Chapter 8
Vico
In disbelief, she presents the broken doorknob to me.
"Come on, let me show you the other rooms," I say hastily. Not just to end the torment for myself but also because Father was very clear yesterday. She must buy the property. The fewer damages she discovers, the better.
"Does the terrace have an external staircase?" she asks, ignoring my request.
With a nod, I signal her to leave this cursed room and lead her up the worn-out staircase to the upper floor. Here we stand now, facing the seemingly endless hallway with ten doors on each side.
I doubt I can show her even a single room without my instinct to flee overwhelming me. "Please, take a look around. I'll wait here and gladly answer all your questions."
Instead of taking out her camera, she eyes me anxiously. Then she taps her shoe on the wooden floor as if it were made of delicate glass. "It looks quite dangerous."
Yes, the estate is a wreck. Is that what she wants to hear from me?
"Do you have a construction helmet? Or safety shoes?" She hastily brushes a strand of hair from her face. "Because of the risk of injury."
Now she's exaggerating. Automatically, my gaze glides over her delicate frame. "It's safe, don't worry."
"But I…" She stops mid-sentence. Then she straightens her back and starts walking.
I watch her thoughtfully. I can't figure out this woman. Sometimes she's this fascinating fairy who captivates me effortlessly, to the point where it scares me. Then again, she becomes a tough, unsympathetic businesswoman.
Just like now. From time to time, she appears in my field of view, inspecting one room after another, taking photos and jotting down notes. Not once do I see that expression from earlier when she seemed unapproachable for a moment. That's a good thing.
I don't want to experience whatever was happening in the living room again. At that moment, something was far more dangerous than decaying floorboards.
Much more dangerous. I wanted to be with her, to feel with her, and to share her thoughts. If she had allowed it, my heart would have been defenseless, and that must never happen.
I use the break to read the message from my coach, Matteo. He informs me that he managed to register me for the main draw in a competition in Bari in mid-April.
Such an opportunity comes only once in a lifetime , he writes, and he's so right. When will you be back? We definitely need to work on your somersaults .
Before I can react, Hanna is once again standing in front of me with her ridiculous clipboard. "Is there a cellar?" she asks.
"A wine cellar." But I don't want to show it to her. "Why?"
For a moment, she lowers her gaze to her checklist, as if she could find the answer to my question there because she doesn't know it herself. "I have to see it," she says absentmindedly. "I need to check if it's suitable for events. It's important because of…" Her finger follows a line of text. "The funding opportunities."
Earlier, she mentioned a foyer and now events. What does she have in mind for my family estate? "Are you planning to turn the estate into an event venue?" As I ask the question, a cold shiver runs down my spine.
This is unnecessary. The sale is the right decision. Whatever the buyer does with the property and the land, the main thing is that nothing reminds me of the tragedy that unfolded here.
"A guesthouse," she replies. Shouldn't she be smiling or showing some kind of excitement? Instead, she looks strained. It seems like she's only concerned about the money. "How many guest rooms do you think we can set up here?"
Something inside me resists thinking about this question. I also don't like her cold business tone. "I have no idea," I reply curtly and reluctantly lead the way to the wine cellar.
Clutching her clipboard to her chest, Hanna follows me. I swallow heavily as we reach the massive wooden door of the wine cellar.
"We'll have to figure that out in the next few days. We also need to go through each room and assess the damages," she says.
What?
No. That's not how it was planned.
I can't do this. I can't spend days meticulously digging into the past with her. Who knows what we might uncover!
In my panic, I thrust the travel guide into Hanna's hands. "I have to go now. Explore the rest on your own. Inside, you'll find everything you need to know about excursions and activities," I say, gasping for air. But the air I strain to inhale feels like poison in my lungs. "Come to the red-brick bungalow for dinner at eight tonight."
That's it. I can't do more. She has everything she needs, and I've delivered Camilla's invitation as promised.
Now I just want to get away from here.
Without waiting for her reaction, I turn around and walk down the corridor, heading toward the bright light of the exit. I wish I could escape to my camper, but Pietro took it to the workshop for some necessary repairs. I'll get it back tomorrow, and then I'll be free again.
With trembling fingers, I pull out my phone. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon , I type in a message to Matteo and immediately feel relieved.
Tomorrow, I'll set off and leave this crushing piece of land behind.
As terrible as it feels to disappoint my family and as much as I wish I were as strong as they believe, I simply can't do this.