Chapter Thirteen
THIRTEEN
CHARLIE
The vibrant red sunset over Lake Trasimeno caresses the top of the rolling Umbrian landscape. It is the most spectacular sight Charlie’s ever seen.
The second most spectacular sight is Dario’s face lit up with the proximal glow.
Gone is the clenched jaw and deep groove between his brows from earlier when he declined to step off the boat at Isola Maggiore.
Questions about that circulate in Charlie’s brain.
Surely Dario had seen Isola Polvese before they hiked it as well.
Why was that the excuse he gave for not touring Maggiore with them? What was he feeling but not saying?
The whole time Charlie trekked the gorgeous, more touristy island, he missed having Dario around to spout facts and share snacks with.
As soon as they were alone, Michelle stopped at a café, ordered a glass of wine, and popped in her earbuds and cued up a Luxurious Ladies of Provence recap podcast since she missed this week’s episode.
Beau unpacked his guitar case on a street corner and busked for the passersby.
When Charlie asked why he’d perform for free like that, Beau said, “Best way to test out new songs is to play them for an unsuspecting audience and see how many people stop to listen.”
Now, Beau has everyone listening as he gets up to give Dario a gift. From his bag, he pulls out a pack of olive oil–infused lip balms.
“These smelled really good. Thought you might like them,” Beau says. Charlie had gone into that shop and had sticker shock from everything on the shelves. Beau must’ve used the money he earned from his performances to afford them.
“Thank you,” Dario says, cheeks pinkening.
“Definitely a better taste than that olive from earlier,” Beau says. Charlie imagines Dario trying out the lip balm and then kissing Beau, which causes his stomach to harden.
Michelle clucks. “You do not eat lip balm.” Everybody looks at her with concerned expressions. “The idea makes me have to—” She runs for the bathroom once more. Poor thing. Everyone can hear her retch, so Charlie turns up the music.
Selina pulls a bottle of expensive bubbly wine from a bag. She shows the vintage off to everyone, as if Beau’s gesture were a direct challenge to her that she could not back down from.
“I got you a little something as well,” she says, already reaching for the wine cork on the nearby bench seat.
Conveniently, there are only two clean glasses left on the boat, so Selina claims them for herself and Dario.
Pop! She pours them both flutes while Beau slinks back to his seat.
“?Arriba, abajo, al centro y pa’ dentro!” Selina shouts, glass raised in cheers, but to what, exactly? Charlie shrugs to himself.
Unable to watch from the sidelines as Dario gets wooed away by money and beauty he can’t compete with, Charlie ducks downstairs to hold Michelle’s hair back.
Later that night, when there is a knock at his bedroom door, Charlie expects Dario, so he quickly makes himself presentable, but Beau stands at the threshold instead.
“Have you seen Dario?” Beau asks.
“Not since dinner,” Charlie says.
“I knocked on the barn house door and there was no answer.”
“I think he said something about going for a walk after dessert.”
Beau purses his lips and then holds a folded piece of paper out to Charlie. “Can you give this to him when he gets back?”
“Of course,” Charlie says, taking it. “Wait, what is it?”
“A note,” Beau says.
“Why can’t you give it to him yourself?” Charlie asks, noticing Beau’s crossbody bag with his passport sticking out from an unzippered pocket.
He clears his throat. “I’m gonna dip.”
“For the night?” Charlie asks.
“Nah, for the rest of the trip,” he says, shrugging.
“I didn’t want to say anything back on the boat, but I met a couple musicians out on Maggiore while I was busking.
They’re a blues band, out here to perform at this cool festival down in Castiglione del Lago in a few weeks.
One of their guitarists had a family emergency and had to fly home short notice.
They said they liked my vibe, and if I wanted to do a gig, they could use my talent.
I’ve never played the blues before, so…”
“It’s a new challenge for you,” Charlie fills in.
“Exactly,” Beau says, shooting him with finger guns.
Charlie squints at him. “What about Dario and the contest? Was this just another challenge for you?”
“At first, marriage was the challenge, but Dario’s a cool guy.
Weird, and definitely shorter than I expected, but cool.
I just don’t think we’re on the same wavelength, you know?
I explain it all to him in the note.” Beau points his nose down at the paper Charlie still holds.
“And no offense here, but I think Selina’s already got this on lock. I saw her kissing Dario on Polvese.”
“So? You saw me kissing Dario in the pool,” Charlie says.
Beau appears as if he doesn’t remember that. “Right, yeah. That’s true…”
Charlie gets the impression that whatever Beau saw transpire between Dario and Selina was hotter and more substantial.
Charlie sighs. A touch of him wonders how the five of them were selected from what must have been hundreds of thousands of applications. They are an odd, disjointed bunch.
“I just don’t want to waste anybody’s time. Not Dario’s and not my own,” Beau says.
“Sure, but don’t you think you should still stick around until you can give this to Dario yourself?” Charlie asks, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. What if Dario really liked Beau?
“Yeah, uh,” Beau says, swiping a hand at the back of his neck. “The band is already outside in their van waiting for me. I timed this so if things got awkward, I could leave quick.” Beau’s phone beeps in his bag. “That’s them. Can you just give that to Dario for me and tell the others I said bye?”
“For sure,” Charlie says before biting the inside of his cheek. “Have fun.”
The air has cooled significantly by the time Charlie ventures outside after Beau’s departure.
A light steam billows off the heated pool.
Charlie rests on a cushioned chair beneath the striped awning that drapes down from the villa.
He faces the distant shadow of the lake with Beau’s note shaking in his hands while he waits for Dario to come back.
At the first squeak of the side gate, Charlie bolts up. Angelo, off-leash, comes bounding toward him, letting out several small barks.
“Angelo, cosa fai?” Dario asks from around the corner. He appears right as Angelo flops onto his back, exposing his belly for Charlie to pet. “Oh, ciao, Charlie. Were you waiting for me?”
“Sort of,” Charlie says, standing again. “I’m here to give you this.”
Dario accepts the paper. “Did I drop this? Is this one of my grandfather’s letters?” he asks in a rush.
“What? No, this is from Beau,” Charlie says, trying to soften his words in hope it might cushion the blow.
“More song lyrics?” Dario asks. “He’s been slipping them under my door. They’re very sweet, but if I don’t get to them before Angelo, they end up slobbered upon, torn up and unreadable.”
Charlie gives a small, pained smile. “I don’t think this is a song.”
Dario’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do either, but Beau left a little while ago,” Charlie says.
“It’s late. When will he be back?” Dario asks.
“Uh, never?” Charlie says, then cringes realizing how indelicate that sounded.
Dario stops unfolding the paper, clearly embarrassed now. Charlie really wishes he hadn’t been put in this position. He hates the weighted frown on Dario’s face. “I see,” Dario says.
Now Charlie understands why Beau wanted to make such a quick getaway. The awkwardness of this encounter is torture, and he’s not even the one rejecting Dario. “How do you say ‘I’m sorry’ in Italian?” Charlie asks.
“Mi dispiace.”
“Mi dispiace,” Charlie echoes.
“Right on the first try,” Dario says, a soft encouragement.
“It was bound to happen eventually,” Charlie says with a slight laugh, then holds up his hands. “I meant about me saying Italian words correctly, not Beau—”
Dario shakes his head. “I understood you, Charlie. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
Charlie shoves his hands in his pockets. “Buona notte.”
“Two for two,” Dario says with a weakish smile.
“I’m going to quit while I’m ahead,” Charlie says, turning back to the villa.
“Sogni d’oro,” Dario whispers to Charlie’s retreating form.
Back in his room, Charlie tries his best to type the Italian words into his translator app.
Common meaning, sweet dreams. Literal meaning, dreams of gold.
Charlie burrows himself in the blankets and considers the silly image he first had when he saw Dario’s net worth, of a swimming pool full of gold coins.
Funny to think that now Dario’s heart seems a far greater treasure than any fortune.