“What, you like that idea, ‘Ambi?” he had said, grinning at me, I think seeing a dreamer whose spirit for this sort of work matches his own.“Yes,” I replied, a little breathless, nodding eagerly. “That’s – that’s the sort of place I’ve always dreamed of working.”“Well, you’re a good worker,” he sa

The workers begin to filter through the large kitchen about half an hour later, claiming their plates and their cups of coffee and tea, each giving Matilde and me warm greetings in whatever language is their native tongue. When Frankie comes for his plate I beam at him, marshalling all the self-cont

But I just shake my head, burying my face against his chest, wrapping my fists in the fabric of his shirt and trying to find the words, trying to figure it out – how to tell him this – how to break it to him – how not to ruin everything –“Bambi, please,” he begs, his voice breaking as he folds his

The rest of my pregnancy passes happily, with about as much trouble as the first two months gave me. Which is to say…not very much at all.“I get the feeling I’m being rude,” I murmur, drifting my hand over my very-pregnant stomach and glancing out over the vineyard, which has come so far in the pas

Frankie sighs, betraying his inner anxiety even beyond his jokes. “I don’t like that,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Seriously, Bambs, I wish you’d reconsider and let me take you to the city to wait it out – have little Franquette in a hospital, where you’ll be safe.”“This child,” I say, putting d