Chapter 16
Vico
Two days ago, we sat on the beach for hours, emptying the picnic basket filled with the finest Prosciutto crudo, Pecorino, and Chianti. We laughed together, gazed at the sea, shared moments of silence, and simply enjoyed life without dwelling on the heaviness that often surrounds it.
Since then, Hanna seems different. Even though the clipboard with the checklist remains her constant companion, she showed less of her businesslike demeanor during our trip to Siena yesterday. Surprisingly, that helps me to withstand the pressure the estate imposes on my chest a little better.
On all fours, she inspects the mosaic tiles in the kitchen. "We'll need to renovate the floor here. What kind of craftsmen do we need for that?"
"Perhaps a stonemason?" Although that was more of a question than an answer, she immediately jots it down in her notes. A contented smile plays on her lips. "It will look amazing."
Suddenly, I'm in my childhood memories. Back then, when Aurora and I painted the floor with chalk colors. Over there, in the corner next to the spacious kitchen island, we lay on our bellies and sketched our family as scribbled figures. Father, mother, children. Sun, trees, butterflies. A perfect picture.
Suddenly, I feel someone gently touching my arm. "Can you help me, please?"
"Sure," I reply, doing my best to shake off the memory. The less I let it resurface, the easier it is for me to spend time here. "Should I take the checklist for you?" I can't resist winking at her.
"Very funny." She grins amusedly. "I need you to hold the flashlight so I can see better." She opens the cupboard under the sink and motions for me to come closer before kneeling again. "Shine it in here, please."
I grab the flashlight and turn it on as she bends into the opening. My gaze inevitably lands on her curves.
"Where's the light?" her muffled voice asks.
What light?
Ah yes, the flashlight. Quickly, I direct it toward the under-sink cabinet. "How do you know about plumbing?" I ask, just to keep my thoughts from wandering again.
The click of a camera is heard, then she pulls her head out of the cabinet. The hair is even more tousled than usual, and dust clings to the crown of her head. "I don't," she admits with a guilty look. "Hence the photos."
When she only showed me the tough business lady, I was not able to recognize it. But now it’s becoming clearer to me that the true Hanna—the one with the captivating smile and the dreamy gaze—might not know quite so much about certain things after all. "Wouldn't it be easier to call a plumber to check the pipes on-site? It will be necessary for a cost estimate anyway."
She checks the pictures she just took. "Later. First, Florian needs to see it."
"Who is Florian?" I peek at the camera's display. The images only hint at what's under the sink.
"My partner. We want to buy the estate together," she explains and opens the next kitchen cupboard. "Oh man, is that mold?"
"Business partner or…" Wait, why am I even asking? It doesn't matter who this Florian is.
Her cheeks suddenly turn bright red. "Both."
For a moment, I'm lost for words. I have no idea why. I fear that I might be staring at her.
"I'll take a picture of the mold, then we can tackle the rooms upstairs again," she suddenly says hastily, disappearing up to her shoulders in the under-sink cabinet.
She's in a relationship?
"Can we?" Suddenly, she's next to me. How did she manage that so quickly? She tilts her head to the side, looking inquisitive. "Are you okay?"
"Sure." There is also no reason at all why it should be different. "Where do we go next?"
Her forehead wrinkles. "I already said. Upstairs."
"Alright. Don't forget your checklist." I force my lips into a smile, but they feel heavier than usual. Then I gesture for her to lead the way.
She immediately sets off. I stay for one more breath to get my thoughts in order.
That she has a boyfriend is not a big deal. Not a big deal at all. After all, she's just the buyer, and I'm just the owner's son showing her around, soon to leave and do the one thing that means the world to me. Everything else is unthinkable anyway.
Overwhelmed by a sudden fatigue, I follow her leisurely. When I reach the landing, she leans against the doorframe of the first room. However, instead of taking notes, she simply stands in the light of the setting sun, which makes her hair shine. I step up behind her, trying to discern what's distracting her from her work.
There is nothing. Just dust particles floating through the room as if moved by an unseen force. A crooked wooden floor, an old-fashioned lamp covered in cobwebs, and an armchair with velvet upholstery, which mice have undoubtedly made their home in. Yes, definitely. The dark pellets next to the lion's paws where the chair's legs meet are a clear indication.
"We used to accommodate seasonal workers here," I say because I feel embarrassed about the room's dilapidated state. I wait for a response in vain. Cautiously, I lean forward. "Hanna?"
She doesn't answer, but now that I'm so close to her, I can hear her humming a melody. And she has that look on her face again, as if she's seeing something so wondrous that it almost brings tears to her eyes. In a trance, she tilts her head to one side, then the other. The gentle light makes her skin appear soft, and her eyes are… so full of magic that I can't get enough of looking at them.
On the contrary, I want to examine them more closely. I yearn to discover what hides within the delicate sea-green pattern.
I cautiously touch her arm. "Hey."
Startled, she flinches, then looks around as if having difficulty realizing where she is.
"What were you dreaming about?" I ask gently.
Despite all my caution, she widens her eyes, turns away in shame, and forcefully pinches her forearm.