Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, I rise and shine and take the metro and then a bus to get to the farm sanctuary. It’s a quaint little respite on the outskirts of the city. Sycamores line the drive to the old terra-cotta-colored house that serves as offices now. Plum trees and flowering vines welcome visitors, with a stone barn and a small potting shed behind the car park and house. Three black-and-white cats sun themselves on benches and the edge of a small fountain in the garden beside the house. Bright red and purple flowers line the pathways between the buildings.
They’ve moved some things around since I was here last, and Elisa, the manager, updates me. She’s in her early thirties, with a mass of black curly hair and some subtle crow’s-feet from being in the sun too much. Afterward, I go to the barn and feed the mignon ducks, who are always happy to see anyone, and then rake the stalls. It’s not Maine, but it feels close enough for now.
Around eleven, Luca texts. Andy wants to have lunch. Can you come to the hotel?
I’m at the farm. I won’t be back until two, and that’s without a shower.
Oh. Right.
I go back to brushing a little white Romagnola calf, Fabrizio. My phone vibrates, and Fabrizio shakes his head at me. Even he knows I’m in way deeper than I should be.
How do you get there? You don’t have a car.
I take the metro, and a bus, and then I walk the last three quarters of a mile. You’ve heard of public transportation, right?
Hilarious as you say. When are you done?
One.
No dots pop up on my screen. Fabrizio is pushing on me to brush him as he tries to chew my hair. He’s so cute, I wish I could take him back to Maine, where I could at least visit him sometimes. But he’s another fleeting attachment to Rome that I can’t really afford.
Maybe spending all this time with Luca is making me realize I’m not quite the loner I’ve always imagined myself to be. Or maybe I’m just being soft about everything because I have to make another fresh start, this time without my mom there to be my security blanket. Whatever is going on with me, it seems like there’s a lot more danger than reward to making friends.
When I finally check the time, it’s twenty past one. Luca and I are scheduled to go to some gallery tonight for a photography show, so I need to get home. I walk back to the barn and hear Elisa talking in English to someone. “She’s probably here,” she says. I round the corner and run into Luca and her.
“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you,” I say.
“I thought I’d give you a ride back to town. It sounded like a long trip what with all the walking and the bus and the metro and the uphill both ways.”
“I wasn’t complaining, just explaining.”
Luca turns to Elisa and thanks her.
“Certo, it was a pleasure to meet you. Ci vediamo domani, Story.”
“Sì, ciao, ciao.”
Luca and I walk to the car park.
“So you came all this way just to give me a ride?”
He nods.
“I thought you were spending the afternoon video-chatting with Jasmine.”
He shrugs. “I called her on my way out here instead,” he says. “You know how to drive, right?”
“I’ve driven orchard and row-crop tractors since I was nine.You?”
“I forgot a farm girl would learn to drive early. Well, in Scotland, the legal age is seventeen, but my dad started teaching me around our place when I was thirteen.”
“Explains your mad skills.”
Luca laughs as we reach the Portofino. “I didn’t think you liked my driving.”
“I’m getting used to it.”
He hands me the key fob.
“You want me to drive the Ferrari?”
“Why not?”
“This car is really expensive. I think you should drive.” I push the fob back into his hand.
“You have a license, right?”
“International and US. My mom’s very big on being independent.”
“Well, then?”
“I’ve never driven anything this fancy. What would your parents say if I got into an accident?”
“Something like ‘Why did you let a commoner drive the Ferrari?’?”
“See!”
“I’m joking. They’d say, ‘Well, at least you weren’t driving, or it probably would’ve been worse.’ Plus, it’s my uncle’s car.”
“Wait, have you had accidents before?”
“You ask a lot of questions, you know that? Let’s just go.”
I hesitate, but he seems serious.
“Okay, but I haven’t driven much in Rome, so I won’t be zipping around like you do.”
“Noted,” he says, and walks over to the driver’s side and opens the door for me. “By the way, you smell like a cow.”
“I know, isn’t it heavenly? All your model and diva girlfriends would be jealous if they knew.”
He laughs and pushes me to get in.
I’m expecting the car to have a lot of power, but I still jerk us out of the parking space, which Luca finds extremely funny.
I look over at him, and we both say, “It’s not a tractor.” Once I get the sensitivity of the pedals, though, it’s not bad. “Except for Christmas back home and a couple of Vespa trips, I haven’t driven since we lived in Zagreb.”
“I’ve never been there. What is Astoria Herriot’s must-see weird attraction for Zagreb?”
I don’t even hesitate. “The Museum of Broken Relationships.”
Luca looks at me skeptically.
“It’s a whole museum dedicated to failed love. How could you not?”
“You are so dark sometimes. It scares me.”
I laugh. “Well, from a statistical standpoint, it’s just practical. Seriously, though, why did you pick me up? Have I sent the tabs on another spiral? Or were you just afraid the paparazzi might catch your girlfriend riding the metro and smelling like cows?”
“As far as I know, you haven’t done anything new that requires damage control. But I’ll admit the idea of them calling me out for letting my girlfriend go through an expedition-level trek to volunteer someplace was my first thought. Then I thought it’s just something a friend does for another friend.” He smiles at me, and I turn my gaze back to the road. He really shouldn’t smile like that. Although, I guess he can’t help how he smiles.
“Why didn’t you just send Andy to fetch me?”
“I suppose I could have asked him,” Luca says casually before he shoots me a mischievous smile. “But where’s the fun in that?”
I turn my attention back to the road and try to ignore the flutter in my stomach. He should really rein in his charm, but I don’t think he can help himself. It’s just who he is. I carefully snake us through an S curve in the rolling green hillside. Luca reaches over and points to the gas pedal.
“That one will move you forward,” he says, a laugh waiting on his lips.
“You can drive if you like.”
He just smiles and shakes his head.
“Well, thanks for coming to get me, but it’s not necessary. If the paparazzi call you out, just tell them I’m used to being independent.”
“Story, I know none of this was on your agenda a few weeks ago, but it really would be best to make them happy.” He isn’t laughing anymore. “The less you give them to write about, the better, if that’s your goal. Most people have the opposite goal.”
He’s right. “Message received. And it’s not that I mean to sound like a martyr. Some of this life you lead is pretty surreal, like the yacht, and traipsing around the Italian countryside in this car. Getting a ride is definitely better.”
“So, I’m hearing you might be getting used to my world, as you call it?”
I glance over and he seems almost as if he wants me to sayyes.
“No,” I say, as much to convince myself as him. “I won’t ever belong in your world.”
“Right,” he says and drops the subject as he hijacks my seventies playlist.
When we get back to my flat, the box that Dani has overnighted is waiting for me in the lobby. Luca texts Andrew to come over, and I leave Luca puttering around the living room. After a shower, I open the package, worried it’s theoretically possible the clothes she sent could be worse than the witch of Salem bog dress Jasmine wanted me to parade around in. Thankfully, it’s better than I expect. She’s sent a sundress, a ruched floral silk cocktail dress, a short pencil skirt, a pair of cropped pants, and three tops. None of it’s something I would pick for myself, but it’s at least not some nod to eighties’ punk or the millennial whale tail. I throw my hair up into a loose bun so I don’t have to dry it, fluff on the little bit of makeup I wear, and choose the cocktail dress, hoping it’s appropriate for a gallery opening, since Luca said he needs to grab a suit from his hotel. The dress has a fairly deep V cut, though, and I go through most of my bras trying to find one that doesn’t show.
When I emerge from my bedroom turned fashion den, Andrew and Luca are on the sofa watching Charade.
“Hey, this one is pretty good, too,” Luca says as he hears me pad over.
“Well?” I ask. “Am I properly elite now?”
They look up then and nod and clap as if I were on a fashion runway.
“You two are so funny.”
“You look brilliant,” Andrew says. “Except you need to lose that look on your face.”
Luca squints a bit. “Stor, you do kind of look like you’ve got thong underwear riding up.”
I throw him a disgusted look before I take a deep breath and plaster on a fake smile. “Better?”
“It’ll do,” Andrew says. “You don’t have to be a professional model, just exude confidence like you’re sure you’re wearing the greatest thing possible.”
“That’s pretty much what professional models do. I don’t like people looking at me. And this isn’t really my style.” I almost blush as I say it, afraid to move and fall out of what little coverage the dress provides.
“Andy’s right, Stor. You’ve got to sell it. You look great. You just have to know that and it’ll show.”
“Well, I’m not doing any stupid poses.”
They look at each other as if I’m two and just declared I’m not eating my carrots.
“No stupid poses,” Andrew says. “Just you in front of some landmarks or something that looks super Romey.”
“Romey?”
“Elegant and cosmopolitan, okay?” Andrew spreads his hands to ask me to give him a break.
“And I’m not doing selfies in front of bathroom mirrors. That’s gross.”
“Real influencers don’t do that, only regular people,” Andrew says.
Luca narrows his eyes. “How do you know that?”
“I checked,” Andrew replies, “because someone has to.”
Luca leans his head back to catch my gaze. “He’s angling for a salary.”
“Can Luca be in the pictures with me? I really don’t want to do this alone.”
“Sure,” Luca says before Andrew can stop him. He wraps his hand around my fingertips. “It’s the least I can do.” He seems genuinely contrite, and it makes me feel guilty for complaining, when he’s been so nice. I need to focus.
“And they can’t be anything that’s going to embarrass me out of a fellowship or getting into law school or something. I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, but it’s sure not this.”
“Noted,” Luca says, the way he always does when I try to put my foot down.
As long as I’m being treated like a child, I add one more thing. “And can we get something to eat? I’m starving.”