10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

T he next morning, I came awake, jumped into the shower at dawn, and rushed down to the back garden to find the mossy door still closed. I eased it open, stepped through, and gently made my way to the dock. Smiling in relief at seeing the scull gone, I sat down with my book and waited for Donvino. And I waited and waited and waited. Three hours I waited.

Our conversation from last night echoed around in my head as I slogged back to the villa. Dark gray clouds were moving into Florence, bringing much hoped-for rain to the region. It had been incredibly dry the past month Ricardo had informed me over our meals last night. Farmers were beginning to feel the choking fingers of a drought seeping into their crops. I'd nodded as if I cared as my mind drifted to other more entertaining things. Like Donvino, my new trunk, the zippy sauce on my dinner, the couple at the nearest table making eyes at each other.

Breakfast was just being served, a grand buffet of various dishes. My aunt and Se?orina Cappello were seated at the dining table. The doors in the dining hall closed to ward off the dampness that was rolling over the villa. Tiny speckles of rain dotted the windows and doors as I took a seat at the long table, placed a napkin on my lap, and whispered my thanks to Giada as she placed a mug of cappuccino in front of me.

"Is Donvino taking the morning off?" I nonchalantly asked his grandmother. My aunt shot me a laser-like look but said nothing as she spread some sweet butter over a homemade cornetto.

"It is Sunday, Arlo," my aunt interjected as Giada eased out of the room without looking at me. "I'm sure he's having a small breakfast, then getting ready to go to church."

"Oh right," I murmured as I reached for the large bowl of yogurt to spoon some into a smaller monkey dish at my setting.

"You will accompany us to mass?"

I glanced up from my yogurt. "No, sorry, I don't do organized religion."

I sort of suspected that reply would touch off a powder keg as this house and the gardens—heck, the entirety of the city—was really big on Catholicism. I'd peeled away from that scene when I'd been fourteen, queer, and made to feel as if I were some sort of evil entity by the local priest. My father, as with most things connected to me, gave me a talk and left me to do as I pleased.

Breakfast got ugly fast. I refused to go. Ginerva insisted I attend. And Se?orina Cappello looked mortified. Finally, to put our guest out of her misery, I shot to my feet, stalked out, and retired to my room, where I spent the next four hours trying to take apart my lone trunk.

Once everyone had left—Alessio and Giada had Sunday afternoons off after they had fed and carted signora to church—I snuck downstairs in search of tools. My phone had been pinging steadily all morning with likes and replies to my latest post about my discovery in the attic. So many people were happy for me. Why the hell couldn't my family be as well?

Finding nothing in the kitchen but fresh fruit, which I chunked up and dumped into a massive bowl of yogurt, I spooned what was now brunch into my mouth as I stepped outside to continue my search. Nothing had been found in the kitchen. Maria back home had a small toolbox that she hid under the kitchen sink, a ladies toolkit she called it, so that she could find a hammer or screwdriver when one was needed.

The sky was still overcast but some breaks could be seen. The rainfall had been negligible, barely enough to dampen the driveway, but the cool moist grass felt good between my toes. Moist. Yes, I had said it. Moist. How funny people were, getting upset over a perfectly good word. I personally had nothing against the word. I rather liked it in some instances. A moist cake was good. As was a moist man.

Sighing, I made my way to the dock, knowing that I'd not see Donvino today. That made me even sadder than I'd been earlier. Sitting on the edge of the pier, I finished my yogurt as my toes skimmed the Arno, tiny fish coming to investigate my piggies from time to time. Lying back after a bit, I watched the angry clouds leaving, taking any hope for moisture for the crops with it as it rolled east. Funny that I should be feeling the pangs of loneliness so sharply today. I'd spent most of my life alone. No, strike that. Once I'd grown up, I'd done my best to have people around me but none of them really gave two shits about me. Most were there for the money or the sex or the booze. So while I wasn't alone, I was still lonely. Cripes it sucked to be me today.

Wiping at the sudden wetness on my face, I blinked at the sun now shining down on me. Right. No blaming that on the rain. I swiped the tears away, got to my feet, and toted my empty bowl into the silent villa as the sound of church bells far off in the distance floated past on a warm, lemon-scented wind.

Tomorrow would be a better day. It had to be. It couldn't be much worse I decided as I returned to my room, sans tools but with all the yogurt and berries in the house, my mood giving into the call of a very sad brain day spent under the covers watching old Rat Pack movies. Night came and the only person that came to visit was Lucia. We shared some yogurt, and then she curled up under the duvet with me as Robin and the 7 Hoods looped around for a second viewing.

People always let you down, but cats never did. That was fact.

***

Monday morning. Ugh.

Today I was supposed to travel to our largest farm in Umbria to meet with the manager so I could begin to be the person that everyone but me wanted me to be. I poked around in my room for as long as I could and not miss breakfast, hoping to see Donvino, but he didn't appear.

I was beginning to suspect something was majorly off with him and me as I made my way to the back garden where my aunt and my tutor awaited me.

"Buongiorno," I said and got some chilly replies in kind. "Is Alessio driving me today?" I asked, nodding at Giada, setting a platter of poached eggs and fried tomatoes on the table next to a pitcher of pulpy orange juice.

"No, he is taking us to our medical appointments. Donvino will take you," Ginerva replied over her toast and blackberry jam.

My spirits lifted immediately. "Ah okay."

I ate, rushed upstairs to spiffy up, and then jogged downstairs to pace. I waited for about ten minutes when Donvino appeared in the back garden in dark jeans, a purple tee that had the wording ACF FIORENTINA across the front, and sunglasses that he'd tucked into the neck of his T-shirt.

"Buongiorno, Signor Arlo," he said as I rose from my chair. I got no wide smile or sassy wink. He seemed to have suddenly switched off all his charm. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," I answered as we stood in the garden, huge pink blooms climbing ever so artfully up a white wooden trellis to his left. Great, so we are back to Signor Arlo.

"Then we should go. It is a long drive," he said, his sight touching mine then darting to the mossy door. "I mean, if you are ready."

"Okay," I snapped as a fat dove landed in a bird bath resting by a rosebush with a thousand pink buds just waiting to pop open. "What exactly is going on here?"

His dark gaze flew from the garden gate to me. "Nothing is going on. Signora asks me to take you to Umbria for meeting Signor Piravino. This is what I am doing."

"No, no, you're not doing just that. You're acting as if I personally did something to slight you in some way."

He drew up to his full height, those expressive Timotheè Chalamet eyebrows knotting. "Forgive me for offending, Signor—"

"See right there!" I pointed at him. "We had moved past all of that classist stuff. I thought we were friends, or at least becoming friends, and then I show up at your job, which seems to have pissed you off for—"

"I am not pissed off. I am not anything. Can we please go? It is a long ride and we are already late for leaving."

"What the hell ever," I snarled, grabbed my backpack, which I'd stuffed full of papers from the binder, and stormed around the giant ass with my chin up. "We will get to the bottom of this, though," I said over my shoulder.

"Yes, signor."

"Argh!"

The first leg of the trip was ghastly. I swore he was being purposefully reckless as I clung to him for dear life while trying not to cling to him for dear life. Every time my hands touched his stomach he would stiffen, so I slapped my palms to his tummy and there they stayed until we were into the Tuscan countryside racing southeast. My aggravation began to wane as we moved from city to country and the scenery began to register. I leaned into his back as we rolled through winding roads, through groves of red grapes that went on for miles. The bike dug into the slim roads like a cheetah, easing us around hairpin turns along roads thick with shady trees. We rode by small farms with goats out in the pasture that sat by a red brick building with a rollout awning that shaded two tiny bistro table and chair sets. The sign with a blue duck proclaimed it to be—and this was all conjecture—The Blue Duck Caffè. Il Caffè dell'Anatra Blu in bright yellow letters shouted from the weather-ravaged sign.

My eyes couldn't drink in enough of the gorgeous countryside. I began taking videos shot over his wide shoulder. Vineyards shifted to olive orchards, then back to grapes, then over the olives. The air out here was cooler, much like it was along the Arno in the morning when Donvino would row in, all sweet smiles and—

Something that sounded like a gunshot startled me. Donvino cursed aloud as he slowed the bike, his foot hitting the road as the bike tried its best to lie down. I buried my face into his back as he kept the bike moving straight. When we limped to the side of the country lane we were on, he eased the Suzuki off the road, paused to catch his breath, and then looked back at me.

"We have a blowout," he explained. I nodded, unable to release my grip on his purple tee despite the fact we were now stopped and safely off the road. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I managed to croak out, forcing my knees to loosen from his lean hips. "Oh God, I thought someone had shot you."

"Who would shoot me out here?" he asked as he released the handlebars, his hands shaking a tiny bit, I noted before he placed his palms on his thighs.

"Angry sheep farmer?" I drew in a shaky breath, then slowly slid off the rear of the bike. The rear tire was flatter than a fritter. "Damn, it's really bad."

He got off the bike with some major attitude. Then he fired off a long and lusty tirade of what I had to assume were colorful Italian curse words peppered with flying hands. I stood back so as not to get walloped. The man was stunning in his anger. I smiled a little as he wound down, his chest heaving, his eyes darting to me. When our sight met, his lips twitched.

"I get mad," he stated matter-of-factly.

"With good reason," I replied, doing my best not to let the corners of my mouth pull up any further. I removed my helmet and sighed. "I hope you have a good cell carrier?"

"It is so-so," he confessed, removing his cell from his back pocket. After a moment or two of him pacing about with his phone over his head, he turned to me and shook his head. "Perhaps we walk back to that restaurant for some Wi-Fi maybe or to find a signal?"

I nodded, then took a few steps closer to the road, my helmet dangling from my fingers. We'd not passed a lot of traffic in the past hour, but eventually someone would toddle past, surely.

Or we could walk.

"Sure, let's walk. The sooner we get a signal, the sooner we can call for a tow," I commented while looking for a car or truck to appear.

"No, no tow. I will call Bianca. She will bring a tire."

"Oh okay, sure." I fastened my helmet to the handlebars next to his, then fell in beside him as we began the trek back to the tiny eatery. The sounds of songbirds filtered down to us as I hustled along to keep up with his longer stride. "You handled that blowout nicely," I offered as we walked. He shot me a look that I couldn't decipher.

"You did not want to be scraped," he replied flatly. I really disliked this emotionless golem he had turned into over a mere twenty-four hours. So I called him on it. Right there on that serpentine road in the middle of the Tuscan hills.

"Okay, what the hell have I done to twist your nuts into such a knot?" I barked, jogging ahead and planting myself in front of the beautiful behemoth.

"Nothing. You do nothing to me because what you do to me is not something that we can do to each other."

My nose scrunched up in confusion. He spat something out in Italian. I jerked my chin higher to fire back, but he was already stomping down the road, his phone held aloft.

"Well, I never," I gasped before jogging up to catch him. His legs were much longer than mine, but he'd not gone far, so I was beside him in a few seconds. The distant blatting of sheep moved through the trees on a gentle zephyr. "Exactly what is up your ass?" I demanded, leaping in front of him with my arms out as if I were trying to block a bull from reaching a downed bull rider. A clown is what those men and women are called. I felt the part, that's for sure. Especially when he moved around me to continue onward. "Oh no you do not!" I flung myself around him, skidding slightly on the smooth roadway in my shiny penny loafers. He stopped abruptly, his face void of any feelings. "You are going to tell me why you're being so cold to me right now!"

"Will you fire me if I do not?" His query was brittle. All the wind kind of left my sails.

"No, of course not."

"Then I do not need to tell you my personal things. If my job hangs on a thread for you knowing then…" He stared down at me, those dark eyes broiling with emotions he was not sharing.

"What did I do?" I asked plaintively, feeling the sting of his pulling away far more deeply than I should have given we'd only known each other for such a short time. "I thought we were friends. Maybe even more."

His jaw flexed. "We know each other less than one week. You and me are…" He searched his memory banks for the correct word in English but came up blank. Which made him angry, but he swallowed that ire down. Shame really. Maybe if he were mad at me outwardly, we could get to what had caused him to Jekyll and Hyde on me. "We are…boss and employee. It is not fitting for us to be—"

"Okay, that is my aunt talking right there!" I declared loudly enough to be heard back in Florence.

"No. Signora no says anything to me."

"Then who? Who dares to say that we can't be friends? Tell me and I'll—"

I clamped my mouth shut. "That is why I do not say. Please, can we just not be doing this? You are able to be flirting with whoever as long as it is not me. There are many reasons for this."

My eyes were suddenly quite dewy. I swiped at them with the backs of my hands. "What reasons could there be for two people not to be friends?"

"So many, Arlo, please…"

I lowered my arms. He stepped around me, his wide shoulders now sagging. Amid the trees and songbirds, I drew in a few shaky breaths, pulled on the well-fitted Arlo cares about nothing face, and strolled along at his side as if we were strangers. No one spoke. It was ghastly. When we cleared the stretch of forest, the small eatery could be seen about a mile away.

We both sped up, the need to get a few minutes away from Donvino and his rejection of me paining me with every step. Like an arrow in the gut, each step cut deeper and deeper. Why had I allowed myself to let someone in? It always ended this way and always would. God, I hated that I'd been vulnerable, and once more, my feelings were thrown back in my face.

The wind had picked up now that we were out of the trees. It pulled on our hair and clothes as it rattled the yellow and blue awning shading two tiny tables. The outdoor seating was a mere foot from the road, which didn't seem at all safe to me, but then again, maybe that was part of the thrill. The Blue Duck Caffè seemed to not be open, or if it were just barely.

"Ah, service," Donvino said as I walked in through the open doors of the wood-sided restaurant, stopping just inside to let my eyes adjust. I didn't reply to his statement. I just sailed into the trattoria.

The interior was much nicer than the exterior. To the left, up a small set of steps, was a lovely dining area with perhaps twenty dark wooden tables. In front of me was a register atop an empty glass refrigerated case. Behind the register was a coffee machine with all the accoutrements. I called out. A heavy man with a thick black mustache appeared from around the corner, smiling brilliantly at me as he hurried behind the counter.

"Buongiorno, amico mio!" His voice was deep and merry.

"Buongiorno, could I order two coffees? Uhm, due caffè?"

"Oh, American. Yes, two coffees for my friend from the United States!"

"You speak English very well," I said as he turned his back to me to begin tamping down the ground beans.

"Thank you. I lived in Chicago for ten years with my older brother," he called over his shoulder. "Double shot?"

"Please, yes, lots of foam if you would."

"Very good!" He worked on my order as I stared at Donvino, pacing outside the open doors. It hurt just to look at him. Still, I could not stop admiring the man. He was just so damn perfect. When he was done with his call, he slipped his phone into his back pocket, ran his fingers through his hair, and then whipped his head in my direction, catching me staring at him. His eyes grew stormy. I jerked my sight away and focused on the plants on the windowsill as the proprietor chattered on about the Chicago Bulls. Donvino turned away, but not before I saw a flash of pain that made me wince. So he was hurting too. None of this made any sense to me.

"…watch basketball?" He was asking as he created some sort of design in our coffee.

"Sorry, no, I'm not a sports guy." I turned to watch him set our cool blue cups on the counter, the white foam crafted into darling little hearts.

"I see amore between you two, so I make the hearts," he said, his eyes sparkling with joy over his creation. "Oh! You must have some of my wife's cheesecake al limone. It is for the gods! I get you some." Off he raced to the back as I sighed at the romantic gesture he'd created in our coffees. "Here! Is only two slices left but I think for you two lovers is perfect." He placed the dish on the counter, peeled off the plastic wrap, and ran off to find plates and forks. All the while Donvino stood outside, unwilling to enter the restaurant.

"Thank you, this looks amazing," I said to the owner as he bustled back with two blue plates, two silver forks, and a spatula.

"This is different from New York cheesecake. She makes it with ricotta cheese, so is much fluffier than what you are used to. Here, here, now go feed your man!" He pushed the plates across the worn wooden counter, grinning madly as he took my euros. I didn't have the heart to tell him that the man outside and I weren't even friends anymore.

"Grazie," I said after paying. I carried out our coffees first. Donvino turned from his study of the sheep across the road as I placed the saucers on the table. "We have cheesecake as well if you're able to lower yourself to eating with me."

He grimaced at the verbal spear I had just flung at him. Yes, it had been catty, but I was in pain and bitchy was my default setting when hurt.

"Arlo." He sighed as I whirled away to get our treats. When I returned, he had taken a seat, rising quickly to take his food from my hand before sitting back down.

I dropped down into the dusty seat, shucked myself closer to the table, and picked up my fork. Nothing quite hit the spot when you'd been sliced open like a ripe avocado than sweets. I'd be hitting the baked goods for a few days after this set down.

"Signor Arlo," he opened with. I glowered at him. "Arlo," he quickly amended. "Bianca will be here within the hour. Perhaps you should contact Signor Piravino to let him know we had a tire go bad and will be late?"

"I'll do that after we eat." I forked up a bite, chewed it, and nearly wept at the beauty of this cheesecake. He nodded at the reply and slowly ate his treat.

"Thank you for the food and coffee," he whispered as a car rolled past, the older couple gawking at us as they passed. I was tempted to give the old folks in the green Fiat Panda the finger, but I decided to save that for someone else. Like the guy sitting across from me, who looked like he had just kicked a puppy. "It was generous, but I can pay for mine."

"I have it," I snapped before taking another bite. Truth was, I was about ten euros away from being flat broke. It sucked. Being penniless was totally not recommended. I was hoping today would be considered work by the people who held the purse strings.

"Sì, yes, of course," he murmured, and all conversation dried up and blew away. We ate and drank in dank silence, the sun above unable to burn off the cloud of uncomfortableness we were sitting under. I reached out to the olive mill manager to let him know about our tire trouble. He seemed most understanding, but then again, he would be as he worked for us. Finally, after what seemed like days, a gray pickup truck trundled up.

Donvino leapt to his feet to greet his cousin Bianca. She was a lovely thing, all dark hair, big brown eyes, and long legs. Much like her cousin but rounded in places where Donvino was hard planes. She was in tan shorts, sneakers, and a tiny yellow top with a sunflower on the front.

They spoke to each other in rapid Italian which I tried my best to decipher but couldn't. Someday soon, I hoped my tutor would start teaching me some actual words.

Bianca glanced at me, smiled, and then came over. "Hello. You are to ride with me in the front and Donvino will ride in the back. Good, yes?"

"Yes, quite good. Thank you for coming to our assistance." I gave her the best smile that I could work up.

"My pleasure, Signor Arlo. Your family has been very good to mine for many years."

"I do love your eggs, but your geese are not on the top of my favorites list," I said while we made our way to the truck. Donvino was already in the back, staring out at the countryside. I climbed in, buckled up, and rode along with my sight locked on the road in front of us. This was where my attention was now going to stay.

"My cousin has talked about you so much," she said as we made our way back into the shaded part of the roadway or one of many shaded parts, I should say.

"Oh?" That pulled me out of my funk enough to glance at her. Her hair was flying about her face. A face that held many similarities to Donvino. Who I was no longer thinking about. He was in the past. Eyes on the road to the future and all that. "What did he say about me?"

What the hell happened to not thinking about him?

Hush.

She gave me a quick peek, thumbed some hair from her smooth cheek, and then turned down the radio station that had been flooding the cab with an Italian rendition of "Gloria" that was quite spunky.

"He says you are fast friends," she replied carefully, her gaze leaving the winding road for just a second to find me. "He is…sometimes he is trapped in his own head, yes?"

"Yes?" I slowly answered, not sure exactly what she was trying to tell me without really saying what she wanted to say. I wanted to delve more, but we were coming up onto the Suzuki alongside the road. "Thank you for the lift. I'll be sure to have my aunt send you some money for gas since I'm a little strapped. Haven't had time to set up a bank account here yet," I lied like that moth-eaten proverbial rug.

"Grazie," she said with a smile, then got out, leaving me to sit in the cab while she and her cousin changed the tire, their mouths going steadily.

Both kept shooting looks my way, which led me to believe that the heated conversation was about me. Maybe she was telling him not to be such a jerk to his new friend. I hoped so, I really did. I'd grown to genuinely like him. I didn't make friends easily. My fortress walls kept me from getting attached. Once the bike was ready to go, another rather robust discussion took place between the cousins, this one with raised voices. Bianca pointed at her much larger cousin, poked him in his chest, and hugged him close. She pulled free from him, spoke softly for a moment or two, and then walked my way.

"Donvino is ready for you now," she said as she opened the passenger door.

"Grazie," I said once more, sliding down to the berm of the road.

"You are most welcome. If you wish to thank me, please do not be too hard on my cousin. He is…his thoughts are in confliction."

"Ah okay, I'll keep that in mind." I gave her a timid smile and waved goodbye when she pulled away, leaving us standing in a dust of unease and road dirt. "Your cousin is quite nice."

"Yes, she is my best family member. Come, we have to go." He waved at the bike, his hands covered with grime. I dug into my backpack, pushing aside papers that I'd not even looked at during this fiasco, and pulled out a travel-size package of hand wipes.

"Here, your hands are a fright." I shook the packet.

"Thank you," he whispered, plucking a wipe from the package, his expression a tangled mass of confusion, contrition, and something else that sparked hope in my breast. I should have ground it out like a smoldering cigarette butt, but my stupid, lonely heart clung to that glimmer of affection like it was a life raft.

"Prego," I replied, proud of myself for learning a whole five words all by myself. He wiped, I stared, and finally, we had to move lest we look like two fumbling nitwits. "We should…" I jerked a thumb at the bike. He nodded, stuffed the grimy wipe into his front pocket, and walked to the Suzuki with cleaner hands.

No words were spoken as we put our helmets on and got settled on the torn seat. The bike kicked over, the new tire not helping with the tired muffler or the too-rich fuel problems. I clung to his sides, my fingers bunching his shirt. He eased the kickstand back, took a deep breath, and then, with a meek touch, moved my hands from his ribs to his belly. There they stayed for the duration of the trip.