Chapter 101: Under the Tuscan Sun

The countryside gradually crept up on Dominic.

As the car traveled farther from Florence, the buildings grew fewer until vineyards and cultivated fields took over. Narrow roads wound between rolling hills, with old stone houses appearing occasionally in the distance.

Dominic spent most of the drive looking out the window.

"People actually live out here."

Victoria turned from the opposite seat.

"That’s generally why there are houses."

"You know what I mean. Where do they buy groceries?"

"There are towns."

"I haven’t seen one in twenty minutes."

"You’ve survived longer without entering a supermarket."

"That’s because other people bought my groceries."

Victoria looked at him.

Dominic frowned.

"Fine. Bad example."

By the time they turned onto the narrower road leading toward the villa, even Dominic had stopped pretending not to be interested.

Then their destination came into view.

"That’s it?"

Victoria followed his gaze. "Disappointed?"

"No."

That seemed to surprise them both.

The villa looked almost exactly like the photographs, except the pictures hadn’t captured how naturally it belonged to the countryside.

Weathered stone walls, green shutters, and a terracotta roof gave it an understated charm. A covered terrace overlooked the hills, while the surrounding grounds blended into the landscape.

No grand entrance announced how much the place cost, and no staff waited to greet them.

Only the local property manager stood outside with the keys.

Dominic stepped out of the car and immediately noticed something unusual.

Nothing happened.

Nobody called his name or shoved a phone in his direction.

Victoria approached.

"Too quiet?"

Dominic listened to the wind moving through the trees and the faint sound of machinery working somewhere beyond the fields.

"Maybe."

"You’ll survive."

"Everyone keeps saying that to me."

"Because you keep surviving."

Unexpectedly, that was comforting.

Inside, the villa was equally unassuming, with comfortable furnishings and large windows overlooking the countryside.

Unfortunately, Victoria had apparently brought a project.

Dominic discovered painting supplies arranged near one of those windows.

Canvases, brushes, and enough materials to suggest his mother had entered an art store without knowing what he might still use.

"Oils?"

"And acrylics," Victoria replied.

Dominic picked up a tube.

"I used oils."

"I remembered that much."

"Then why buy acrylics?"

"I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer now."

That answer eased some of his irritation.

"I haven’t painted seriously in years."

"I know."

"No manipulation?"

"I’m attempting flexibility."

"Terrifying."

Victoria smiled.

The first two days were aggressively uneventful.

Dominic hated them.

Without meetings or obligations, he discovered that having complete control over his schedule wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as he’d imagined.

He wandered around the property, ate whenever he felt hungry, and spent far too much time on his phone.

"You could’ve booked somewhere without internet," he complained.

"You would’ve murdered me."

"True."

"So use self-control."

"Awful advice."

By the third afternoon, Dominic had already scrolled through everything worth scrolling through.

Eventually, he wandered outside.

The afternoon sunlight had softened the hills, casting long shadows across the fields. Farther away, a pale stone house stood partially hidden by trees.

Dominic found himself wondering how he would mix the hillside’s color.

Then he frowned.

That was annoying.

Because once the thought occurred to him, he couldn’t stop studying the landscape.

The sky would be easy enough, but the fields were harder. Their colors changed depending on where the sunlight touched them.

He stared at the hills.

Then toward the villa.

Damn it.

Victoria was reading on the terrace when he returned carrying an easel and some supplies.

She looked up.

Dominic immediately pointed at her.

"Nothing."

"I said nothing."

"Keep doing that."

"Gladly."

He set up the easel facing the hillside.

It had been years since he’d painted seriously. Acrylics would’ve been easier after such a long break, but Dominic chose the oils.

Apparently, some habits survived neglect.

His first attempt was terrible.

He knew what he wanted his hand to do. Unfortunately, his hand seemed to have developed its own opinions.

The hill looked wrong.

Dominic swore.

Victoria turned a page.

He tried again.

The perspective improved slightly, but the colors irritated him instead.

After twenty minutes, he stepped back.

"It looks terrible."

"Do you want my opinion?"

"No."

"Then I’m safe."

Dominic studied the canvas.

The irritating part was that he knew what was wrong. The slope needed adjusting, the shadows weren’t sitting properly, and the distant stone house looked far too prominent.

He could fix that.

Dominic picked up his brush again.

At some point, he forgot to be bored.

He also forgot to check his phone.

For once, the only thing irritating Dominic Sebastian was a badly painted hill.

And that, apparently, he could do something about.

By the time he finally stepped away, more than two hours had passed.

A local cook Victoria had arranged to visit several times during their stay prepared dinner that evening.

Dominic ate more than usual.

Victoria noticed.

"Don’t."

"I didn’t say anything."

"You looked."

"Apparently that’s illegal now."

"Sometimes."

She poured herself more water.

Dominic glanced toward the canvas he’d brought inside.

"Do you think I could’ve done that?"

"Art?"

"As a career."

Victoria considered the question.

"Yes."

Dominic looked suspicious.

"But?"

"No but. You would’ve needed to work at it, and you might never have become famous."

He laughed.

"There it is."

"You asked."

Victoria was quiet for a moment.

"I think I made a mistake teaching you that everything valuable had to become something impressive."

Dominic’s smile faded.

"Maybe you could’ve painted simply because you liked painting."

"You wouldn’t have accepted that."

"No."

At least she was honest.

"Sebastian Group mattered," Dominic said.

"It still does."

"I’m not saying I want it back."

That surprised her.

Dominic looked down at his plate.

"I don’t know what I want."

Victoria hesitated.

"Neither do I."

He looked up.

For most of his life, Victoria had always seemed to know what came next. There was always another plan waiting.

Except those plans had failed.

And now they were sitting in an old Italian villa with nowhere they particularly needed to be tomorrow.

"What do you do now?" Dominic asked.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"I’m your mother."

"That isn’t an occupation."

"It has been."

"That’s the problem."

Victoria stared at him.

Dominic smiled faintly.

"Therapy."

"I preferred you before."

"No, you didn’t."

Probably true.

The painting wasn’t finished that night.

Dominic left it beneath the covered terrace, where he could return the next morning.

The surprising part was that he actually did.

He’d barely finished breakfast before he found himself outside again, studying yesterday’s work and noticing several things he wanted to change.

It was the first thing in a long time he’d looked forward to doing without connecting it to something he’d lost.

He wasn’t trying to regain his position, prove someone wrong, or compete with Giovanni.

Dominic simply wanted to finish the painting.

By late afternoon, he did.

Victoria eventually joined him.

"What do you think?"

Dominic studied the canvas.

"Better than yesterday."

"That’s praise?"

"For me."

She smiled.

His painting wasn’t perfect.

Strangely, he could live with that.

"Maybe I’ll do another."

Victoria didn’t celebrate or announce that she’d known this would happen.

She simply looked toward the countryside with him.

"What do you want to paint?"

Dominic considered the question.

"I don’t know."

For once, not knowing didn’t feel like failure.

There was another empty canvas inside.

He had time to decide.