That was what was on my mind as I walked through the garden outside the winery.
Rows and rows and rows of calla lilies.
How fitting.
Not just the white, though.
White, red, yellow, and purple.
The gardens were impressive, set up like a giant maze that was probably difficult if you were buzzed off the wine being tasted and sold there.
But gorgeous.
Breathtaking, really.
I only wished I was in the kind of mood that would allow me to truly appreciate it.
Because it was beautiful. Especially first thing in the morning, watching the sun come up over the hill.
No one was around.
Because the winery wasn’t open yet. In fact, it wouldn’t be until eleven.
I was hoping that if I got there early enough, I could catch him alone. Before even the staff arrived.
My research told me that he had arrived back in his hometown in Navesink Bank the night before. Too late to head to the winery. But I imagined it would be his first stop in the morning.
Everything I knew about Massimo Grassi said he was passionate about his legitimate business.
The care and attention to detail of the gardens said that those people were absolutely right. I hadn’t seen a single withering flower or a too-long blade of grass on my whole walk. And I’d been walking for a while.
First, because I got there earlier than I’d planned. Second, because it was too beautiful not to take it in. And third, because it helped lessen the nerves that were racing through my system.
Who got to face the man who killed their boyfriend?
I mean, sure, in court. If they were caught and being tried.
But there were witnesses there and guards to keep you safe from a known murderer.
I was all alone.
By design, mind you, but it was no less nerve-racking just because I planned it.
Exhaling hard, I decided to circle back to the calla lilies. Maybe it would help me stay focused past my nerves.
It was a estimate to how plush the grass was that I hadn’t heard anyone approaching me.
“The winery isn’t open yet,” a deep, smooth, cool, voice said, and I swear I felt a shiver move through me at the sound of it.
I didn’t have to turn to know.
It was him.
Massimo Grassi.
The man who made me think of calla lilies.
Approaching me in a calla lily garden. Because God was funny like that.