I moaned. “Lovely.”
Katerina leaned over to rub my shoulder. “No, no. Don’t let it get to you.” She waved her hand over the table, where most of our food had gone untouched. “We’ve prepared all this food and we aren’t going to let it go to waste. Massimo, you can tuck into Gianluca’s portion if you’d like, and Georgie, eat up. That sauce takes hours to make and it’s Massimo’s favorite. I absolutely refuse to let this night be ruined by that arsehole.”
“Aw, c’mon Katerina. You know he means well. Honestly, I’m happy to see any kind of emotion out of him! Anything is better than that mopey stare of his.”
She waved her hand, not wanting to hear it. For the next few minutes, we ate in silence, too scared to speak and upset her more. Her sauce was delicious, full of butter and garlic. It complimented the chicken perfectly and I’d nearly cleaned my plate before she spoke up again.
“For the record, I think making over the bed and breakfast is a brilliant idea.”
WHEN ALLIE AND I moved to Vernazza in the last year of her life, I tried to convince her to help me fix up the bed and breakfast. Nonna would have rolled in her grave if she’d known how far we’d let the building fall into decay. She’d put so much pride and joy into the business when she was alive, but with Massimo running the farm and restaurant and me living in England with Allie, there was no one to help with upkeep. We’d closed it, locked the shutters, and mostly forgotten about it until Allie and I moved back.
I’d taken her down to the building the first week we’d moved to Vernazza. I’d covered her eyes up and told her to not to peek.
“What’s going on? Where are you taking me?” she laughed, giddy with excitement.
I liked the sound. It’d been months since I’d heard happiness in her voice.
I positioned her in front of the building and pulled my hands away from her eyes with a dramatic flourish.
She blinked her eyes open and inspected the wooden sign hanging halfway off the front of the building.
“Bed and breakfast?” she read, confused.
I grinned. “It belonged to my grandmother. She left it to me and Massimo and I want us to fix it up.”
Her smile fell, just a bit. “Fix it up? What for?”
Her meaning hung thick in the air.
If I’m going to die, what’s the point?
I didn’t argue and we never went back.
Now, the subject of fixing up the bed and breakfast had been brought back up, and I was humming with anger at Georgie. Lord knows I wouldn’t forget her name now. Not ever. She was a spoiled brat on holiday from England, used to getting her way. She assumed she could just snap her fingers, take my nonna’s bed and breakfast from us, and I wouldn’t put up a fight? Like hell.
The fact that Massimo hadn’t been on my side of things was even more infuriating. He didn’t know Georgie any more than I did. His farm and restaurant were doing well. He didn’t need the money, which meant he had other motives. Nonna would have been so disappointed.
I took the long way back to the villa after I’d stormed out of dinner. I was in no rush to get back to its deafening quiet, so I wove through the back alleys of Vernazza, listening to the sounds of life. There were two ways to live in the village: down in the center where everyone was nearly piled up on top of one another, or out in the hills with a bit more privacy. My villa was perched on the edge of a cliff, looking out over the ocean, and while the view was worth the trek, it was a lonely existence up there.
I was still worked up by the time I made it home, unable to quell the surge of adrenaline that would make it impossible to sleep. I wound through the ivy in the dark and felt for the shed tucked behind the villa. I pulled open the heavy wooden door and fumbled around inside until my hand hit my work lamp. Its stand was lying beside it and I yanked both out of the shed and carried them to the front of the house.
Once the light was plugged in, I had enough light to work on my wall. I yanked off the button-down shirt I’d worn for dinner and wiped my brow, intent on working until I was too tired to stand. I pushed the wheelbarrow out from the shed and tore at the stones on the wall, tossing aside one after another. They clanged against the metal, and I focused on the sharp sound until I’d settled into an easy rhythm.
I wouldn’t entertain the idea of selling the bed and breakfast to Georgie. She could butter Massimo up all she wanted, but I saw through her façade. Her family had money, and she’d lived a cushy fairytale life. She could buy any bed and breakfast in any village on any continent. But she would leave mine alone.
…
The next morning, I woke up to loud banging on the villa’s front door. I was an early riser by habit, but I’d stayed up late into the night working on the wall, and I wasn’t quite prepared to leave my bed as the banging continued. Bloody hell. It’ll be Massimo, I thought, come round to rage at me for storming out of Katerina’s. I padded down the stairs, prepared to tell him to sod off and crawl back in bed, but then I caught a hint of woman’s voice instead.
“Hellooo! I know you’re in there!”
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Please come open the door or your coffee will get cold!”
I yanked the door open, vaguely acknowledged the fact that Georgie was standing there, and then tried to close the door in her face.
“I don’t want coffee.”
She pushed the small paper cup against my chest and I had to reach for it before it spilled. I was still shirtless, and I didn’t feel like having third degree burns on my chest.