Table Of ContentGuido la Vespa Amore and Pinot Grigio – a Guido la Vespa Christmas Tale
When Sigrid O'Herlihy and Sandro Totti meet a short time before Christmas—with the help of an
injured cat and a pink Vespa—the last thing either wants is love. Sigrid can't forget the betrayal of
her ex-fiance, and Sandro can't forget the Italian beauty who broke his heart. But the attraction
between Sigrid and Sandro is sizzling, so they decide to give lust a try. Love, after all, is for the naive
and Sigrid and Sandro, both in their thirties and both determined to avoid future pain, take a more
practical approach. With the Eternal City as their playground, the pair enjoy their Vespas—and
occasionally Sandro's fancy Italian sports car—fine wine, and helping homeless animals. A holiday
visit to Sandro's family in Tuscany, however, threatens their no-strings agreement and forces the pair
to face their feelings and their fears. Will a little Christmas spirit be enough to bring about a leap of
faith?
Genre: Contemporary Length: 30,824 words
AMORE AND PINOT GRIGIO – A
GUIDO LA VESPA CHRISTMAS
TALE
Guido la Vespa
Veronica Bell
ROMANCE
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A SIREN-BOOKSTRAND TITLE
IMPRINT: Romance
AMORE AND PINOT GRIGIO – A GUIDO LA VESPA CHRISTMAS TALE
Copyright © 2013 by Veronica Bell
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62740-498-3
First E-book Publication: October 2013
Cover design by Christine Kirchoff
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual
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PUBLISHER
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DEDICATION
For animal lovers everywhere.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Preface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About the Author
AMORE AND PINOT GRIGIO – A
GUIDO LA VESPA CHRISTMAS
TALE
Guido la Vespa
VERONICA BELL
Copyright © 2013
Preface
Marisa Palumbo Cantarelli locked and attached a nametag to her last
suitcase and did some quick math to figure out exactly how many euros in
excess baggage fees she was going to have to pay. Tomorrow she was leaving
for New York City. New home, new country, new husband. Greg Cantarelli had
come into her life only a year before in a way that wouldn’t exactly augur a
lifelong commitment. The handsome Italian-American was studying architecture
in Rome and was very nearly run over by Marisa when she turned a sharp corner
and lost control of her Vespa in all its pink glory, near the Church of San
Clemente.
The memory made Marisa smile, though at the time, she had been horrified
at how close she had come to injuring someone. She had never before had an
accident of any kind and considered herself responsible, never the type to show
off or speed on her bike. Greg only suffered some scrapes and a tear to his jeans,
but Marisa felt compelled to accompany him to a doctor and then after, to offer
him lunch. And then, well, here she was, married and happier than she could
ever have imagined.
Marisa and Greg had a private joke that the Vespa had deliberately swerved
that day to bring them together. She had considered bringing it to New York
with her, but Greg said it would cost so much to transport that it would be wiser
to buy a new one, if she wished, in the States.
So the Vespa was staying put, at her parents’ Bed and Breakfast. “You can
sell it, Papa,” she told her father. “If you wish. Maybe it will bring love to
someone else.”
Chapter One
Sigrid rounded the corner of the Via della Propaganda. Italians gave their
streets such great names, she had noticed. She continued up one of the smaller
streets near the Piazza di Spagna till she found a spot near the restaurant to park
Guido. Guido was what she called her Vespa. He was Guido la Vespa and he
was male. She just knew it. He was, at least, a friendly and honest male who
didn’t want anything from her other than good stewardship and safe parking
spots.
She was determined to find that cat. It had been on her mind all day. In fact,
it had been on her mind all day to the point that she could barely concentrate
during the private English tutoring sessions she taught, work she had taken on
even though supposedly she was on vacation in Italy. At least being busy leaves
me little time to think about my broken heart.
And of course, without tutoring the Palumbos, she’d be without her Vespa,
without means of private transport, and subject to the whims of Roman public
transit. The latter was fine when it worked, but Italians did love their strikes.
The night before, she’d been out on the Vespa quite late and had spied the
poor gray cat limping across some ruins. Goodness, those Romans had left a
glorious mess behind when their empire crumbled. The cat had gone behind a
restaurant, no doubt to see if any leftovers worthy of a Roman street feline could
be found. Poor little guy. Or gal, thought Sigrid.
It looked as though the cat’s front right leg was broken. Though the fact that
it was eating gave Sigrid hope, as it indicated it likely did not have an internal
injury. It was early December, the start of winter in Rome, and though nothing
like the winters back home, it was still cold, and cats had a way of trying to
warm themselves by huddling under cars. She had seen it more times than she
cared to recall.
The problem was that if the driver didn’t see them and got back into the car
and drove off, sleeping kitties that didn’t move quickly enough could end up
with a broken limb or worse.
The restaurant was closed, like so many places in Italy on a Sunday. There
was something sweet and old-fashioned about that. In Toronto, everything was
open all the time: twenty-four-hour grocery stores and pharmacies and seven-
day-a-week everything. All. The. Time. Why the frantic pace? It was one of the
things she hoped to achieve in Italy—the ability to relax.
Still, she felt anything but relaxed as she approached the back of the
