“How is it different?” I asked, keeping my gaze on my wine glass. I felt like I’d been tossed into the bear cage at the zoo and any sudden movement might spook the beast.
He sipped his wine and stared off over my shoulder. “Everyone is growing and producing, fishing or harvesting things so that if they wanted to, they’d never have to leave. Have you been shopping in the local markets?”
“Yes, but my hotel room doesn’t have a kitchen or anything, so I’ve been sticking to fruit.”
“Shame. You really ought to try the vegetables they sell at the market on Tuesday mornings.”
“I’ve seen that market! Katerina sells her clothes there too, right?”
A waiter dropped off a fresh loaf of focaccia bread and then dropped down some oil and vinegar. Gianluca mixed them up on a small plate and we got to work tearing off pieces of warm goodness to dip into the mixture.
“Yeah. Katerina has sold there for a few years now. I try to stop in every now and then to buy produce, but I don’t get down there as often as I should.”
“If I lived in your villa, I’d hardly go down into the square either.”
He offered up a half smile. (I think I peed a little.)
“It is a nice place to live.”
“More than nice, Gianluca! It’s massive, right up at the top of the hill. I swear it’s the best piece of property in the whole village.”
“It’s been in my family for ages. When my nonna passed away, she gave Massimo the farm and land, and I got the villa.”
“So that’s why you moved back to Vernazza?”
Katerina had told me Gianluca had grown up in London, which was why he had a bit of an English accent.
His half smile flattened then, hardly at all, but I noticed. “No.”
There was a long silence after that and it didn’t take a genius to realize I’d completely ruined the meal with my line of questioning. Whatever progress I’d made with him was wiped clean. Back to level one. Eventually, Massimo turned up to take our order with another bottle of wine for us. He wouldn’t hear of me eating anything but the seafood pasta. According to him, it was a life-changing meal.
“Make it two,” Gianluca said, handing off his menu.
When he left, I took another sip of wine and decided to try to repair the damage I’d caused. “Listen, I know it’s normal to keep private things private, but I’ve never quite operated like that. I could see that you became sad when I asked about why you moved to Vernazza. To be very blunt, I can guess it had something to do with Allie, and it just won’t work if you keep closing yourself off like that.”
“What won’t work? What are you trying to get at?”
His brows were furrowed in an accusatory way, like he assumed I thought this was a date or something. Believe me, no one would get that idea. It was more of a public execution by this point. Death by disdain.
“Well, it seems we’ll be fixing up this bed and breakfast for a while, and after that, I plan on staying and working as the manager. I know if you had it your way, I’d come to work with my mouth taped shut and never even look at you, but I don’t operate like that. I’d rather we become friends, and friends don’t tiptoe around touchy subjects.”
He looked away then, out past the door of the restaurant. I leaned back in my chair and sipped my wine, more than happy to give him the time he needed.
Eventually, he turned back to me, rolling the stem of the wine glass between his fingers.
“I moved back to Vernazza with Allie when her cancer was deemed terminal.”
There was no lead-in, no argument about becoming friends.
I nodded, trying to keep my emotions from my face. Gianluca didn’t want my pity. “Right.”
He glanced away again, tugged a hand through his adorably tousled hair, and then turned back to me with a bit more determination behind his eyes. “I’ve gone on so long without talking about her in normal conversation. Most people are desperate to bring up any other subject, and I’m happy to oblige them.”
“Well, maybe it’s time for a change then, huh?”
Massimo swooped back over with two heaping platefuls of seafood pasta. There were prawns and shrimp and clams all floating in creamy sauce over hand-rolled penne pasta. I took a hesitant bite, never one to go for shrimpy-looking food, but then I swear I did a little dance in my chair because of how good it tasted.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” I said, using a bit of the focaccia bread to sop up the sauce.
Gianluca glanced up, presumably because he was hoping I had actually died. Then he just shook his head and went back to eating.
Joke’s on you, pal. Bread only makes me stronger.
I KNEW GEORGIE had a plan worked out in that stubborn head of hers. She showed up every morning at the bed and breakfast with an unwavering smile and a level of optimism that grated on my nerves. Each day there was a new pre-planned topic.
“Tell me about fishing!”
“Have you hiked between the villages much?”
“What’s this tool called?”
I wanted to find her insufferable, and I had in the beginning. She forced conversations that were uncomfortable, and she teased me about my hoarding habits. I thought it would make my life easier to keep her at arm’s length, to maintain a safe distance. There was no need for small talk. We could work twice as fast without it.
We were working on clearing out one of the bedrooms one day. I was working in the closet, tossing things into a bin bag when I heard Georgie laughing. I turned around and she was rolling on the ground, having finally cracked, I thought. Good, better if she’s away in a loony bin; I’d finish the renovations quicker.