“What?” I say, even louder this time. “No. No, Alfonso, we aren’t like that. Your brother and I . . . I work for him. I am your teacher. I am not his . . . his . . .”
“Girlfriend,” Annabella supplies.
“Yes,” I tell her. Then shake my head. “But no. I am not his girlfriend. I am just a friend.”
Alfonso pouts a little at that. “Oh. Okay.”
What, he’s disappointed?
Time for me to take this opportunity and be extra nosy. “Did you know his wife?”
Alfonso nods. “Yes. Daniella.”
So she has a name. “Did you like her? Was she nice?”
He shrugs. “She was nice. She would give us candy.”
Ah, candy. Always the way to a child’s heart. I make a note that I should start carrying some at all times.
“She yelled,” Annabella says. “At Derio, many times.”
“But not at you?”
She shakes her head. “No, she didn’t say much to us.”
“But she gave us candy,” Alfonso puts in.
“Yes,” Annabella agrees, looking very serious. “The candy was good.”
And I can’t help smiling because even though we’re talking about Derio’s ex-wife, who apparently yelled at him a lot, the twins just conversed with each other in English naturally, without any prompting from me. Score one for progress. Maybe I can do this teacher thing after all.
As we enter the castle grounds and take a very tiny lift (Europe, I think, was founded on tiny little elevators) up to the top, the twins become more and more talkative. A few times I have to remind them to speak in English but they power through. Unfortunately, they ask me question after question about the castle and grounds, things I don’t know the answers to, so I start making stuff up. I tell them the monastery was run by tiny elves who were exiled from the North Pole, and that a man called Winston Churchill, who could fly on golden wings, first built the castle.
“Who lived in this building?” Alfonso asks as we walk along a tiled patio past a tiny wooden door. The view of Ischia, all green hills and pastel buildings, looms in front of us, begging for Instagram photo after Instagram photo.
“Dracula,” I tell him.
“Really?” he asks, all wide-eyed and staring at the small door with trepidation.
“Yes, Italian Dracula.”
“That’s not true,” Annabella says, skipping over to the edge of the wall to stare at the view. “You lie. All the time.”
“I’m writing in my head,” I tell her, and she smiles at that.
We spend three hours roaming all over the castle grounds, hiding out in old prison cells, a weird creepy room full of toilet-type things where nuns used to let dead bodies rot, down pebbled roads that skirt the exterior of the island, past churches and vineyards and olive groves. I’m absolutely exhausted and my sandals have rubbed blisters onto my feet but I’m grateful to Derio in the end for suggesting it. I don’t think his motive was for me and the children to bond, but regardless that’s exactly what happened.
As the sun dips low on the horizon, heading for the golden sea, we race it on the hydrofoil home. Annabella rests her head on one of my shoulders and Alfonso does the same on my other. Soon they are fast asleep, and I’m feeling a bit like the Grinch did when his heart grew by three sizes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It’s just after nine o’clock when we get back to the villa. I practically had to drag the twins for the last bit down the Via Tragara, cursing the Larosa family for living so far away from Capri town. Did they really have to be so far removed from everyone else?
The path from the road to the front of the house isn’t lit like it usually is, and I nearly walk into a lemon tree. The house itself is darker than usual and the lights aren’t on at the front door.
Annabella says, “A sinistra,” as I lead them to the door. It’s also locked.
I fish around for the key inside my purse and eventually find it. I’m guessing that there’s no one home, or Derio went to bed really early. That said, Felisa should be out and about.
A weird, tingly feeling crawls down the back of my neck. I take in a deep breath, unlock the door, and step into the house.
I flick on the hall light. “Hello?” I call out, my voice sounding small. “We’re back, alive and well.”
I look down at the kids as I shut the door behind us. They’re staring at me, also feeling like something is off.
“No one is here,” says Alfonso.
I swallow. “Well, if that’s true, that’s okay. I am here and you are here and Annabella is here and that’s all we need.” I smile at them so they don’t worry. There’s nothing to worry about, it’s just dark and not the welcome we thought we’d get. “Why don’t you guys get into your pajamas and maybe Felisa will let you play your iPad games for a bit.”
“Felisa is not here,” Annabella says. She’s standing down the hall and staring at the maid’s quarters, where Felisa sleeps. I walk to stand beside her and look.
The door is open and Felisa’s room is completely empty. The bed is made, tight enough to bounce quarters off the sheets, but the desk, the shelves—it’s all completely bare. It’s like she was never here.
“What the . . . ?” I step into the room. I open the closets. All her clothes are gone.
I turn around and eye the children. “Please tell me that Felisa existed and was a real person.”