Today I'm welcoming Jennifer Anton and her book - Under The Light Of The Italian Moon - to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde)
Under The Light of the Italian Moon
A
promise keeps them apart until WW2 threatens to destroy their love
forever
Fonzaso Italy, between two wars
Nina Argenta doesn’t
want the traditional life of a rural Italian woman. The daughter of a
strong-willed midwife, she is determined to define her own
destiny. But when her brother emigrates to America, she
promises her mother to never leave.
When childhood friend
Pietro Pante briefly
returns to their mountain town, passion between them ignites while
Mussolini forces political tensions to rise. Just as their romance
deepens, Pietro must leave again for work in the coal mines of
America. Nina is torn between joining him and her commitment to Italy
and her mother.
As
Mussolini’s
fascists throw the country into chaos and Hitler’s Nazis terrorise
their town, each day becomes a struggle to survive greater
atrocities. A future with Pietro seems impossible when they lose
contact and Nina’s dreams of a life together are threatened by Nazi
occupation and an enemy she must face alone…
A
gripping historical fiction novel, based on a true story
and heartbreaking real events.
Spanning over two
decades, Under the Light of the Italian Moon is an epic,
emotional and triumphant tale of one woman’s incredible resilience
during the rise of fascism and Italy’s collapse into WWII.
Publication Date: 8th March 2021
Publisher: Amsterdam Publishers
Page Length: 394 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction/Biographical Fiction
You can purchase a copy of the book via -
Amazon: getbook.at/JAnton
Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/3n1nDqC
Waterstones: https://www.waterstones.com/book/under-the-light-of-the-italian-moon/jennifer-anton//9789493231009
Bookshop.org (U.S. only): https://bit.ly/3ofS39T
I am Books Boston: https://bit.ly/2Z0mWUO
Now for the excerpt.
The exhilaration of the cold and the extraordinary situation of the festival took away any inhibition Nina had of being first to dance, and she and Onorina bounced to the music as soon as they entered. Onorina was an excellent dancer, and they both swung their hips, dipping and spinning with the music. Nina finally felt free. She twirled under the timber roof, giving in to an abandon she hadn’t felt since childhood, since before the awful days of the war took it away.
A flood of people soon joined, swaying, and waltzing around them. Nina’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and she danced with everyone. The temperature rose in the barn, making the air muggy with the earthy smell of rain and hay. Where was Pietro? The men passed bottles of wine and raised them to allow the liquid down their throats, swigging, and handing it on. Her father appeared and lifted her around, then swung her sister. Vante and her little sisters stamped past, clapping their hands, and twirling as the music played. It reminded her of the weddings she’d attended when she was small before the war. Everyone wanted to dance with her then, and she never wanted to leave the floor. Women swished their skirts, men slapped their thighs and when the Alpini band played ‘Quel Mazzolin di Fiori’, a cheer went up for the favourite song. Nina spotted Pietro through the boisterous crowd, but as he was about to break through, a young man with red hair swung her away. “Hey, Pampo!” someone shouted at him and gave him a wink as he swung Nina on the dance floor. She wanted to get away, annoyed at his awful dancing and even worse timing. She watched as Pietro found Onorina and gave her a twirl, both of them swaying to the music. Nina tried to move away from the redhead, but the barn was too packed with bodies, and he swung her again. This time, she lost her balance and, with two steps, trying to catch her footing, fell into the crowd.
“Whoa there,” a low voice hummed in her ear as strong arms wrapped around her, catching her from her fall.
“I remember you telling me you could dance,” Pietro said, smirking at her in a kidding manner while he pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t blame me. A girl has to have the right partner,” she quipped back, surprised by her own words and immediately taking in the heady scent of his cologne: wood and spice mellowed by dried rain.
‘La Monella’ played, and Pietro put his hand on Nina’s lower back, guiding her in an easy waltz to the quick tune. No one had ever held her in such a way; his palm was firm on her lower back, possessive, as though sending a message to everyone in the room. He was smooth on his feet, confident. They spun around in the packed space until the other dancers parted enough to allow them to travel. As the pace of the song picked up, Pietro became animated; he raised his eyebrows dipping her, and teasing with his movements. Nina liked how he moved. He was smooth but didn’t take himself seriously, and it was exhilarating to be twirled around in his arms. His hair had dried into a wild flop covering his left eye. She resisted the urge to push it back for him.
“Did you learn to dance like this in America?” she asked, as he spun her and then pulled her back close to him.
“I’ve learnt a lot of things in America.” He leaned towards her and changed the subject. “Do you ever go to the movies?” he asked. When he spoke to her, he had to get close to her ear so she could hear him over the band. She felt the heat from his breath on her neck.
“Sì. In Feltre and we’re meant to get a small picture house behind the church soon. I especially love American films!”
Pietro grinned at her, searching her face as if memorising her features. “Why weren’t you at the last festa? I saw everyone else in your family but not you. Onorina was the star of the night.”
“I’m sure she was,” Nina frowned, a chill going through her at the mention of her sister. “I had to help my mother. Babies don’t plan around events,” she said, breathless and annoyed the conversation had headed again in Onorina’s direction. How many times had men tried to get information about her sister through her? Was Pietro the same?
“You want to be a midwife, too?” It was a serious question to ask in the middle of a dance floor, but his brown eyes made her want to share her thoughts with him.
“I want to matter to the world,” she admitted. “My mother has figured out how to do that.” He spun her again, then looked at her seriously.
“You do and you will,” he said. Un colpo di fulmine. The lightning bolt returned as his words sunk into her like she had been waiting to hear them all her life.
The song changed again and, this time, Corrado appeared, took Nina in his arms, and spun her around the barn. Losing sight of Pietro, she was tossed away again as Corrado seized her mother for a rare dance. She kept moving to the music as Pampo came up once more; this time she shook her head at him, unwilling to let him have her hand. He stayed nearby anyway, gesticulating towards her. For a moment, she thought she saw Pietro frowning on the other side of the barn as the annoying ragazzo danced at her. Nina smiled awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable, not wanting to be rude but miserable about the change in circumstances. Pampo grabbed her wrist and twisted her roughly again. This time, she stepped with intention away from him and inched into a corner of the barn where observers sat on stacks of hay. She searched the space until a flash of burgundy drew her attention. On the other side of the barn, there was Onorina, again in the arms of Pietro. He had her sister’s scarf tied around his neck and was making the same animated faces at Onorina he had made at her. Nina felt the blood drain from her face, and her urge to dance died, replaced by the desire to escape. Her siren of a sister could enchant any man; and why shouldn’t he fall in love with her? Hours before, it seemed like Onorina was steering Pietro her way, but, as she batted her eyes and grasped onto the ends of her scarf around his neck, it was clear she was interested, too. Nina wove her way through the crowd to the exit, pushing away tears with the palms of her hands, and ran up the moonlit stones of the Via Calzen and home to her bed.
Jennifer Anton
Jennifer Anton is an American/Italian dual citizen born in Joliet, Illinois and now lives between London and Lake Como, Italy. A proud advocate for women's rights and equality, she hopes to rescue women's stories from history, starting with her Italian family.
You can connect with Jennifer Anton via these platforms -
Website: www.boldwomanwriting.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/boldwomanwrites
Facebook: www.facebook.com/jenniferantonauthorpage
Instagram: www.instagram.com/boldwomanwriting
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/janton1468/_created/
Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/jennifer-anton
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Jennifer-Anton/e/B08RL6HBDN%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share
Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2XsHt3F
Youtube: https://bit.ly/3i9XvZA
You can learn more about the author and the book by visiting the other blogs on this tour.
Till the next time.
Take care Zoe
Thank you so much for hosting today's tour stop!!
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