notes, wishing she had not only learned to read music but to play as well. Next to the piano was a display case. On a middle shelf, tucked between a red and gold Chinese vase and the figurine of an Egyptian pharaoh, was a black and white photograph in a silver frame.
She moved closer. It was a photograph of a couple dressed in clothing from the 1930's. They stood in front of what looked like a medieval church. The man wore a light-colored, fitted suit, his fedora in hand. He was tall, dark-haired and handsome. He was smiling at the camera. His arm was about a woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She wore a sundress and sandals. Her dark hair was shoulder-length and fashioned in the style of that time. She wasn't smiling but her head was nestled snugly against the man's shoulder.
As Lydia stared at the photo, her eyes widened.
The man looked exactly like Tristan. The same cleft in the chin and deep dimples alongside the mouth. The hair was different, as it was cut in a manner befitting the times, but he could have been Tristan. Or a twin. But that was impossible. The man in this photo, if he was still alive, would have to be near to or over a hundred years old. He had to be Tristan’s grandfather or possibly his great-grandfather.
When Lydia was seventeen her mother had shown her a picture of her maternal grandmother as a young woman. For a moment Lydia had thought she was looking at herself, she had looked so much like her grandmother.
Tristan moved up behind her. “Your clothes are in the wash. It shouldn't take long.”
“Thank you.” She picked up the photograph. “Is that your grandfather?”
“Great-grandfather actually.”
“That’s amazing. You look exactly like him.”
“Everyone says that.”
“And is she your great-grandmother?”
He shook his head. “Just a woman my great-grandfather loved.”
“She was beautiful.”
Tristan slowly nodded. “Yes, she was. Very beautiful.”
“I would imagine he’s not still alive, is he?”
“No.”
“And her?”
Tristan didn’t answer at first. “I don’t know,” he finally said, but he looked uncomfortable as he said it.
A family scandal? “They look very much in love,” she said.
“They were. Very much. They had a lifetime of love.”
A lifetime of love.
She and Douglas had made it to nearly twenty years together, but as time had gone on their marriage had become more of a soap opera with her acting the role of the dutiful, gullible wife.
She bit her lip and turned away as tears stung her eyes.
Tristan took her gently by the arms. “Lydia, what's wrong?”
She shook her head, forcing a smile. “Nothing. I'm fine. Where was the photo taken?”
“At the Saint Antimo Abbey in Tuscany near the town of Montalcino. Are you sure you’re all right?”
She nodded then carefully placed the photo back on the shelf. She could not help but envy them. A lifetime of love. Was such a thing even possible anymore?
She looked back at Tristan. A slow smile spread across his face.
“What?”
Now his smile was a wide grin. “Do you have any idea how incredibly sexy you look?”
She glanced down. The edge of his shirt was just below her knees. She looked back up at him.
He reached up and gently cupped her face. “You have the most kissable lips. Did you know that?”
She silently shook her head. She wasn’t able to speak because her heart was thumping so hard it hurt. Tristan’s touch was more than just electrifying. It felt more as if the breath had been kicked out of her body.
He leaned closer, the warmth of his body enveloping her. “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I first saw you. May I?”
She stared up at him. He was the handsomest man she’d ever been alone with and the first man she’d been alone with since the divorce. She didn’t know him from Adam and what little she knew seemed to raise more questions than answers. He was unlike any man she’d ever met, and that in itself made her hesitant. She wanted
She moved closer. It was a photograph of a couple dressed in clothing from the 1930's. They stood in front of what looked like a medieval church. The man wore a light-colored, fitted suit, his fedora in hand. He was tall, dark-haired and handsome. He was smiling at the camera. His arm was about a woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She wore a sundress and sandals. Her dark hair was shoulder-length and fashioned in the style of that time. She wasn't smiling but her head was nestled snugly against the man's shoulder.
As Lydia stared at the photo, her eyes widened.
The man looked exactly like Tristan. The same cleft in the chin and deep dimples alongside the mouth. The hair was different, as it was cut in a manner befitting the times, but he could have been Tristan. Or a twin. But that was impossible. The man in this photo, if he was still alive, would have to be near to or over a hundred years old. He had to be Tristan’s grandfather or possibly his great-grandfather.
When Lydia was seventeen her mother had shown her a picture of her maternal grandmother as a young woman. For a moment Lydia had thought she was looking at herself, she had looked so much like her grandmother.
Tristan moved up behind her. “Your clothes are in the wash. It shouldn't take long.”
“Thank you.” She picked up the photograph. “Is that your grandfather?”
“Great-grandfather actually.”
“That’s amazing. You look exactly like him.”
“Everyone says that.”
“And is she your great-grandmother?”
He shook his head. “Just a woman my great-grandfather loved.”
“She was beautiful.”
Tristan slowly nodded. “Yes, she was. Very beautiful.”
“I would imagine he’s not still alive, is he?”
“No.”
“And her?”
Tristan didn’t answer at first. “I don’t know,” he finally said, but he looked uncomfortable as he said it.
A family scandal? “They look very much in love,” she said.
“They were. Very much. They had a lifetime of love.”
A lifetime of love.
She and Douglas had made it to nearly twenty years together, but as time had gone on their marriage had become more of a soap opera with her acting the role of the dutiful, gullible wife.
She bit her lip and turned away as tears stung her eyes.
Tristan took her gently by the arms. “Lydia, what's wrong?”
She shook her head, forcing a smile. “Nothing. I'm fine. Where was the photo taken?”
“At the Saint Antimo Abbey in Tuscany near the town of Montalcino. Are you sure you’re all right?”
She nodded then carefully placed the photo back on the shelf. She could not help but envy them. A lifetime of love. Was such a thing even possible anymore?
She looked back at Tristan. A slow smile spread across his face.
“What?”
Now his smile was a wide grin. “Do you have any idea how incredibly sexy you look?”
She glanced down. The edge of his shirt was just below her knees. She looked back up at him.
He reached up and gently cupped her face. “You have the most kissable lips. Did you know that?”
She silently shook her head. She wasn’t able to speak because her heart was thumping so hard it hurt. Tristan’s touch was more than just electrifying. It felt more as if the breath had been kicked out of her body.
He leaned closer, the warmth of his body enveloping her. “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I first saw you. May I?”
She stared up at him. He was the handsomest man she’d ever been alone with and the first man she’d been alone with since the divorce. She didn’t know him from Adam and what little she knew seemed to raise more questions than answers. He was unlike any man she’d ever met, and that in itself made her hesitant. She wanted
Similar Books
