Mountains of Dawn

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again. "We're almost there now."

Tanya nodded. Maybe if she could interest him in some unusual way, something special-.

"Ah. Here we are," he said. They entered a clearing with two benches and a carved wooden table sprawled under a gigantic walnut tree.

"Although we seem to be in the blackest depths of the woods, there's a little shop just around the corner where we can buy drinks and snacks. They make fabulous pies, baked in an open-fire pit, just about the best you've ever tasted." He looked boyish, his eyes sparkling. "I eat here whenever Marta's out of commission."

"It's lovely," she said. "And so peaceful. I think I can smell the pies." She grinned.

"So tell me about yourself, Tanya. You have me very curious. What is a Canadian girl doing in an isolated mansion on the Riviera di Ponente?" He sat at the table and rested his chin on his hand, looking up at her with interest. His perfect eyebrows were arched over the steel grey of his eyes as if in emphasis. He wasn't going to let it slip by. "You're not here just to paint. Am I right?"

Tanya sighed, looked away from him, her expression troubled. "I'm in a bit of trouble," she said.

"What happened?"

"I'd prefer not to say." She shot a sideways glance at him, her head down, her eyes lowered. The flush began again.

"All right." He paused, his eyes intent on her face. "Tell me something else, then. Tell me about your family, where you grew up, where you went to school." His smile was warm, encouraging. "That shouldn't be too painful."

She threw her head back and took a deep breath, her eyes closed tight. The words, spoken so often to acquaintances they were memorized, spilled from her lips. "I was orphaned at the age of six. I grew up in foster homes, mainly farms. Fifteen different farms. I changed schools every year." She turned to face him, her expression stony. "I won a scholarship and went to college. I study art, mainly drawing and painting." She took another deep breath, then let it out slowly.

His hand reached out and touched her hair, twirling a lock in his fingers. "And who in your family gave you your dark coloring?" he asked.

"Mother, I guess. Even if I don't remember Mother being as dark as I am," she said with a slight stammer. "My father was fair, very fair. My little brother took after him, I believe. He was fair, too, from the photos I've seen." She swallowed. Her eyes filled with tears for a moment. "He died with them." She coughed, rubbed at her nose. "My father was in the import, export business. I don't remember my parents too well. But I do remember we had fun all together. They loved each other, and they loved me and my brother."