Chapter 14
Vico
Hanna's migraine seems to have disappeared overnight. As always, she clings to the clipboard in her hand as if it were a lifebuoy.
"Spiaggia bianche?" she asks.
In truth, I don't really care where we go. The main thing is to get away from here. "Is that a question or your answer?" I reply nonetheless, just to see her smile.
"My answer," she says seriously and immediately marches to her car. There's something different about her today compared to the past few days. This closed offness. And the probing look she gave me since our greeting earlier, as if she were trying to determine whether I have ill intentions.
Whatever it is, it won't stop me from carrying out my plan and giving her a taste of freedom. Perhaps that's exactly what she needs right now. "The beach isn't far from here; we don't need the car," I call after her.
She whirls around and raises her eyebrows. "You want to walk?"
Oh no. I certainly don't want that. "Come with me," I say.
"Where to?" She looks at me with that anxious expression that makes me want to wrap my arms around her.
What is she afraid of? Surely not me? I flash a teasing grin to help her relax a bit. "You'll see."
She doesn't like my answer, but she doesn't have much of a choice if she wants to visit Spiaggia bianche. Once we arrive at Camilla's bungalow, I open the garden gate where my sister and her husband's Vespas are hidden.
"Tada," I announce, gesturing with both hands to the original Italian mopeds. White and Ferrari red, they stand before us. "Today, we'll travel in style."
"No." Her body tenses up.
Really? Does she have absolutely no fun in life? "But you have to try everything the guests can do. And a Vespa tour is precisely what tourists want to do in Tuscany."
She places her hands on her hips. "Oh, really? You don't even live here. How do you know what tourists like to do?"
Because I grew up here. That would be the right answer, but I don't say it. I don't want her to start asking questions about the past. "You have no idea what you're missing," I respond disappointedly, closing the garden gate.
Suddenly, she seems remorseful. "I'm sorry," she says even though she doesn't need to apologize to me for holding back any feelings of happiness.
I wave it off. "No problem. It's your life." As I say the words, I suddenly feel that a part of me doesn't want to accept it. What's the point? Why is it so important to me to tease the real Hanna out of her?
"Shall we take my car?" She points at the mundane Golf that I had planned to leave in the parking lot outside the estate.
"Sure," I say with a shrug, trying to shake off my disappointment about not making her smile. I shouldn't feel like this.
Side by side, we trudge back to the car. But even during the drive, I can't help but secretly observe her. My gaze lingers on her lips. Way too long. They look soft.
Now they move. "There it is, right? Vico?" She turns to me. "We've arrived."
A jolt runs through my body, and I startle, opening my eyes wide.
Right, there it is, Spiaggia bianche.
I try to collect myself as Hanna already leaves the car.
What was that just now?
Doesn't matter at all. Now is the time to be myself again.
Maybe we can take the speedboat or rent some Jet Skis. A bit of adrenaline would be just right to prevent these strange feelings from resurfacing.
"I hope you brought your bikini," I say with a deliberately casual tone, slamming the car door shut.
Either she didn't hear me or she's pretending not to. "Where can I take good photos?" she asks with her businesslike voice, and once again, disappointment fills me.
Why can't she forget her stupid camera and checklist for once? We're at the most beautiful beach in Tuscany, and all she can think about is her obligations.
Regretfully, I point to the southern end of the parking lot. "If we walk this way, we'll reach the natural beach. Pictures of that will attract tourists like moths to a flame."
She shoulders her backpack and marches ahead. I look at her in bewilderment. Just two days ago, I got her to be a bit more relaxed in the car and even hum along to the radio. Today, she's acting even stuffier than ever.
It's better this way anyway , I remind myself, catching up to her and walking silently beside her until the beach comes into view.
In radiant white, interspersed with some dune grass, it lies before us. Only a few brightly painted beach huts line this stretch, which is still deserted in March.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" I ask Hanna, who stands next to me.
"Mm-hmm," she simply says, letting her gaze wander several times over the scenery. Her expression is now a little softer, and I catch glimpses of her enchanting beauty.
Everyone feels the same way when they see this place for the first time. No one expects to find a beach like this in Tuscany, where you feel as if you're in the Caribbean. The extremely light seashells and the turquoise sea gently lapping at the shore create such an exotic atmosphere that only palm trees are missing to complete the illusion.
Suddenly, she slings the backpack from her shoulder. "The water is fantastic. Truly amazing." She pulls out her camera and takes several photos.
"Ciao, Vico!" someone calls from a distance.
I know that voice. I look around and spot my best buddy from my youth standing in front of one of the huts, waving. Adriano hasn't changed much. His jet-black hair is cut shorter, but his wide grin is still the same. He's already coming toward me, ready to give me a big hug.
I can't help but smile. "Hey, stranger."
"Man, Vico, I had no idea you were here," he says, patting me on the back several times before releasing me from his embrace.
"Just arrived a few days ago. I was going to get in touch, but you know how time flies." In the corner of my eye, I notice Hanna giving me a penetrating look.
Adriano, already tanned by this time of year, waves it off. "Doesn't matter, we're here now." His gaze shifts to Hanna. "I had no idea you… but I'm glad. That's… wonderful."
Both Hanna and I raise our hands at the same time.
"I'm just showing her around and introducing her to the area. Nothing more," I say, trying to appear as cool as possible.
"So you're the one," he responds with a sympathetic look. "I heard about it. Must be tough, man."
He knows. Of course, he knows. Collina da sogno is a cursed village; there are no secrets here. While I strain to think of a way to quickly end the conversation, Hanna takes a step forward.
"What's tough?" she asks with anxious curiosity.
"Nothing," I hastily reply before Adriano can say anything, giving him a meaningful look. Hanna must not learn about my family history. Besides, complaining won't change the facts.
For a moment, Adriano glances between Hanna and me, then he forces a smile. "I'm sorry, but duty calls. I should…" he says with a questioning tone, which Hanna surely can pick up.
Great.
I nod. "It was nice meeting you."
"Keep in touch." He gives me a quick hug again before striding back through the sand to the blue-and-white-painted hut with a corrugated tin roof.
"That was strange," Hanna comments and puts her camera back in her backpack. "What's so tough?"
"He's just upset because I didn't get in touch," I say, relieved that this excuse came to me so quickly, and I grin at her. "So what about your bikini? Did you bring it?"
As if I suggested swimming with sharks without a cage, she freezes. "I…"
Her reaction to riding a Vespa was somewhat understandable, but what's the issue with a little water? "Can't you swim?"
Anxiously, she shakes her head.
Something in her expression compels me to ask further. "Why not?"
Her lower lip disappears into her mouth, and her fingers fidget nervously. She takes a deep breath and looks out at the sea, as if seeking the answer. "I never learned properly," she finally says.
"Are there no lakes in Austria? Or swimming pools?" I signal her to walk a few steps along the beach with me.
Hesitantly, she takes off her shoes and joins me at the water's edge, where the sand is moistened by the gently rolling waves. "Of course, we have them."
"But Austrians only learn to ski as children, right?" I inquire, kicking my flip-flops aside so the sand doesn't rub between my skin and the fabric.
Silently, she shakes her head.
It's none of my business. And I don't want to know either. "You're afraid. Afraid of so many things," I say anyway. "Tell me why."
Her gaze flickers to me as if she's trying to assess if she can trust me. On an impulse, I nod. It takes what feels like an eternity before she opens her mouth.
"When I was six, I nearly drowned." She looks at me apologetically, and suddenly, nothing remains of the controlled businesswoman she showed me so often in the past few days. The subtly accusing expression has vanished into thin air as well.
"That must have been terrifying." No wonder she's so afraid. Now I feel bad for not taking her panic seriously earlier.
"I had just learned to swim, and I thought I was good. In the public pool, I could swim several laps without any problem." She tucks her hair behind her ear and gazes into the distance. "I was confident that I was ready to try it in the lake." Her voice falters.
I can barely contain the urge to wrap my arm protectively around her delicate body. Instead, I clear my throat loudly to dispel this inappropriate thought. "What happened?"
She shrugs. "I swam out. And the next thing I remember is lying on the shore, coming back to my senses. With the taste of lake water in my mouth."
Now it's my turn to say something. But I have no idea what could comfort her. "I'm sorry for pushing you earlier," I mumble, feeling like a complete idiot.
"You couldn't have known," she replies with a smile.
"Tell me more about yourself," I find myself saying. "Why are you afraid of motorcycles?"
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize it was a mistake. The less I know about her, the better. That way, we won't get too close, and that's all that matters. She evokes a feeling in me that I already experienced during our first encounter. A warm glow that I must not pay attention to if I don't want to end up like my father someday.
Chewing on her lower lip, she crosses her arms over her chest. "Because I get hurt with everything, even if it's not as dangerous as riding a motorcycle. The incident in the lake wasn't the only one that terrified my parents."
In my thoughts, the scar I noticed under her chin during our first meeting resurfaces. Who knows where else she may have suffered injuries. Can someone really be so clumsy?
"So you've started taking good care of yourself," I continue her earlier words. "Maybe a bit too much?"
She shakes her head with effort. "My life is fine. I lack nothing. I am healthy, and no one needs to worry about me," she reassures.
Fine is not enough. "But if you never allow yourself to do something outside of your comfort zone, you risk missing out on so much," I counter. Although I now understand better why she behaves this way, it's still hard for me to see how much she locks herself away.
"Each of us can only live one life," she turns her head to look at me. "We choose one path and will never know what the other might have brought us."
Maybe that's true. "But how do you know if you've chosen right?" I inquire.
The corners of her mouth lift, and her expression takes on that dangerously dreamy charm. "Perhaps with the heart," she says so softly that my knees suddenly feel weak.