Chapter 6
Vico
Just this one day.
That's the sentence I repeat to myself since waking up. And even now, as I approach the mansion, those words echo in my head.
I will show Hanna the estate, the main rooms, the outdoor areas, and even the tool shed if needed. Then we'll be done here, and I'll never have to set foot inside the main house again. Everything that comes after will be easy. In the following weeks, we'll just go through the tourist program. I'll feel much better once today is over and we leave the estate tomorrow.
So much better.
To divert her attention from the house, I hold the Tuscany guide I found in my sister's bookshelf. We won't need to come back here if I play it right. I marked my ideas for accommodations with an exclamation point. Today, she gets an impression of the country estate in fast-forward, which she hopefully buys, and then she plunges directly into the much-vaunted magic of Tuscany.
As I approach the entrance gate, I imagine catching a hasty movement behind the window of my old childhood room. Was that Hanna? Was she watching me?
Lost in thought, I enter the house and walk through the hallway with my head down. That's the strategy for today.
Don't look. And always smile as if everything is perfectly fine.
Just this one day. Then it will get easier.
I knock on Hanna's door. With a focused look, she opens it and greets me in her remarkably good Italian. Once again, her hair is wild and disheveled, the fringe falling irregularly over her eyebrows.
Her green eyes shimmer underneath. Yesterday, they were agitated, but today they seem gentle, perhaps even cautious.
"Buongiorno," I say, trying to sound casual. "Are you ready for the house tour?"
"Absolutely." She grabs the camera on the dresser and slings the strap around her neck. Then she takes out a clipboard with what feels like a thousand sheets and a pen. She stands before me like an eager student with perfect preparation.
"Are my shoes okay?" she asks, pointing at the light-brown sneakers she wore yesterday as well.
To be honest, I have no idea. I don't know what has happened here in the past four years. Even when I left the estate back then, it was in bad condition, and what I've seen so far hasn't been promising.
"Perfetto," I say nevertheless, as it's crucial to present the house in the best light.
She looks at me expectantly. "Then what are we waiting for?"
We're waiting for a lightning strike that would prevent me from embarking on this tour of my past. Nausea rises in me, and I wish I could cancel it right away.
Just this one day .
I take a step back and gesture toward the hallway. "After you," I say.
With an oddly stern expression, she marches past me and walks along the wide corridor with its large stone tiles, forming a pattern of different colors.
"Is this the entrance area?" she asks, although it's obvious. I nod, and she takes notes on her clipboard.
Her jaw appears tense, and she seems nothing like the enchanting woman I met on the country road yesterday. What a pity.
"What is the floor area?" she asks.
I have no idea, so I shrug. "Does it matter?"
Instead of answering, she continues down the hallway. "I'd estimate about twenty yards in length," she says when she reaches the other end, measuring the width in the same manner and jotting down notes. "We'll need to measure it properly later," she mutters tensely. Then she inspects the plaster, once white but now covered in a gray haze. She moves on to the floor-to-ceiling double-glazed window and takes photos of the crack running across its entire surface.
It's a relief that she's focused on her task. It means she doesn't notice the discomfort twisting my stomach. That glass damage has a story, just like everything else here, and I dread delving deeper into the house.
"What's behind this door?" Her question snaps me out of my thoughts.
I glance at her and reply, "Nothing." Cursing myself, I sound panicked, as if I have something to hide. "Just a storage room," I add with a forced smile, hoping she won't enter my mother's room.
That's where she passed away.
Hastily, I guide her to the opposite double door leading to the living room. "This is the largest room in the house," I say with a promising tone and swing open the doors.
"Oh." She freezes like a statue. The clipboard almost slips from her hand.
I follow her gaze and freeze too.
This was our center. The open fireplace, the antique pieces of furniture, and the thick carpets where we used to lie as children while Mother read us fairy tales.
The heavy burgundy curtains we hid behind to avoid brushing our teeth.
The display cabinet with the crystal glasses we secretly sipped from when my sisters forced me to play the prince for them.
None of it exists anymore.
As I see the abandoned seating area covered in plastic, the chandelier draped in cobwebs, and the meager remnants of the ceiling decorations, I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat.
This is in ruins. Nothing is left of the Olivetta family.
At this moment, I know one thing for sure. Even just one day is too much.
I can't do this. I can't walk through this crumbling building and ignore the messages screaming at me from every corner. Maybe my father and my sisters think differently, but they’re wrong.
"You know what? I'll get you a map, and you can explore everything at your own pace," I force out with effort.
She doesn't reply.
I turn my head toward her, and immediately I understand why she's silent. Her expression tells me she's not even here.
She's somewhere else.
Her eyes shine like the sea on a sunny day. I hear her breath flow with a calmness that almost magically transfers to me. Mesmerized, I watch as her lips curve upward more and more. Then she tilts her head, as if she's listening to a melody that exists only within her soul.
I have never seen anything so charming.
Though she doesn't even look at me, she captivates me. She's like a piece of art I want to explore every detail of.
Now she blinks, and moisture clings to her dark lashes.
"Good morning," I whisper, more tenderly than I intended.