we mostly stayed here in the cottage. Especially during the harvest.
This cottage was our true home.
Zeno spent most of his time at the Palazzo Savona in Florence, but was here often. Together we ran the Italian side of the business, and together we had made the business flourish. Savona Wines was better now than it ever was under our father the late king. And Zeno listened to me as I did him. He trusted my judgment on wines we should produce or vineyards we should acquire. And I was proud of Zeno. Gone were his playboy days. Instead he had thrown himself into the business one hundred percent and had become truly great at what he did.
And he was once again my best friend.
He was my brother.
We sat on the deck as the horses grazed in their paddock. “So,” I said to Zeno when Caresa went inside for the food. “How are the sales of the Nero d’Avola?”
“Through the roof,” Zeno said with a smirk. “You were right again, brother. The wine is a hit.” The first year I had come on board, I suggested Savona Wines acquire my Zia Noelia’s wine. They had gone as far as they could alone, and now, with our backing, they were soaring.
“And your love life?” Caresa asked, coming out of the house with bowls of her homemade cioppino. It was my favorite.
Zeno laughed. Caresa placed Santino in his high chair and sat down. “I’m married to my job, Duchessa. You know this.”
Her hand covered his. “As proud as I am of you, Zeno, you need love too.”
Zeno shrugged. “One day. Maybe. But for now, I’m . . .” He sighed contentedly. “I am happy. For the first time in a long time.”
We ate our food and laughed long into the night. My brother and I discussed business, and when Santino’s energy was depleted, Zeno left with the promise of coming back again tomorrow.
He wanted to help me with the harvest. As he had done last year.
Together.
As we entered the house, Caresa went to put Santino to bed. But as the door shut behind us, I took our son from her arms. “I’ll put him to bed. You go wait for me by the fire.”
Caresa’s face melted into the most beautiful, loving expression, and she made her way to the large cushions that lay before the glowing embers.
Santino yawned. I kissed him on the cheek as I led him into his bedroom. I changed him into his pajamas and laid him down on the bed. Before I had even sat down, he scrambled across his bed to his stack of books and brought one back for me to read. As I read the title, I playfully rolled my eyes. “This one again?”
Santino laughed and settled under his comforter. Shuffling beside him, I opened the first page. As I always had to, I focused on the words and allowed them to make sense in my head. And then I read. Santino laid his head on the pillow next to me, his arm around my waist. He laughed when I made the appropriate animal’s noises at the right time, but when the laughter stopped and I looked down, my little boy was fast asleep.
Heart melting at his slightly parted plump lips and messy dark hair, I slid from the bed and kissed him on his head, whispering, “I love you forever.”
I placed the book back on his shelf, knowing that one day I would read him Tolkien, just like my father had done with me.
I closed the door to his room and made my way back to my wife. Caresa was lying by the fire, her gaze lost to the flames. She smiled. “He fell asleep?”
“Almost straight away. We didn’t even make it a quarter-way through the book,” I said and sat down beside her. Caresa shifted until her back was against my front. As she settled back, I leaned my back against a large pillow.
A second later a book was in my hand—Plato’s Symposium. I glanced down to see Caresa looking up at me, her long lashes kissing her cheeks as she blinked. “Read to me.”
My heart exploded in my chest at the amount of love in her eyes. Love that only seemed to increase day by day, as impossible as that seemed.
“Always,” I said and opened the book to our favorite part, the part I read to her every night. Caresa snuggled into my chest, and I laid my free hand over her stomach. Then I read. Against the firelight, in our home, with our son in his bed and our daughter listening in, I spoke of wandering lost souls meeting their missing parts and being struck from their senses by love. And as I glanced down at my beautiful wife, my other half, with her hand pressed over mine, I spoke of belonging to one another, knowing Plato spoke of couples like us.
Because from the moment I saw her, and allowed myself to fall in love, my soul recognized her as my own. And . . . we would never want to be separated from one another . . .
. . . not even for a moment.
The End
Playlist
Shadow — Birdy
Sirens — Cher Lloyd
Love Like this (Acoustic) — Kodaline
Ships In The Rain — Lanterns on the Lake
Set Fire To The Third Bar — Snow Patrol
Atlas: Touch — Sleeping At Last
Talk Me Down — Troye Sivan
Happiness (Acoustic) — NEEDTOBREATHE
All Again — Ella Henderson
Lost Boy — Troye Sivan
Dark Island Sky — Enya
Dusty Trails —Lucius
Say You Won’t Let Me Go — James Arthur
Wishes — RHODES
Autumn — Paolo Nutini
Follow the Sun (Acoustic) — Caroline Pennell
When We’re Fire (Cello Version) — Lo-Fang
I Could Never Say Goodbye — Enya
Sogno (Extended Version) — Andrea Bocelli
BITE — Troye Sivan
To listen to the playlist, please follow the link: Click Here
Acknowledgments
Mam and Dad, thank you for all the support. Mam, I’ve finally written a book with absolutely no darkness or guttering tears!
To my husband, thank you for encouraging me to write whatever genre of book I feel like writing. Ti amo per sempre.
Sam, Marc, Taylor, Isaac, Archie and Elias. Love you all.
Thessa, my star and mega-assistant. Thank you for manning my Facebook page and keeping me in check. Thank you for all the edits you make me. But mostly, thank you for encouraging me with every project I take on. Achille loves you just as much as you love him.
Kia, as always a HUGE thank you for editing this book for me. It was a different kind of book for us, but we made it through!
Neda and the ladies at Ardent PRose. I am so happy that we decided to join forces—world domination is the goal! Let’s toast to this, our first project together. I look forward to many many more! You are all stars! Neda, you know I love you to pieces. You most certainly keep my unorganized self in check!
Liz, my fabulous agent. I love you. Thank you for all the support.
Gitte and Jenny from TotallyBooked Book Blog. I have nothing to say but thank you and I love you. This career has given me too many blessings to count. I very much include meeting you both in that list.
Vilma, thank you for giving Achille a chance. Love you lots. And we’ll forever have Adele!
And a huge thank you to all the many, many more wonderful book blogs and readers that support me and promote my books. Celesha, Tiffany, Stacia, Milasy . . . Gah! I could go on and on, so I’ll just say an epic THANK YOU to all who read my books and support me. You have no idea what it means to me.
Tracey-Lee, Thessa and Kerri, a huge thank you for running my street team: The Hangmen Harem. Love you all!
To my street team members—LOVE YOU!!!
My IG girls!!!! Adore you all!
And lastly, my wonderful readers. I want to thank you for reading this novel. Thank you for joining me on whatever adventure I decide to go
I couldn’t do this without you.
Ti amo.
Ti amo per sempre.
Author Biography
Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father, older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.
After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.
Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.
Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.
When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch, watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.
Follow Tillie at:
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Or drop me an email at: [email protected]