Chapter 11
Hanna
With my phone pressed to my ear, I gaze into the mirror and adjust my bangs. My eyes appear clearer than usual, and behind me, the broken bathroom tiles glow in a radiant azure blue.
"I've already done a rough tour of the estate. I'll send you the photos today," I say to Florian, who must be eager to get some initial information.
"Have you also contacted the craftsmen?" he asks, sounding strangely absent. I hear the rustling of paper in the background.
Did that even make it to the list? I must have overlooked it or, worse, forgotten. "It's in progress," I reply, not wanting him to think I'm just daydreaming here instead of pushing our mission forward.
"Without cost estimates, I can't estimate the loan amount. The banks want a clear breakdown." He sighs wearily. The creaking of his desk chair suggests that he's leaning back. Is he running his hand through his hair too?
His mood makes me suspicious. He sounds drained. "Is there a problem?"
"I have it under control. Don't worry. The plan will work. I just need the numbers," he answers so gently that it provides some comfort.
Thoughtfully, I grab the towel and head for the door. "You'll get them as soon as possible." I step into the hallway and hurry to my room. Even though I'm allowed to use the bathroom here and the part of the kitchen that's still in working order, I still feel like a stranger.
Florian exhales with relief. "Thank you, Hanna. You're amazing." Just from the sound of his words, I could swear he's smiling now.
Suddenly, I halt in my movement. My cheeks flush, and my lips turn up on their own. No one has ever shown me as much appreciation as he does. He is proof that the new Hanna is lovable. And that my decision to hide the daydreaming Hanna is the right one. "Oh, it's nothing special."
"For me, it is," he says, then clears his throat. "I have to get back to work. The intern is a bit… clumsy. She needs support."
I stroll over to the window and pull aside the thin white curtain to look outside. I don't know what I expected, but seeing the courtyard empty before me disappoints me. "I understand. Have a great day."
"You too." A voice in the background calls his name. "What are you up to today, by the way?"
"I'm exploring the surroundings," I reply. Probably alone, but that's okay. I can handle it.
"One moment, I'll be right there…" He sounds muffled, as if he covered the receiver with his hand. Then there's rustling on the line. "Is Camilla treating you well? Is everything okay?"
I turn away from the window. "She's great," I answer. Apparently, he has enough of his own worries and doesn't need to deal with mine too.
"That's wonderful, Hanna. I'll talk to you again tomorrow. Don't forget about the craftsmen, okay?" A thudding noise makes it hard for me to understand his words. "Should I send you a reminder?"
Florian knows me too well. "Sure," I reply, packing my photography gear into my backpack. "But now, make sure you help Natalie." I don't want anything bad to happen.
"Oh yes, I should do that." His laughter piques my curiosity. I've only been gone for two days. Could so much have gone wrong already? What has Natalie done? "Talk to you later." With these words, he hangs up before I can ask further.
I take the phone from my ear and check the time on the display. It's almost noon.
For the past four hours, I've been waiting in vain for someone to come and pick me up. Alessia promised last night that she wouldn't leave me alone. But now, it seems I have to admit that she stood me up.
I fall back onto the bed, staring at the crack in the ceiling and massaging my temples.
A hesitant knock reaches my ears. That must be Alessia. Thank goodness!
Abruptly, I rise from the bed and adjust my T-shirt. "Come in."
The door opens, but instead of Alessia, Vico stands in the doorway. His shoulder-length hair frames his forbiddingly attractive face. He's wearing worn-out jeans and flip-flops, their seams looking like they could come apart at any moment.
"Ready for a little sightseeing?" he asks, as if he hadn't rejected me yesterday, and gives me a tentative smile.
Suddenly, I feel unnaturally warm. "Um…" Oh, heavens, why am I at a loss for words now? This is so unprofessional.
You're a businesswoman, Hanna, don't forget that!
He raises an eyebrow. "Or would you prefer to explore the area on your own?"
"No," I reply hastily, turning to my backpack. "We can go right away."
"Great." I can’t quite place the undertone in his voice.
"Great," I respond, putting on the determined expression of a guesthouse owner on an expansion course. I feel like I'm wearing a mask as I quickly slip into my sneakers and approach him. But it's necessary so he doesn't confuse me even more. "Where are we going?"
He defers to me and closes the door behind us. "Wherever you want."
My checklist is in my backpack, so I have no idea where I want to go.
Chewing on my lower lip, I head toward the exit. "What do you recommend?"
"Everyone knows about the hills, the wine, and the pasta. That's boring," he replies thoughtfully. Then for a moment, his usually guarded blue eyes spark. How charming he suddenly appears. He gestures toward his VW bus. "Climb aboard, please, we'll make your blood boil today."
Did he just say that we boil blood, or did I misunderstand?
Not only his words but also the sight of his van give me pause. Up close, the vehicle looks like it could break down on the road at any moment.
It's probably safe, but my fear has too tight a grip on me to get inside.
I have a talent for constantly injuring myself. It's been like that my whole life. My mother drilled into me to take care of myself until I developed the habit of avoiding every little risk.
It's a bit crazy, but I can't shake off the fear. "Let's just take my car instead," I quickly say and nod toward my red Golf.
A steep crease forms between his eyebrows, and suddenly, he doesn't look charming at all. Still, I'd really like to know what's going on in his head right now.
Did I hurt him? Does he think I'm a snob? Or is he trying to figure out why I'm so confused by him, just like I am?
For seconds, we gaze at each other. Then he closes the door of his camper again. "Okay," he says with a shrug and strolls over to my car.
Never before has someone just accepted a suggestion from me like that. With a grateful nod, I march to the car and slide into the driver's seat.
I start the engine, give it a cautious rev, and steer the car onto the access road. "Where are we going?"
His promising grin is infectious. "It's a surprise. At the exit, turn right for now."
He's not going to tell me, huh? What does that mean?
Well, it's something different and kind of cute. Somehow.
"Okay," I mumble and turn onto the paved country road.
On the way, I focus on the road. Not just because safety takes precedence while driving but also because something about Vico makes me nervous.
The way he immediately goes for my car radio to turn up the volume. How he sings along loudly as if he doesn't care that he's completely off-key. And the glances he throws my way from time to time. Then he smirks to himself and eventually looks away.
Inevitably, I wonder what he thinks of me. What he thinks he sees when he looks at me. And why he's been acting so differently since we left the estate behind.
Suddenly, he turns to me. "Come on, sing along."
"I don't know this song." I emphasize my words with a dismissive gesture.
"It doesn't matter." Even though I'm not looking at him, I feel his gaze. It's making my entire right cheek glow. "It's all about having fun, after all."
Fun? I raise an eyebrow. That has something to do with letting go. As much as I'd love to let go, it's unfortunately not a good idea at all.
Curious, he leans over to me. "You don't know what this is, do you?"
Um…
"Just give it a try." With those words, he turns the music up so loud that the bass vibrates in my chest and rolls down the car window.
In the corner of my eye, I see the wind gently tousling his hair. His expression is filled with happiness as he sings and moves his feet to the beat. He exudes something that I want to feel too.
Joy. Freedom.
On impulse, I start humming softly. Even though I can barely hear myself, it feels wonderful. Without any effort, my head nods to the rhythm, and my fingers dance on the steering wheel. For a few moments, I enjoy just being in the moment. But soon, the last notes of the song fade away.
Smiling, Vico lowers the volume of the radio. "You can park up there by the hill."
I'd much rather continue cruising through Tuscany a little longer, enjoying the view and feeling the emotions the music stirred in me. But no sooner do I see the parking lot ahead, reminding me why we're here and making me realize I forgot once again. Reluctantly, I put on my business facade and step out of the car.
"Now it's getting hot," Vico teases. Raising his eyebrows, he leads me toward a weathered wooden fence, the kind you'd find in Tyrol around horse pastures.
"I can't see any fire." Besides, no visitors are here, which makes me suspicious.
Chuckling, he raises his index finger. "Not so fast," he says, coming closer. Suddenly, he's so near that the gentle breeze carries the fresh scent of his skin to my nose. "Close your eyes."
With this uneven ground, you'll only stumble and scrape your knees , my mother warns
"Maybe not." Dammit, I sound like an insecure girl. I can't let him throw me off balance like this.
Abruptly, I turn away and walk to the fence. But once I get there, I'm again struggling with myself.
"Wow," I whisper in awe, as before me lies a world unlike any I've seen.
The shades of green on the gentle hills glow in the sunlight while soft cumulus clouds drift lazily across the horizon. I spot houses with terracotta roofs partially hidden behind small forests. On the slopes, vineyards grow. Amid this scenery, mist rises, giving the view a sense of mystery that once again makes me forget why I'm here. The white veils embrace tree trunks and glide along the tall grasses in the meadows.
I'm at risk of getting lost in this spectacle, wanting to surrender and let my imagination take control. I want to hear what music suits this place, see the colors light up, and feel as if I'm a part of this natural paradise.
But I can't do that.
Frantically, I pinch my forearm, realizing too late that Vico watches me. He frowns inquisitively. To prevent him from even bringing it up, I sling the backpack off my shoulder and pull out the checklist. I don't like it, but it helps me now.
I clear my throat. "What's the name of this place?" My voice is clear and sober, just as it should be.
However, Vico doesn't seem to like it. He looks at me as if I've just turned into a monster. Hands in his pockets, he kicks a stone aside. "Sasso Pisano."
While searching for the name on the checklist, I ask the next question. "And where does this fog come from?"
"Geothermal activity."
Geo-what?
This place is definitely not listed on Florian's checklist. Should I call it off? What would Florian do?
"Come on, let's take a closer look." Vico points at a path leading down the hill from the parking lot.
"With these shoes?" I gesture to his feet in confusion.
"I like living dangerously." His inviting gaze meets mine, then he turns around and starts walking.
What else can I do but follow him? Eyes fixed on the ground, I descend the rocky path. I fear I might be wasting my time here, as this place probably isn't what tourists first imagine when they think of a Tuscan vacation.
Suddenly, he comes to a halt so abruptly that I run into his back. Again, his scent fills my nose. So fresh. And so light. He smells like a vacation.
My eyes drop. "You smell like your homeland."
No. I didn't just say that out loud, did I?
In the split second after realizing that the barrier between my brain and my mouth malfunctioned for a moment, his muscles tense up as well. "This isn't my homeland."
My gut tells me he wanted to add something more, but he doesn't. At least he doesn't condemn me for my clumsy collision or my thoughtless words. I exhale in relief and make sure to put some distance between us. "But you grew up here, right?"
As if having trouble staying still, he starts walking again. "I haven't lived here for a long time." The winding path levels out, and even with his mismatched footwear, he moves faster now.
I catch up to him. "Where do you live instead?"
He gives me a meaningful look. "Everywhere."
Everywhere? What does he mean by that? No one can live everywhere. Everyone needs a place to call home, offering them safety and stability.
"It confuses you." It's not a question; it's an observation. And he seems to find it amusing.
Should I admit he's right? Probably not.
"You are…" What was that in Italian? "Senza dimora?" I finally ask, not finding the exact translation.
I can hardly believe he's really homeless. True, his clothes don't suggest he's swimming in money, but he's definitely lying to me. He's testing me to see if I'm a serious businesswoman or just a naive dreamer. Perhaps.
Better not let any uncertainty show.
As we walk, he scans the vastness of the valley that lies before us in all its idyllic beauty. The gentle wind blows his hair into his face. Not for the first time, I wonder what he's thinking. And I can't wait to hear his response.
"Something like that," he replies mysteriously.