23
GAbrIELA DUARTE
Cris arrived at the Palazzo delle Rose on Friday, three days after our return from Lisbon, carrying a small suitcase and a box of pastéis de nata. He’d come to stay the night and help me organize proposals for new projects. He set down his bag and hugged me.
“You smell like dust,” he said, still squeezing me.
“And you’re crushing my report.”
“Priorities.”
I laughed and rested my cheek on his shoulder. We’d barely had time for each other in Lisbon, between the boxes and the paperwork. Now he was staying until tomorrow. When we drew apart, Luca stood at the top of the stairs, looking at the suitcase by Cris’s feet.
“Mr. Bellandi,” Cris greeted him.
“Christofer.”
“Cris,” I corrected. “Everyone calls him that.”
“Gabriela does,” my friend said. “Other people usually ask first.”
Luca came down.
“Your room is ready in the north wing.”
“Thank you. Can I drop my bag and meet Gabi in the studio?”
“Paola will show you the way. Some of the doors along that corridor lead to the private apartments.”
Cris noticed the key on the cord around my neck. Luca looked at it too. It opened the door between his private office and the internal corridor; I kept it there so I wouldn’t lose it on-site.
“You wear a key to the palace around your neck?” Cris asked.
“To one door. Don’t start.”
“I’m just trying not to get lost.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“The north wing has a lake view,” he said, keeping his voice level.
“Great. I’d like to see the garden later.”
“Come on,” I said, taking the box of custard tarts. “I’ll show you around.”
Luca came with us to the garden. Cris would tour the construction site that afternoon, with protective equipment and the team. I showed him the yellow roses and the entrance to the passage; sections still needed checking before the whole route could be opened.
“Augusto would have loved this.”
“He knew about the passage. We found his notes in Lisbon.”
Cris touched a new leaf.
“Your father kept the best secrets.”
“He kept the drawings we were missing,” Luca said.
Cris looked at him.
“He kept things he didn’t need anymore too.”
“I know. We argued about that a lot.”
I waited for a dig. But Luca was looking at the passage entrance.
“He taught me not to throw away a note just because the drawing was finished,” Cris added. “I still do that.”
“With medical records?” Luca asked.
“With almost everything.”
Cris smiled at me. The conversation might have gone on, but Luca’s phone vibrated.
He checked the name on the screen.
“I need to get back to the meeting. I’ll see you at lunch.”
“See you then,” I said.
Luca walked away. Cris watched him go.
“You were expecting a fight,” I said.
“He looked as though he was too.”
Cris turned back to me.
“You love him.”
I turned toward the roses.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’ve known you since we were eleven. When you lie, you press your lips together exactly like that.”
I relaxed my mouth at once.
“I know how I feel. I just haven’t told him.”
“And can you live with what he’s offering?”
“We’re not sorting this out in the middle of the garden.”
He caught my arm.
“Gabi, I don’t want to be right. I want him to be better than he seems when he’s scared.”
“He is.”
“And this business about not talking to the press?”
“We’ve agreed to that for now. The relationship’s been disclosed to the people overseeing my contract. I don’t want an announcement in the middle of another attempt to get me removed.”
“And after the opening?”
“We’ll see.”
Cris closed his eyes for a moment.
“Just don’t let that deadline move every time you get close to it.”
“Luca’s trying.”
“I just hope he doesn’t find out how much you’re willing to lose while he tries.”
I pulled my arm away.
“I didn’t come here for your approval.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I came to spend time with you.”
His voice softened.
“And because the bank called again.”
My stomach clenched.
“How long?”
“Thirty days to settle the balance on the personal loans. The sale pays off the debts on the office, but what’s left won’t cover everything. Your lawyer has already broken down the amounts.”
“We’ll find another project.”
“I’ve put together a few calls for proposals that might work.”
He opened a list on his phone: opportunities he’d found and contacts former clients had sent. Museums, churches, smaller residential projects. I’d have to check the requirements and prepare proposals, but it was a start.
“I’ve marked the deadlines,” he said. “Two close next week. We can go through the requirements together, and you can decide whether they’re worth applying for.”
I read through the projects.
“You did all this while seeing patients in two countries?”
“I don’t sleep much, and I run on anxiety.”
“Terrible medical advice.”
“I’m not my patient.”
I hugged him. He nearly dropped his phone and complained that I was trying to break my present.
“Don’t tell Luca.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll try to pay.”
“I can help you work out the numbers without involving him.”
“I don’t want our relationship to exist because I need his money.”
Cris sighed.
“All right. We’ll work with what you have.”
After lunch, I took him through the cleared section of the site, wearing a hard hat and accompanied by the team. He talked with Paola and won Sofia over by giving her the remaining half of the pastries. Luca had stopped briefly at our table at noon and didn’t sit down with us again until dinner.
We ate in the family’s smaller dining room. Sofia had insisted that Cris be treated as a personal guest. Lorenzo appeared too, charming and curious.
“So you’re a doctor,” Lorenzo said.
“A pediatrician.”
“In Lisbon?”
“I split my time between Lisbon and S?o Paulo. My family’s Brazilian, like Gabriela’s.”
“You must travel a lot.”
“Enough.”
“And you’ve known Gabriela since you were children.”
“Since she stole my pencil in class.”
“He dropped it on the floor,” I corrected.
“A crime of opportunity is still a crime.”
I laughed. Luca cut his meat with unnecessary force.
“Were you two ever a couple?” Lorenzo asked.
“No,” we answered together.
“There was an attempt at sixteen,” Cris added.
“You didn’t have to tell them.”
“A scientific disaster.”
Luca set down his cutlery. He looked at me, then at Lorenzo.
“She answered you,” he said.
Cris opened his mouth, but I rested my hand on his arm.
“We both did,” I added. “Can we finish dinner?”
Lorenzo raised his glass, as though the question had been innocent.
Sofia asked Cris about his work in S?o Paulo. After dinner, I went to my room for the documents I still needed to review with him. Luca found me on my way back down the hall.
“You’re going to work with him now?”
“We’re going through two proposals. Cris leaves tomorrow.”
“I thought you were coming to my room.”
“We didn’t arrange that.”
“No. I just assumed.”
I shifted the folder to my other arm. Luca looked toward the guest room door.
He stepped into my path.
“You can use the studio.”
I stopped in front of him.
“Can I get past?”
He moved aside immediately.
“Gabriela . . .”
“I chose to be with you. That doesn’t mean every night of my life belongs to you now.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then why are you trying to change where we sit?”
Luca looked at the folder. I waited instead of explaining Cris again.
“I was jealous,” he admitted.
“I noticed.”
He rested a hand against the wall, leaving the hall clear.
“I won’t stop you going.”
“I wasn’t asking permission.”
I walked past him.
“Cris doesn’t stop being my family because I’ve started dating you. There’s love that doesn’t demand that.”
Luca went pale in the hallway light.
“And you think mine does?”
The word hung between us.
Love.
For the first time, Luca had included his own feelings in that word. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept hold of the folder.
“I’m saying your possessiveness isn’t enough to prove how you feel.”
I walked away.
I knocked on the guest room door. Cris was putting away his clothes when I came in. I sat at the table and set the documents between us. Before opening them, I told him about the conversation in the hall.
“Do you want me to take an earlier flight?” he asked.
“No. I want Luca to learn that my life didn’t begin when he decided to see me.”
Cris pulled up the other chair.
“You’re completely in love with him.”
I looked down at the papers.
“I know.”
“Does he?”
“No.”
“Will you tell him?”
I thought of how Luca had reacted to the word in the hall. Of the fear beneath his jealousy. Of his promise to try to trust.
“Not yet.”
Cris put an arm around my shoulders.
“Then don’t hide it from him when something hurts,” he said. Then he opened the first call for proposals. We worked until we’d finished the list of missing documents.
The next morning, Cris and I were in the kitchen. He was making coffee, and I was laughing at a story he was telling in rapid Portuguese. When Luca came in, his gaze passed over us and stopped on the two cups on the counter.
“Good morning,” he said.
I tensed. Cris merely raised an eyebrow. Luca opened the wrong cabinet, found plates, and closed it again. He looked at the cups, then pointed to the coffeepot.
“Is there enough for three?”
“If you can survive the Portuguese way,” Cris replied.
We sat at the same table. The conversation was awkward, full of pauses and differences Cris made no effort to smooth over.
Luca listened to stories about university, my father, and a summer we’d spent restoring tiles for almost no money.
I could tell he didn’t like discovering memories he’d played no part in.
Still, he asked questions instead of competing for a place.
It took a while, but at some point I stopped waiting for the next barb.
When he’d finished his coffee, I pushed the pot toward him. He poured a little more and went on listening to Cris.