Chapter 4
I can’t contain my disappointment. “This is not acceptable. This isn’t at all what I had in mind.
” There is no bellman waiting to greet us with a tray of Aperol spritzes, no fancy gold luggage cart out front, no lush red carpet.
Just an uneven brick walkway with moss growing in the cracks that I have to lug my suitcase over to reach the worn welcome mat.
A zipper pops, jolted from the movement, and out tumble those lime-green cheeky Tangas again.
“I actually think it’s kind of charming.” Mari points to the crown molding over the door and the colorful fish tiles around the entryway as I scoop my belongings off the floor. “We’re on vacation together, in Italy. I don’t need anything fancy.”
“I agree. Let’s check in.” Anya leads us through the front doors.
I lose it even more when I glimpse the pool through the sliding glass doors.
It’s not the Olympic-size infinity pool the photos made it seem, but a tiny plunge pool smaller than some hot tubs I’ve seen.
“What the—?” I blurt before I can stop myself.
Fantasies of late-night rendezvous with Wes are destroyed in one fell swoop.
The lobby is small and cramped. There are stains on the ceiling and a few of the glossy floor tiles are cracked. Adding to the growing number of eyesores, there’s even a guy on a ladder in the corner, painting. He turns toward the entranceway, grinning at the sight of us. “Buongiorno!”
“Buongiorno!” Anya and Mari say back in unison.
The guy gets down off the ladder and wipes the paint from his hands onto his coveralls.
Close up, he’s much younger than I thought, with a mess of dark brown hair tinted golden.
A medallion pendant dangles over his T-shirt, glinting under the light.
His skin is deep brown, a true Mediterranean tan, one that can only be earned from a lifetime in the Italian sun.
“Americans?” he asks, but I have a hunch he already knows the answer.
“How can you tell?” Mari wants to know.
He winks, all smooth and mischievous. “Can’t give away all the secrets.” He puts his hand to his chest and does a mini bow, dipping slightly, and introduces himself. “Nico. Checking in?”
“Yes!” Mari says. “It’s been a long, long day, and we are so happy to be here.”
“Well, we are happy to have you.” Nico hops over the green marble counter and starts tapping on a computer. “It looks like we have you here for a three-week stay…”
“I’m sorry. I have a question,” I interrupt, pushing Anya and Mari to the side. “On the website, it says this is a five-star hotel?” I pull out my phone to show him the proof.
“Yes.” He raises his eyebrows. “It’s five stars for service. Never gotten anything less.” He takes my phone and zooms in. “See?”
I scoff. Sure enough, there it was. Five stars for service.
This was trickery on the most offensive level.
I have tried so hard, all day, to make the best of things because this hotel was supposed to make everything worth the effort.
But now it feels like all my summer plans are crumbling like the paint outside.
“This place is falling apart! The pool is smaller than my bathtub!”
“I apologize. We are doing some renovations, but it shouldn’t interfere with your stay. As for the pool—it does the same thing as a larger one, I promise.” Nico’s eyes sparkle as they study me.
“It definitely does not,” I mutter, avoiding his eye contact.
“You’re being a brat, Sora,” Anya hisses.
“Is she always like this?” Nico’s dimples are out, looking at me all amused, like my tantrum is simply for his entertainment. It only annoys me more.
“Yes,” Anya and Mari say in unison.
“Listen. You are in great hands. I promise—you will not be unhappy. Go for a walk, get some rest, and let that one wake up on the other side of the bed, as you say. Sometime this week I can show you all some hidden gems you’ll never read about online.
You’ll have an experience no other tourist will have this summer.
” Nico takes out a small map and folds it up, sliding it across the counter. “In the meantime, you can use this.”
“That actually sounds amazing,” Anya says, now fully perked up. “We would totally be down for that.”
“I would love to find places off the beaten path!” Mari agrees.
“I thought we were going to lie out on the beach and relax?” I ask. I do not appreciate the hijacking of our plans, especially by this strange guy. “We appreciate the offer, but we should be good.”
Nico shrugs, unbothered. “Well, let me know. I’ll be here.”
“She doesn’t speak for us, just so you know.” Anya shoots me daggers.
“Ah, it’s fine,” Nico chuckles. “I know her type. All bite, no bark.”
“What does that mean?” I narrow my eyes. But Nico’s already gone into the back room to get our keys. What is this? They’re already ganging up on me?
“Part of the magic of vacation is being open to the unexpected bits too, Sora,” Mari says while he’s gone.
I don’t respond, and instead check my phone now that it’s connected to Wi-Fi. At least this place has one thing going for it. But there are still no texts.
Nico returns and scans in our passports. He blows a lone curl out of his eyes. What is his deal, anyway? Painter, receptionist, tour guide? I haven’t figured him out.
“How long have you worked here?” Anya asks, as she looks through the wall of framed photos behind him. There are black-and-whites of sunbathers in sunglasses and sharply dressed people in eveningwear seated at a dinner table.
“My whole life.” He shrugs. “This is my family’s place. My mom, Alessandra, and I run it.” He hands over the keys, actual iron keys attached to thick purple ribbons. Mari and Anya find the vintage charm alluring, but I feel like I’ve gone twenty years back in time.
He does deliver on the five-star service, however, as he adds bellman to his extensive resume, piling up our bags and suitcases on a cart before escorting us to our room.
We pass a restaurant with a patio. “Right there,” Nico points at the patio terrace, “is where we have our golden hour affogato special. Where some hotels have a complimentary wine hour or happy hour, we have an affogato hour. You can enjoy dishes of our homemade vanilla gelato with espresso poured over top while relaxing on the terrace overlooking the water.”
“Um, we most definitely will!” Mari sends an elbow into my belly, which means she wants me to concur.
“I concur,” I say, and despite the disappointment I’m currently working through, I am pained to admit it actually does sound pretty cool.
We scrunch together like sardines in the elevator, which creaks and screeches as it ascends. Our room is on the third level, the top level, which hardly counts as the penthouse room I had booked.
The elevator lurches to a stop, and when we exit, there is a pile of used books on a console table. I don’t notice it at first—I’m distracted by how potent my RBF is in the mirror above.
Nico notices my gaze. “Take one, leave one,” he says. “We love for our guests to share their books with one another. Even if you don’t have a book to trade, help yourself.”
“I love that!” Mari squeals as she picks up a hardcover with frayed bindings and pages through it. She holds it up to her face, inhaling deeply. “It smells like saltwater and sunscreen! Amazing.” She clutches it tightly to her chest.
Nico unlocks our room and starts unloading the luggage.
Our room is small and quaint, with two full beds.
There isn’t any of that luxury bedding I was envisioning, only a pair of thin pillows and a light quilt on each.
The features are outdated and slightly worn, although at least everything appears tidy and clean.
The floor is patched in intricate tilework of blues and yellows, and the aesthetic is light and beachy.
Even though there’s nothing wrong with the room, I can’t help but feel underwhelmed.
That is, until Nico opens the curtains to let in the light.
Even I, with my off-the-charts RBF, feel my face morph into awe.
I’m stunned into silence. Our tiny room has a majestic view of the Mediterranean.
A panoramic seascape of vibrant blue shimmers under the golden sun.
I step out onto our balcony and the sea breeze mists against my skin, blowing my hair back from my face.
I grab on to the railing and peer down a hundred feet, to the dozens of orange-and-white-striped umbrellas that dot the pebbled beach.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, before remembering I’m supposed to be an unsatisfied customer. Anya and Mari come to stand next to me, flanking my sides, both equally blown away.
Nico is inside, retreating toward the door, job done. He bows his head quickly, letting his curls tumble over his eyes as he prepares to leave. “Enjoy your stay.”