Spring In Sicily (Escape To Italy 4) Read online

  Spring in Sicily

  Escape to Italy #4

  Melissa Hill

  Little Blue Books

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  MULBERRY BAY

  About the Author

  Also by Melissa Hill

  Chapter 1

  “Sicily?” Olivia Bennett narrowed her eyes at her features editor and annoyedly blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Come on, Erica, you can’t be serious…”

  “Why not?,” Erica replied. “Sicily is beautiful—especially in the spring. You get to sit in the sun, eat loads of Italian food, and come back fifteen pounds heavier. Who wouldn’t want to do that?”

  “Me, actually,” Olivia responded, irritated. “The place is just full of fatty foods, ugly beaches, and pushy men. And everything smells like fish.”

  “Jeez, Olivia,” Her editor rolled her eyes, “did somebody from the island kick your dog or something?”

  Olivia held her tongue and stared past Erica out the window.

  Four years before coming to The Wanderer, one of the USA’s premier travel magazines, she’d started out her brand new travel-writing career by following her then-publisher Richard on what was supposed to be a grand tour of Sicily—which was to double as a romantic holiday for the young lovers.

  Excited for a shot at European romance and set on finding the hidden gems of Italy, she eagerly accepted the offer. But three days later, she found herself alone on a Sicilian beach vomiting undercooked garlic prawns and unable to find a decent area on the island that wasn’t a tourist trap. When she finally got home, she almost considered giving up travel writing altogether. Or at least anything vaguely related to Italy, which was forever soured in her mind.

  Snapping back to reality, she turned her gaze back to Erica and sighed.

  “I just—I thought I might’ve earned a little bit of leeway, I guess.”

  Erica had recruited Olivia to The Wanderer based on her large established following, and evocative articles on East Asia, South America, and the Middle East.

  Her first assignment for The Wanderer, an exploration of glaciers in Patagonia, had been hailed as revolutionary, and was already generating buzz for a slew of awards.

  But Sicily was quickly becoming the it place in Europe for American vacationers, and the combination of a hyped location, and an incredibly popular writer was just too enticing to pass up.

  “Look,” Erica conceded, “I know this isn’t ideal. But we need our best talent covering our top regions. And Sicily truly is it this year. I’ve gotten hundreds of enquiries about this self-taught chef who’s got a cooking class there that’s supposed to be incredible. We want you to check it out to see what the hype is all about.”

  She slid a glossy paper brochure towards Olivia. On the cover was a photo of a woman in her seventies. Dressed in a striped floor length dress and her silver hair pulled back in a tight bun, she had the look of an Italian grandmother who spent hours fussing over her sauces.

  “Oh come on,” Olivia cried, exasperated. “I write about authentic culture, not this touristy nonsense.” She shook her head. “I can’t take this assignment. There’s no way this ends up with a positive article, not with this whole thing going on too.”

  “Even better,” Erica said eagerly. “Readers love negative reviews. Half the travel shows on TV now are about crusty expats irritated with their surroundings. If this thing is a crock of crap than expose it.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes, but Erica could see she was reconsidering. “Besides,” she continued, “it’s only five days. Kick butt on this, and we can send you wherever you want on your next assignment.”

  Olivia took a deep breath. She reminded herself that she was lucky—at twenty-nine, she had an incredibly enviable position and wasn’t tethered to a desk. She knew she had to consider it.

  “Can I think about it?” she asked.

  “Take the night,” Erica responded over the ring of the phone on her desk, “but I’m gonna need to know in the morning.”

  Afterwards, Olivia pushed open the door to a coffee house up the street from the office. She found the crowds of busy professionals oddly soothing—it helped her clear her head and think.

  And she sure needed to think after that meeting. She ordered a black coffee and found a place at a bay window. She sat there for a few moments, sipping occasionally from her coffee.

  Suddenly, she remembered the pamphlet Erica had given her. She pulled it from her back pocket and began reading.

  THE FOOD OF LOVE

  CHEF ISABELLA’S SICILIAN COOKING CLASSES

  Experience all that Taormina has to offer in this four-night, five-day culinary vacation.

  Visitors have the chance to work with self-taught Sicilian chef Isabella Bottaro, whose work has been featured in countless cookery magazines and books all throughout Italy.

  Spend your days exploring the enchanting Sicilian town of Taormina—its sprawling mountains, sloping hillsides, luxurious beaches, and classical Italian and Greek streets that bring out the best of Sicily.

  Evenings at Isabella’s Villa are spent feasting on authentic handmade Sicilian recipes specially picked to match the skill level and needs of students - beginners and experienced chefs alike.

  “Right,” Olivia muttered under her breath, “even cheesier than I thought.”

  It read like the thousands of other tourist brochures she’d collected over her travels. They all advertised “authentic cultural experiences” that usually turned out to be based on stereotypes than local flavor.

  It was exactly this kind of cultural disintegration that she strove to combat in her writing.

  Still, she’d promised Erica she’d give it a chance. She scanned the rest of the brochure.

  ISABELLA’S PHILOSOPHY

  Experiencing the world begins at the dinner table. While it is easy to find “authentic” in any corner of the world, what makes Isabella’s class different is the attention she gives to each and every student. Isabella believes that cooking is a personal experience meant to be lived and enjoyed in the moment. Whether the student comes with no experience or has professional training at top cookery schools of the world, Isabella will provide one on one guidance and insight. After all, as Isabella always says, “Non c'è megghiu sarsa di la fami.”

  Always one to do her homework, Olivia pulled out her phone and entered the Italian phrase into her translation app.

  “Hunger is the best sauce,” it said.

  That made her laugh; the phrase was pure kitsch—but it had elicited a response. It was sufficient at least, to make her start looking up travel site reviews of the cookery course.

  All gave the Isabella’s Villa high marks, most saying the same laudatory things. But then, she came across one in particular that caught her attention:

  “MaryEllen87:

  I’m not one to fall for touristy things like classes or tours, but my girlfriend insisted we take Isabella’s cooking classes together on our trip to Sicily. I only agreed after looking at pictures of the grounds and the proximity to Mount Etna. However, when we arrived, I was instantly taken aback by the sheer beauty and warmth of the villa. Its stone walls shone brightly in the sunlight and glimmered in the moonlight. The patios became
a place of refuge, a perfect setting to release all of our travel woes.

  “But what really won me over was Isabella herself. I’m not a cook by any means. I prefer a hamburger over a fancy seafood dish. I was skeptical at what I could possibly learn in five days, but here I am, back in Chicago a month later, and I am still in love with cooking. Isabella made her “classes” accessible, personable, and I left her villa feeling like I could conquer the world. I cannot thank her enough for it. This place and experience is not one to miss. See Taormina and meet Isabella. It will change your life.”

  “It will change your life?” Olivia muttered. “Please.”

  But it was a challenge if ever she heard one.

  As she finished her coffee, she began composing an email to Erica; she’d made her decision.

  Chapter 2

  Impatiently tapping her heel on the linoleum floors, Kate O’Toole fidgeted listlessly in the plush chair of her doctor’s office in Cork. It had been at least fifteen minutes, but Dr. White still hadn’t arrived to go over her test results. The wait was almost unbearable, and it didn’t help that the chair next to her remained occupied.

  Normally, Ed would have gone with her to these appointments. As they waited for the doctor to arrived, her husband would hold her hand gently, reminding her that everything would be okay, no matter what the doctor had to say. But month after month, payment after payment, Ed’s enthusiasm for the process had dwindled. And when it came time to make today’s appointment, he’d opted out altogether, blaming a work issue he couldn’t get out of and Kate had to get through it by herself.

  At this stage, she should have been used to it. Infertility treatments had become just another part of her daily routine.

  At the start of her cycle each month, they would visit the office for a consultation and a plan of action. She and Ed would quickly accept whatever the doctor had to suggest in terms of treatment.

  Then, over the course of about a month, she would subject herself to painful shots, horrid medications, and endless blood draws and ultrasounds. All of that just to conceive a single baby.

  It had been over a year since they had started the process. Before that, they had tried for five years to conceive naturally with no luck.

  Now, at thirty-five, hope seemed to fade away faster with each passing day. And these end-of-cycle appointments were just another opportunity to remind Kate of her age, her health, and her diminishing chances of ever holding her own child.

  Doctor White gingerly knocked on his own office door. Kate stood to greet him, shaking his hands heartily, hoping that he would glance her a smile, a wink, a nod—anything that would give her a hint that good news was about to come. But just like all the other appointments, the doctor had his nose in their paperwork, eyes remaining stuck on the large stack of documents.

  “No Ed today?” His concern struck her as another sign that this appointment was not going to go as she had prayed.

  “No. Work wouldn’t let him off today. You know how that goes…” She couldn’t bring herself to lie much more about the situation. How could she tell her doctor that her own husband had given up on their chances?

  “That’s a shame. We’ll just have to talk the two of us, then.” He looked back down at the paperwork, clearing his throat a bit as he seemingly searched for what to say next. With a burst of air, he let the news out, “I’m sorry, Kate, it’s negative again. I’m afraid your body is just not responding to the medication and treatment plans.”

  Kate stared at him with a blank face. While in past appointments, she had allowed herself to show a hint of sadness, even cry, she was far past that now. She had heard Doctor White say the same thing for the last fourteen months, and this point, she wasn’t sure what an appropriate reaction would be. Instead of reacting with all the hurt and anger she had bottled up inside, she simply said, “Okay.”

  “I think we need to reevaluate the whole thing at this point. Obviously, what we are doing at the moment is not working. And by the look of you and the fact that Ed isn’t here, I think it is best that we all take a break.”

  “A break?” That word frightened her. A break meant no trying, no medication, nothing. It meant time away from fighting this thing. And at this point, time meant the world in terms of conceiving a healthy child.

  “Sometimes being in the right headspace is what you need to conceive. Stress and fatigue can take a huge toll on the body, let alone on a couple, and after six years of trying for a baby, you and Ed need a break. So I am giving it to you. Take the next month or two to get away, go on a holiday or something, enjoy each other’s company. You deserve it.”

  She wiped a few teardrops away from her eyes and focused on sounding as clinical as possible “Maybe,” she said, “but there’s got to be something else we can do. I’m just—”

  “Kate,” Doctor White said, smiling sadly and sympathetically, “I want to keep going. I really do. Seeing you deliver a beautiful baby would be amazing. But given where we are, I… I’m just afraid I can’t continue working with you, at least not like this. All I’m asking is that you give it a month. Just one. And after that we can start again.”

  With this, Doctor White stood up and turned towards his filing cabinet. He placed her manila folder into the metal organizer with the rest of the stack. Kate’s heart thudded along with the sound of the drawer door slamming shut. She too stood, hastily saying her goodbyes, and walked out the door of his office.

  Back home, she headed straight for the bedroom at the top of the second floor. She passed by the open doors of the empty rooms. When Ed and Kate had purchased the house in the suburbs of Cork city centre nearly ten years ago, they had intended to fill the space with many children. Now, the rooms were ghosts, occupied by office desks and guest beds. The rest of the house stood eerily silent as it always had.

  Kate fell onto her bed, her head smothered into the pillows, waiting for tears to come. Instead, she found herself strangely restless and devoid of emotion, so she moved to the computer. She started by looking up other fertility specialists in Ireland, but she quickly realized that switching doctors would likely mean starting this entire process over again. She couldn’t put her marriage through that again—she couldn’t put herself through that again.

  And so, her mind wandered back to the doctor’s office and that word: holiday. Because of the price of treatments and the pressure to be near her doctor, the couple hadn’t ventured out of the country in years. Maybe it was time for a break away from this empty house and the stuffy doctor’s office? Maybe it would save her marriage from eroding even further.

  She began a quick search online. Ed had always mentioned Italy as one of his dream destinations. If she was going to persuade him to go anywhere, picking a location that he wanted the most was probably her best bet. But prices for trips to Rome or Venice were astronomical. He would never agree to that.

  Then, she came across Sicily. Looking at the average temperatures for the time of year, and the pictures of the beautiful sandy beaches, it seemed to have everything a couple could want. There was culture, art, beautiful scenery, nice hotels, etc. Compared to the rest of the Italian hot-spots, a quick break there would be a steal.

  Kate spent the rest of the afternoon researching the island of Sicily. She made spreadsheets of ideas and itineraries with prices and breakdowns. She included activities and sites she knew Ed wouldn't be able to resist. Her mind was flooded with thoughts of holding hands strolling down stone piazzas while eating fresh gelato.

  She was so preoccupied with her activity, she didn’t even hear the bedroom door open. Ed quietly snuck in, throwing his suit coat on the bed as he striped off his tie and belt. Hearing the thud of his body hitting the edge of the bed, Kate turned to face her husband.

  In his mid-thirties, he still looked just the same as the day she married him. His blonde hair was shorter, but he still had those baby blue eyes pinched by laugh lines. The only difference was he looked more tired now, almost defeated. Darker lines under his
eyes became more puffy. The way he held his body was a bit more hunched and subdued.

  “So what did the doctor say?” His face showed no sign of hope.

  “He said we need a holiday.” It came out a bit blunter than she’d intended, but she didn’t regret it. Blunt might well be the best way to broach the subject.

  “A holiday?” He stared at her quizzically, almost mocking her. She just gazed back at him with a tired expression. “No, seriously,” he continued, “What did Doctor White say?”

  “He said,” she repeated with a sigh, “that we needed a holiday, Ed. He is not going to treat us next month. He recommended that we get away from everything.”

  “Are you joking?” His face contorted in annoyance. “We’re paying that guy God knows how many thousands to tell us we need a damn holiday? We don’t need a holiday; what we need is a baby!” He placed his head in his hands, covering his eyes out of frustration. Kate stood up from the desk and sat next to him, rubbing her hand down the small of his back, undoing the top button of his shirt.

  “Love, I think he’s right. We need to get away from all this for awhile. Being in this house all day, alone, with nothing to think about except the fact that I can’t conceive is just adding on stress and pressure. It’s not good for my mind or my body. And it’s not good for us.”

  He remained motionless, refusing to glance up from his hollowed palms, so she pressed on. “You have some holiday time saved up, and we could put together the money for something cheap and cheerful. I was thinking we could take that trip to Italy we’ve always talked about doing? The mainland’s a little pricey, but if we stay in Sicily, hotels and food are working out fairly cheap. Think about it: we could go climb mountains, see Greek ruins, relax in the sun by a pool. Anything you want to do.”