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17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

L ater that day I was seated amid the trunk carnage, a hammer and screwdriver lying at my feet, my sight locked on the mess that I'd made of a once grand steamer trunk.

"I think that perhaps this needs more than we can do, signor," Alessio stated, trying his best to unravel himself from a wet length of wallpaper. I'd found an old roll in the attic just an hour ago, thrilled to have something from the same era as the trunk to decorate its interior. Sadly, things had gone tits up as the Brits like to say after that grand discovery.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong." I sighed, staring at Donvino's uncle battling with soggy birds of paradise on a royal blue backing. His hands, cheeks, and most of his left arm were thick with wet glue.

"I think that maybe signor needs to hire a woodworker and a leatherworker," he called out as he spun in a slow circle, his foot perilously close to the tray holding some warm water.

"But I don't know any of those types of craftsmen, nor would I have the cash to pay them if I could even find them," I moaned and fell back to the floor, a full-on pout taking over. "Why is life so hard, Alessio?" I stared at the ceiling of my lemon room, confused and unsure of what to do.

"My wife says that life is only as hard as we make it." I heard the sound of water sloshing. Peeking to the side I saw Alessio ankle deep in a plastic trough with a damp birds of paradise capelet dangling dashingly off his left shoulder. "I think wallpapering is not a thing that I make difficult it just is so."

"Yeah, I think so too." I got to my feet, unwrapped the man trying valiantly to assist me, and sent him on his way to find a dry sock and shoe. I gathered up the wet paper, balled it up, and threw it at the skeletal remains of the trunk. Maybe I just needed to sort out the other shit in my life before trying to be crafty Carl. Perhaps Giada was right. I was making life too difficult. I'd sort one issue at a time. The trunk could wait for another few days. It had sat there looking forlorn for this long.

Shoving the carcass to the corner, I padded downstairs, past the salon where my aunt was seated on her favorite chaise, with her feet up, a book on her lap, and her chin resting on her chest. Reading is what she would say if someone woke her. Not wishing to disturb her after a long day shopping with Se?orina Cappello, I made my way outside. The gardens were glorious, green, and vibrant, but for how long? Many of us here in Florence were sure the city would start restricting water usage soon. I'd read the latest long-range weather forecasts over my snack when I'd gotten home from the bus delivery. Nothing but heat and dry weather. Wildfires were now popping up randomly.

I fingered a soft petal on a pink flower as I passed, my bare feet enjoying the feel of the lush grass. Lucia appeared as she often did from under a bush, winding about my feet. We did that silly human-trying-to-avoid-stepping-on-feline two-step until I lifted her tiny gray paws from the lawn. She bonked my chin with her nose, purring madly, as I carried her through the gate to the Arno. The river was low now and had a definite funky smell. It always had a certain aroma, but the lower it got, the funkier it seemed to get.

I sat down on the pier, placing Lucia beside me, but opted out of dipping my toes into the waterway. They might not have reached now. The sky was as blue as a pair of new denim shorts. I stretched out, calves dangling over the edge of the dock, and let my eyes drift shut. Lucia curled up on my chest, licking her private area. This went on for a good five minutes.

"Mi scusi, signorina, uhm…por favore…crap, uhm…stop. Stop, fermasi?"

She did not stop. Such a typical cat. I let my mind wander as a hot wind moved over my sticky skin. Did I dare take the position at farm 20? What would happen to Donvino and me if I moved an hour away? Could he come with me? That seemed a pretty large ask. We were just in the beginnings of a relationship, plus he was not out. What reasoning would he give to his family to move from Firenze to Valle Sicuro with me? Lucia stretched out on my belly with a soft meow, her claws poking me in the chest.

"Ouch, keep those claws in, please." I sighed, repeated it in butchered Italian, and sat up so quickly the cat slid to my lap. "Oh sorry," I whispered as she glared up at me. "Apologies. Uhm…scusi, Signorina Gatto. I just had an idea. I could offer Donvino a job at the mill. How brilliant am I?!"

The cat seemed unimpressed with my brilliance.

Donvino, it would turn out, even less so. I found him at his place, trying to dress for work in an apartment that was hotter than Satan's butt crack.

"My gods," I gasped as I entered the bake oven, sweat popping up instantly. "This place is ghastly. Why don't you buy an air conditioner?"

"It's not good for the body to jump from being hot to cold," he replied as he battled to pull on his work shirt.

"My aunt says that too, but I disagree."

"You're American. Of course you are disagreeing," he countered with a firm yank that only got his shirt down to his shoulders.

"I'd take that as a slam if it wasn't mostly true," I replied, moving to him to assist in getting his shirt down over his back, but not before I dropped a few kisses to his sumptuous spine. He turned as soon as his shirt was down, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me with fire. My dick plumped up rapidly, as did his, and soon we were stumbling back to his bed.

"I didn't come here to fuck," I panted as I tore off the shirt we'd just worked so hard to get on him.

He paused in unsnapping my shorts, dark eyes lifting from his task to my face. "Do you not wish to fuck?"

"I didn't say that." I grabbed his head, pulled his mouth to mine, and rode the man like he was Seabiscuit.

When we lay in his bed, coated in semen and sweat, my ass tender, I rolled to my side and propped my head up with my hand. He was still gasping, his chest peppered with my spunk, his eyes closed.

"You're going to be late now," I gently pointed out as I drug a finger through a puddle of cum near his navel. The dark hairs on his belly were saturated with spend. I rubbed it into his skin and then brought my finger to his lips. They parted. I slid my index finger into his mouth. He moaned as he cleaned the jizz from my fingertip.

"So tasty," he mumbled around my finger. Fuck but he was so sexy. We'd just fucked like rabbits but seeing him with something of mine in his mouth was making my dick twitch already. "I wish I could stay here in bed with you tonight."

I saw my opening, no pun intended. "Do you hate your jobs?"

He looked at me as if I had asked if he disliked being stung on the balls by a jellyfish. "Well, I mean, you might not hate them, right?"

"They are menial jobs. Yes, I hate them. I want to row, but that is not happening anymore." He crawled over me to exit the bed. I moved to the side, sitting on the edge, as he stalked to the tiny bathroom to wash up. When he was at the itty-bitty sink, I went to stand behind him, easing my arms around his middle and then pressing kisses along the bumps of his spine. I heard his sigh as he splashed water on his face, neck, and chest. "I'm sorry for being shit. I'm just…tired of being so poor that I cannot ever see a way out of this place."

"You could get a different job," I offered, rubbing my cheek against his back.

"Arlo, a job for a man with no college is just a job. There is no dreaming in it. You wake up, you work, you sleep. You do this over and over until you die." He straightened, peeled me off him, and turned to look down at me. "You cannot understand."

"Oh please." He waved a hand at me as if that gesture would silence me. Surely he knew better than that by now. "Don't wave a hand at me. I perfected that move, bitch. Also, I do understand!"

"No, Arlo, you do not. You play at being a working man but you and me we both know your poppa talks big games but in the end, he is not making you mow grass or wash dishes."

Well, shit, he had me there. "Okay, that's probably true, but I could help you get away from lawnmowers and dirty dishes. My father offered me the senior manager position at farm 20." His eyes flared wide as hubcaps.

"My point is made," he finally said.

"Fine, my family is rich. They won't let me starve, and I highly doubt yours would either. That's not the point here, though."

"What is the point you are making?" he barked as he walked out of the bath, clearly in a mood but taking care not to jostle his shoulder into me to make room. Gah, this man was too sweet even when pissy. "If you are going to offer me cash then do not. Please do not offer me money. I will not take it from you or your aunt."

"I'm not offering you a handout. I'm offering you a job." That brought him to a fast halt beside the fan. The blades whirred. He stared at me. I padded out to stand before him, chin up, hands coming to rest on his damp chest. "A good job, one with benefits, and a retirement plan. One that would mean you could spend time training, buy a new scull, invest in your dream, and then go for the gold."

"What would the job be?"

Yes, I had him interested. I smiled up at him, his heart pounding under my hand. "A new broom sweeps clean as they say."

"You want me to sweep an olive orchard?"

"No, I mean that when the old manager leaves so will some of his staff, I assume. My father says Signor Piravino is old school, so the people who work under him probably are too. I don't know yet, maybe I'm just talking shit, but we can find you a position, I'm sure of it."

"Are you going to take the manager job?"

"I'm thinking about it, but only if I can still see you." I rose to my toes to drop a kiss on his puffy lips and then linked my hands behind his neck. "I will not leave Florence if you're not going too. This relationship is too important to me."

His long lashes lowered as he placed his brow on mine. "You are important to me too. I must think about all this, yes?"

"Yes, yes, think. I'm thinking about it too." He stole a kiss, sadly just a tiny one, and then had to dash to his job serving meals to hungry tourists. I slipped out of his apartment after taking a shower, locking the door behind me, and easing behind the wheel of my darling little Bianchina. I cranked her over and sat there waiting for a break in the traffic so I could attempt to pull from the curb.

"Well, we'll see what happens. We might be moving to the country," I told the car. She backfired in reply and stalled. I called her a bad name in Italian, one of many curses Donvino had taught me, and she seemed to understand that better. She zipped out in front of a yellow Fiat with all kinds of attitude. I got another honk with a hand gesture that I returned with a comment about his mother and a goat. The guy laughed madly. Okay, maybe I had said I fucked a goat and not his mother. I did need to spend more time with my tutor. Maybe she could fit me in now.

At the next red light I called and was informed that yes, Se?orina Capello was home and would see me for an evening session but not to make a habit of dropping by without an appointment.

Fair enough. I half expected to be told to leave my calling card or something properly Bridgerton . Gods I love that show. The clothes! The hair! The men! I was still drooling over the Duke when I wiggled my little green-and-white car into a space that left about an inch between my front bumper and the rear bumper of a gold Dacia. The dogs met me at the door, both in bright yellow sweaters with red stripes. As if the little bald buggers needed to stand out even more. Signora Britta gathered them up under her arms as if they were yapping footballs and then stepped back to allow me to enter.

"Se?orina Capello is in her bath. Please wait for her in the puzzle room," the harried woman in the black dress said before turning on her flat rubber heel to take the dogs somewhere. Their barks grew fainter and fainter as I headed toward the stairs. I knew exactly where the puzzle room was, as about half of my lessons took place there. The other half had been held in a large airy room with plenty of sun and several oil paintings on easels. My great-aunt's friend enjoyed painting and was quite good at it, even if her fingers were now bent from age. Feeling bouncy and filled with hope even though Donvino had not said yes to my offer, I slowly climbed the stairs, pausing as I did every time I visited to enjoy the framed oils lining the wall. Most I had enjoyed previously. The colors were so warm, the small couple in each one making me smile as I sought them out. About halfway up I noted a new oil had been hung, this one a rectangle in a dark cherry frame. I stopped mid-flight, surprised to see the back garden of my aunt's villa presented in glorious detail. The pergola, the plants, the flowers. Even the bird baths and Lucia were present. Off to the left were the couple, but in this painting they were bigger, both women wearing huge hats that dipped to cover their faces. One in robin's egg blue and one wearing a safflower, both in day gowns. They were seated on a white wrought-iron bench, one that I'd rested on a few times while speaking with Ginerva. Vittoria had done a wonderful job of placing her imaginary ladies into this modern garden. I smiled at the shyness of the imagery of the two grand dames, perhaps whispering to each other as they held each other's hands. Then I looked closer, tipping my head to see under the wide brim of one of the women. My eyes rounded. There was just the faintest hint of a cheek, smooth as a peach, and a pink set of lips touching that cheek.

I blinked. Oh well, now this might not be just two Victorian ladies secretly passing along the latest gossip of the ton. I truly did need to get the Duke out of my head. Perhaps this was a clandestine moment between two lovers. Oh yes, I did like that idea much better! With that in mind, I jogged down the stairs to find the couple in all the paintings.

Now that I had a new perspective on them, I found that they were always presented together, close to each other, one gay feathery hat touching the other. Were they kissing under those flamboyant bonnets? I wanted to think they were. There was no way to truly know, of course, but I liked my scenario. When I was back mid-flight, I gave the larger oil a final perusal, my eyes picking at the finer details such as a small bird amid the bushes or the stream of sun striking the shoulder of the fine lady in blue. It was enjoyable to get lost in a painting. I scanned the sleeves of the gowns, the pale forearms, and then the petite hands that were almost touching but not quite. A glint of gold had been dropped on the right hand of the lady in blue. I leaned in closer, hands clasped behind my back, to study the signet ring. It was nearly impossible to have fine detail obviously, but the closer my nose went to the canvas, the clearer a large B on that ring became.

My eyes rounded. That was the Bonetti signet. It had to be. And if that ring rested on the finger of the lady in blue who was being kissed by…that meant…

"No shit," I gasped as I stared at the two women sharing an intimate moment in my aunt's garden. Was this just an imaginary moment, or did this actually take place? My curious mind needed answers, and it needed them right now!

I ran as if the hounds of hell were on my heels to find Se?orina Capello and try to wriggle some juicy tidbits from her.

She was seated in the puzzle room, her head in a silken turban, smoking that pink Meerschaum pipe of hers. Today she was in bright pink to match her pipe.

"Buongiorno," I said as I sat down across from her. The room was filled with a dark-scented smoke, and the window was opened to allow some of the cloud to exit. "I saw that you added a new painting to the stairwell."

"In Italiano," she corrected, puffed, and then squinted at me. "Dov'è il tuo taccuino?"

My notebook? Crap. "Oh, I left from my friend's house and didn't—" Her sour look over the top of her glasses stopped me flat. "Uhm…I don't have it. Non ce l'ho."

She tsked me firmly, then wiggled up on her seat to reach for and ring a small brass bell. The dogs barked from the back yard. Signora Britta arrived. A few short commands were given in Italian. I picked up bad boy, notebook, pencil, and orange.

Within two minutes, I had a new notebook, a sharp pencil, and a navel orange. Then we were left alone to work.

"Today we are doing sentences for safety," she informed me in English.

"Cool," I said as I opened my notebook. "So before we start, the new painting is really amazing. It's my grandmother's garden, right?"

"Sì, by the pergola." She tapped the notebook with her pipe, sending sparks into the air that glowed for just a second and fizzled out. "Translate to Italian. On the paper." She rapped on the notebook once more. I opened it and picked up my pencil. "Do not walk out of the yard alone."

I gave her a look. "Really? Am I four years old?"

"In Italiano," she repeated. So I did my best and flipped the notebook to show her. She nodded. "Dieci in più."

Ugh, ten more times. As I scribbled, I tried to get more info. "Did you paint the picture from memory of a long time ago?"

A tendril of smoke curled about her turban. She pointed to the pencil sitting slack in my hand. Rolling my eyes, I returned to my lesson, jotting down the words as instructed. She smiled when it was completed and gave me a nod. We did several more toddler safety warnings as I poked about gingerly, hoping to get some sort of verification on that couple in the painting.

Out of the blue, she leaned back and coughed so violently I was certain she would pass out and then told me the lesson was over.

"Grazie," I whispered, easing up and out of my chair just as Signora Britta arrived in a bustle. I left the orange on the table, backing out of the puzzle room, my hip hitting a small side table with a half-completed jigsaw puzzle on it. I hurried to right the table, creeping in reverse as my tutor was being tended to by her personal assistant.

When I stumbled out of the doorway, I turned and jogged down the stairs, my curiosity forgotten as concern for the endearing old eccentric who had done her best to teach me a new language was gasping for breath just above me. I took note that her dogs were silent as I slipped out the front door, closing it quietly behind me.

I'd just sat down behind the steering wheel of my car when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Donvino.

Where RU? ~ D

Leaving tutor. Why? Where RU? ~ A

Home. I quit. Bad night. Bring wine and hugs. ~ D

I gave the tasteful home where my aunt's closest friend lived a worried look, eased out of my parking slot, and retraced my steps back to Donvino's flat, stopping only to buy some wine. I already had all the hugs he could ever need.

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