Chapter 21
21
Today I am having a day off – but a working day off, I swear.
Andrea called me up this morning, saying that he was going to a local waterpark with his family, and asked if I wanted to join them. Rick told us that we should spend the day working on our pitches so… technically I am? I’m immersing myself in Italian culture, spending time around Italian families, eating Italian foods. Plus, Andrea has promised that he will help me, and he’s here, so… Yeah, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
I would say that I had been thrown in at the deep end, being here with Andrea and his family, but I’m actually having a really nice time. There is Andrea, his mum and dad, Leonardo and Antonia, his auntie Paola, his uncle Luca, their daughter Sabina, her husband Stefano, and their three adorable little kids: Tommaso, Rosa, and Elsa. I’m pretty sure I got all of that right but, truly, I cannot get over the sheer volume of cousins in play here. But, as Andrea keeps reminding me, his mum is one of seven kids and his dad is one of ten. He told me that his dad used to joke that his parents didn’t have a TV and I’m pretty sure that, if my dad gave me that mental image about my grandparents, I would never speak to him again.
Sure, it’s a little overwhelming at first – I mean, trying to keep track of all these relatives feels like a full-time job that is harder than my actual full-time job – but Andrea’s reassuring smile and subtle reminders make it all feel manageable. Plus, there’s something undeniably charming about being surrounded by so much love and laughter.
Today is not just an outing for me, it’s an official outing for one of my new bikinis too. Thankfully, it’s one that holds everything in the right place (if not a more preferable place, in the case of the top), and I feel surprisingly comfortable in it. I was a bit worried at first, being surrounded by babes in their super-skimpy bikinis, but everyone just seems so relaxed in whatever they’re wearing – even the men, in their budgie smuggler swim trunks. I’m seeing a lot of those, which surprises me. Even the male staff members are rocking them in a striking shade of bright orange. I suppose it makes them easy to spot in an emergency.
And then there’s Andrea. Oh, Andrea. He hasn’t quite gone for the budgie smugglers, but he is wearing a rather tight pair of swim shorts that leave little to the imagination. Seeing him without much on is, frankly, distracting. The guy looks like he’s been carved out of stone, and every time I catch a glimpse of him, the phrase ‘Italian stallion’ pops into my mind. I need to push that thought right out of my brain.
Right now, we’re all sitting in the shade eating one of the most delicious pizzas I’ve ever had in my life.
‘He wants to sell the Italian way of life to the UK, right?’ Andrea says in between mouthfuls of pizza, his voice carrying that effortless charm that seems to be his default setting.
I can’t help but watch him as he eats – I mean, really watch him. It’s ridiculous how cool he looks, even when he’s eating something like pizza. Not just cool – sexy, even. It’s the way the muscles in his jaw flex as he chews, the look of sheer enjoyment on his face, and don’t even get me started on how he casually sucks the tip of his thumb. Honestly, this should be pay-per-view material.
‘Yeah,’ I manage to reply, finally snapping out of my trance. ‘That’s the idea.’
‘Well, it’s this,’ he says simply, his words punctuated by another bite of pizza as he points over at his family. ‘Family and good food – and maybe a little bit of sunshine, if you’re lucky, but it’s mostly the first two.’
It’s easy to smile at that. It sounds like a pretty great way of life to me.
‘So, what do you suggest?’ I ask, eager to hear his thoughts.
‘Keep it simple,’ he says with that trademark confidence of his. ‘Do something that captures this, what you see now, and I think Beppe will love it.’
Usually, the way it goes at work is that I play it safe, going for simple and trying to please the client, while Liz goes all out with sexy and flashy, and she usually wins. But this time, I trust Andrea’s instincts.
‘Okay, I’ll work on something, then run it by you,’ I suggest, feeling a surge of confidence knowing he’s got my back.
But before I can say another word, Andrea’s attention shifts to my plate.
‘Robin, you don’t eat the crust?’ he says, pointing to the pile of pizza crusts on my plate. The way he asks makes it sound like a question, but his tone is pure Italian disbelief.
‘Erm, no,’ I admit, unable to stifle my amusement at his reaction.
‘Robin, no !’ he exclaims, his response possibly the most Italian thing I’ve ever witnessed. ‘You have to eat the crust. It’s the best bit.’
I laugh.
‘What?’ I squeak, genuinely amused. ‘Call yourself a foodie – everyone knows the cheese is the best bit.’
As we banter back and forth, teasing each other, I notice members of Andrea’s family glancing over at us, their smiles warm and genuine. It’s clear that they’re all so happy for him, and it’s nice to see – I was going to say even if all of this is fake. The relationship status might be fake, but the fun we’re having is totally real.
Paola shouts something over to us. Then Luca adds something.
‘ Zio !’ Andrea claps back, sounding a little surprised.
‘What did Paola say?’ I ask, curious – especially given Andrea’s reaction.
‘She said she’s amazed that I am getting married, because she thought I liked ladies too much to settle down with just one,’ he translates. ‘Luca said that he didn’t think I liked girls enough .’
‘ Sto solo scherzando ,’ Luca says, laughing to himself – I assume that was some sort of apology or something.
‘I’ve never really brought a girl to meet them,’ Andrea tells me. ‘I always think that, when it’s serious, I will bring them – or when, you know, when the boy I used to write letters to turns up and is actually a girl, and everyone just thinks she is someone serious to me.’
I laugh. Poor Andrea. It must be strange, to have your entire family wondering why you don’t have a serious girlfriend. I wonder if it’s because he’s a bit of a ladies’ man. I mean, come on, look at the guy, he could put the gods in Roman mythology to shame. He’s got the body, the looks, the charm – what woman wouldn’t throw herself at him, and why wouldn’t he make the most of it?
Then again, I’ve never really taken anyone serious to meet my parents, and they don’t think it’s weird, or that I’m some kind of mare (which, I know is not the female equivalent of a stud but, thinking about it, I’m not sure I can think of a non-negative term for a woman who gets a lot of guys). They know that it’s probably just down to something simple, like my personality, and are polite enough to not mention it.
Under the large marquee next to us, a DJ steps up to the decks and starts playing music. Suddenly, Tommaso goes charging past us, knocking me as he zooms by.
‘ Tomma, piano, piano ,’ his dad calls after him.
‘He loves to dance,’ Andrea tells me with a laugh and a shake of his head.
All of Andrea’s family gets up and heads for the dancefloor. It seems like Tommaso isn’t the only one who loves to dance.
‘ Balliamo ,’ Sabina says as she passes us.
‘Do you like to dance?’ Andrea asks me.
‘Do I like to? Yes,’ I reply with a laugh. ‘Am I good at it? No, probably not.’
‘There’s no such thing as a bad dancer,’ he insists, flashing me a reassuring smile. ‘Come on, what do you say?’
I glance over at the dancefloor and notice that everyone seems to be doing the same dance, like they all know the steps. This must be – what I can only describe as – Italian ‘Agadoo’.
‘Oh, no, come on, everyone knows the moves to this one,’ I protest. ‘I don’t have a clue.’
‘So what?’ Andrea says, his smile widening. ‘We’ll do our own dance.’
‘You will take me out onto that dancefloor, where everyone is doing the same thing, and just freestyle with me?’ I reply in disbelief.
‘Why not?’ Andrea replies nonchalantly. ‘I never did like to do what everyone else did, or what anyone else thought I should be doing. One song, come on!’
How does anyone say no to such a charmer? Before I can overthink it, I find myself jumping to my feet and heading for the dancefloor with Andrea.
The song playing is some kind of catchy Italian pop tune, and while everyone else seems to know all the moves, Andrea stays true to his word. He takes me by the hands and dances with me, swinging me around effortlessly, twirling me, pulling me close as we move to the music.
I feel my temperature rising as a shirtless Andrea pulls my bikini-clad body up against his.
‘Wow, are all Italians this good at dancing?’ I ask him, a little breathlessly.
‘Only the incredibly sexy, talented ones,’ he jokes, flashing me a playful grin. ‘And the ones who eat their crusts.’
I’m almost disappointed when the song ends, but I’m also desperate for a drink.
‘Okay, I need a drink,’ I say as my cheeks flush with the heat and (truthfully) the low-key sexy dancing.
‘Are you going to order it?’ Andrea asks encouragingly.
I chew my lip anxiously. Earlier in the day, Andrea was helping me learn some basic Italian phrases. He said I was doing great, but I know that the main thing I lack is confidence in saying the things I have learned.
‘Come on, you can do it,’ Andrea urges me. ‘The waiters will probably be used to English visitors, so even if you make a mistake, it’s okay. They will know what you mean.’
‘Okay,’ I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. ‘Okay, yeah, I’ll do it.’
We have a tab for the group, so the only thing I need to do is ask. It’s that simple. I just need to do it. Come on, Robin, you can do this!
Deciding not to overthink it, as soon as I spot a man in orange trunks, I flag him down.
‘ Vorrei … Vorrei …’ I start, but I can’t help cringing at how quiet I am, almost like I’m telling him a secret, not ordering a drink. ‘ Vorrei … coca .’
It takes me a few seconds to blurt it out, but I get there, even if it is barely audible. I probably didn’t get it quite right, but he must know what I’m asking for because he dashes off to get it, albeit with a funny look on his face.
My heart races as I make my way back to where Andrea is sitting.
‘Did you do it?’ he asks eagerly.
‘ Sì ,’ I reply excitedly as I sit back down next to him.
‘Robin, I was thinking—’ Andrea starts to say, but he stops abruptly when waterpark security surrounds us.
‘ Cosa c’è che non va? ’ Andrea says, standing up.
At first, I’m concerned, but then I realise that one of the guards is pointing at me, and my concern turns to pure terror. Oh, God, what have I done?
Andrea steps in front of me, almost protectively, as he tries to get to the bottom of it. Even Leonardo comes over to see what’s happening – then he starts laughing. Is that a good sign or a bad sign?
After some discussion, the guards stand down, disappearing as fast as they came, but as word spreads around the family, almost everyone is laughing now.
‘Oh, God, why is everyone laughing?’ I ask, feeling utterly mortified, but not knowing why.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Andrea reassures me. ‘Just a misunderstanding.’
‘I’m one of those people who needs to know,’ I explain. ‘It can’t be as bad as all the things I’m worrying about in my brain.’
‘They thought you were trying to buy drugs,’ Andrea says bluntly, getting right to the point.
‘Oh, fuck, it’s worse than I was imagining,’ I blurt out. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s just a silly misunderstanding,’ Andrea insists again. ‘The man you stopped, he didn’t work here, and when you asked him for coca in a quiet, weird voice, he thought you were trying to buy drugs.’
‘Shit,’ I reply, feeling utterly embarrassed. ‘Well, that’s mortifying. What’s the Italian for “can the ground open up and swallow me into the centre of the earth”?’
‘Do you really want to know?’ Andrea asks cheekily.
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘I’ll never speak Italian again.’
‘Come on then, party girl, I’ll take you for a drink,’ Andrea teases me. ‘Or you might get yourself in trouble.’
‘Okay,’ I say with a sigh, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks again . God, I can’t even imagine how red my face must be right now. ‘Oh, were you going to say something before? Before I nearly got banged up abroad.’
I’m not sure if Andrea will get that reference, but he seems to know what I mean anyway.
‘It’s nothing,’ he says reassuringly. ‘Something for later. Let’s get you a drink – or something stronger?’
‘Shut up,’ I reply, giving him a playful shrug.
Instead of letting go of him, I link my arm with his.
It’s probably best I keep my mouth shut from now on, letting Andrea be the spokesperson in this fake relationship.
Who knows what sort of trouble my mouth might get me into next?