Page 92 of My Lemon Grove Summer
I turn to Luca, tongue-tied and with no idea what to say. But it doesn’t matter, because he takes my hands and looks deep into my eyes.
‘I have loved you from the moment you walked into the restaurant, and I know you felt it too. I don’t regret the kiss—’
‘You kissed?!’ Lennie looks momentarily affronted, and then shakes his head, smiling, and I know he and Matteo haven’t been angels.
‘I love everything about your impulsive, impetuous, spur-of-the-moment behaviour,’ Luca continues. ‘I love youbecauseof it. You act in the moment. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for that; you wouldn’t have stood up to my father or done what you’ve done for this town. You are you and I love you for it. I never want you to change.’
I swallow hard, because if I did what I really want to do, I’d let out a great big sob and laugh at the same time. Oh, what the heck – and I do just that!
‘No one can explain chemistry,’ Luca says. ‘But it’s real. Love at first sight is real.’ I nod emphatically in agreement. ‘It’s not just impulse; it’s a real feeling right in the middle of your heart.’
‘But the wedding!’ I suddenly look towards the door. ‘We have to have a wedding. It has to go ahead. Everyone is expecting it. Even Etna seems to be getting impatient.’ I glance out at the darkening sky.
‘Well,’ says Luca, looking at me and then at Lennie, ‘if this is what you want . . . if you still want a life here with the lemons, I think you’re right, the wedding should go ahead. If it’s what you truly want.’ And I’m sent into a spin all over again.
Chapter Fifty-three
The wedding music is playing as I step out of the office. Lennie and Luca have left, and after checking that I’m really sure about this, Valerie has joined them in the room opposite. It’s just me now. I take a deep breath and lift my chin and stand tall. I have butterflies tearing around inside my stomach, but I know I am doing the right thing. This isn’t me being impulsive. This is me following my instincts, following my heart and taking a leap of faith all at the same time.
As I walk into the big room, everyone turns to look at me. Giuseppe stands, looking stately, behind a big wooden desk, and in front of him, illuminated by a sudden shaft of sunlight, I see Lennie with Luca by his side. I gaze at the two men I love most in the world. Luca is wearing a corsage made of lemon blossom, borrowed from Matteo, with a ribbon around it; the same colour ribbon he added to my dress: verdello green.
Every journey starts with the first step, and I put one foot in front of the other and begin to make my way towards them. Everyone that matters is here: my family, I think. Because family is what you make it. At the front stands Valerie, looking as proud as Punch. Giuseppe nods slowly, as if to say ‘Perfecto.’
The two men smile at each other and embrace, then Lennie steps aside to join Matteo. Then Luca turns slowly to look at me, and I think my world might just explode as he holds out a hand for me to join him in front of Giuseppe . . . to join him in life, forever, on the lemon farm.
Because nobody ever became a lemon farmer for anything other than love.
Epilogue
One year on
‘So how was your trip to London?’ I ask Sophia. ‘Did you see all the sights?’
‘It was great. I saw Buckingham Palace, Downing Street, Pudding Lane and Big Ben. I went on the Eye and to the biggest toy store ever! But . . .’ She tails off.
‘But?’ I ask, picking up Francesco from the pram and handing him to his new godfather, Lennie, and then handing Amelia tohergodfather, Matteo, who takes her proudly in his strong arms. We all sit around the long table under the biggest tree in the lemon grove at Il Limoneto.
‘Careful not to get anything on their christening gowns. Luca only finished them last night,’ says Valerie, who has only been home once since the wedding – to pack up her house and put it on the market before moving out here to Città d’Oro. Although she seems to spend more time at Giuseppe’s than she does in the little house Lennie and Matteo have done up for her.
Along the table there are sprigs of lemon blossom in jam jars on the white tablecloth, along with big jugs of wine and water. Everyone is ready for the feast that they have been preparing all morning, jostling for position in the kitchen, taking direction from Luca and Matteo. It’s one big noisy group, just like after our wedding, when the whole town came back to help us celebrate, carrying bowls of salad, pots of pasta and trays of vegetables ready for roasting, all smiling and laughing as they walked from town to Il Limoneto.
‘What are you writing now?’ Valerie looks warily at Tabitha.
‘Actually, Valerie, I’ve given up writing articles. I’ve spent so many years making stuff up, trying to make it sound like fact. I’m actually going to write a book. A novel, set on a lemon farm,’ she grins. ‘I mean, you couldn’t make this stuff up!’
‘And she’s my new English teacher!’ Sophia announces proudly.
Tabitha smiles. When she’s not writing or teaching, she’s helping Ralph, who has closed up his gallery in the main street for the day. He’s preparing for an exhibition next week and his children will be joining him to celebrate. He and his ex-wife have been back on speaking terms ever since she saw the feel-good article that Tabitha wrote about a group of people who moved to Sicily and brought a dying town back to life.
Giuseppe hands round glasses of our latest batch of verdello limoncello and proposes a toast.
‘To all of us,’ he says. ‘To home and to family,’ and he raises his glass to Luca and me, and then to our children, Francesco and Amelia, named after Luca’s grandparents and their initials on the lemon grove ‘F & A’.
Il Nonno stands up.
‘And to forgiveness. None of us would be here if we hadn’t made mistakes along the way. It took an infuriating red-headed woman from the UK to make me realise that!’
‘Hear hear,’ says Barry loudly.
