After that I took to buying cookbooks. I wanted the Italian versions because then I knew I was getting the real deal, and even though I couldn’t read the directions properly at first, I started to get the hang of it and the language came easier to me. Of course, there was that one time I substituted frutti di mare for frutti di bosco. Let’s just say I should have trusted my instincts when I thought it was weird to put shrimp in a fruit pie.
“Buongiorno,” Derio says to me, walking down the steps.
I stand up, wiping the dirt off my shorts. I know I look an absolute mess—no makeup; hair frizzing in all directions for miles; red, sweaty face; hands covered in dirt. But Derio stares at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Buongiorno,” I greet him. He leans in for a kiss—it’s become second nature now—then stops himself when he notices the twins sitting by the pool with their legs splashing in the water, just dying for me to finish up and give them the go-ahead.
I look over my shoulder at them and shrug. “I think they’re starting to figure it out.”
We’ve been careful about showing our affection for each other around them but not too careful. We’re very physical, especially Derio, who is always touching me every chance he gets, like his skin is addicted to mine, but we haven’t been kissing. We don’t even stay the night in each other’s beds yet.
He clears his throat. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine. It would have been better if you had been there.”
“I know,” he says. “We will sit them down and tell them soon. I think they will understand.”
“I think they already know.” As I say that, the twins look over at us and then Annabella whispers something to Alfonso, who makes a face while Annabella giggles. The kids have become dark brown and freckled from the summer sun, all long legs and highlighted hair.
I, too, have taken on a bit more color. I’m not as deep and dark as Derio, but I’ve got a golden glow going on and my hair is two shades lighter. I’m even thinning out a little and my legs and arms have more definition. It’s probably from having to walk Capri’s hills in this heat all the time, and the fact that I rarely get a moment to just sit around. I look more and more like la leonessa every day.
“What have you been doing?” I ask him. “Edits?”
He shakes his head. “Smoking. Drinking espresso. Il dolce far niente.” The sweetness of doing nothing.
“Sounds nice,” I say with a tired sigh, gathering my hair behind my head.
“It is,” he says. “And you should try it, too. I have a little surprise.” He waves his hand at the kids. “Alfonso, Annabella, venite qui.”
They moan, reluctantly bringing their legs out of the water and staggering over to us with exaggerated effort.
“Can we go in the pool yet?” Alfonso asks me.
“Soon,” I tell him. “What is it, Derio?”
“In an hour you kids are going off on an adventure.”
Their eyes brighten. “Cosa succede?” they ask in unison while I say, “What?”
He looks at us rather smugly. “Signora Bagglia has an overnight kids’ camp for children interested in cooking. I thought, perhaps, since you were so eager during our lesson, you would like to go.”
The twins exchange a look, a little unsure. “Where is it?” Alfonso asks.
“It is in the hotel where she works, near Augustus Gardens. I have already arranged it, if you wish to take part. There are a lot of children there your own age. It would be a lot of fun; maybe you can even have a food fight.”
They still don’t look convinced. I know they’re scared about being away from the house without us there but they’re getting to that stage where they have to at least socialize, if not experience a real sleepover.
“But I had to promise to Signora Bagglia that you are big kids,” Derio goes on in a stern voice. “That you are brave and smart and old enough to be away from us overnight. Was that right of me to say?”
Derio is smart. That’s a tactic my father would have used.
Of course, the twins nod eagerly. “Yes,” Alfonso says, always the showboat of the two, “of course we are old enough. We are not babies.”
“We are seven years old,” Annabella scoffs. I know they still look uncertain but now that they’ve said this, they won’t back down. They are too stubborn, just like their brother.
“And maybe then you can cook with me,” I put in. Alfonso scrunches up his nose at that but Annabella nods enthusiastically.
An hour later, we are dropping the children off at the Hotel Luna, located on a cliff at the end of a shady path. Signora Bagglia is waiting out front with a gaggle of overexcited children running around her, overnight packs on their shoulders, while a few parents look on. Derio had read the brochure of the program to me as we walked over and it sounds like a popular—and legit—event.
After we tell Alfonso and Annabella to behave and be brave, Signora welcomes them over with a hearty wave and a platter full of hard candies. The candy works like a charm and she attracts all the children to her like bees to a flower.
We watch until they go inside, Alfonso and Annabella already chatting with a cute, pudgy boy, then Derio puts his arm around me.
“Do you think they’ll be okay?” I ask, leaning into him.
“Tutto andrà bene,” he says, which pretty much means s’all good. He gives me a squeeze. “And now the two of us can have a well-deserved break. Let’s start with a drink on the terrace.”