Chapter 29
Hanna
I take a plate from the drying rack in the sink. The coffee machine gurgles. "Would you like some jam with your biscotti?" I ask Florian, who has settled comfortably on the only chair that doesn't look like it could collapse at any moment.
"Sure," he looks up from his phone. "When will the coffee be ready?"
We're running late; Florian has to leave again in an hour to make it back to Tyrol on time. "It'll be ready in a moment," I reply quickly, setting up two cups. At the same time, I wonder when this automatism between us has set in, where I serve him so naturally.
When was the last time he did something nice for me?
He brought me roses. That was very nice of him. Wasn't it?
I carefully fill the cups. "Can you help me here?" I ask afterward, feeling like a new person. I've never asked him to do anything for me, but if I want to fulfill my intention of living more for myself, that has to change too.
He furrows his brow, looking up from his phone again. I smile at him and gesture to his coffee cup and the plate of biscotti. For a moment, he seems like he doesn't understand the world, but then he gets up from the chair to help me with breakfast. "I really need to talk to Signor Olivetta. Our lawyer found some details in the contract that raised some concerns," he says, sitting back down. "Hopefully, he can speak English."
I have no idea if Vico's father speaks English. Although he supposedly lives at the estate too, I've never met him. Nobody talks about him. He's like a ghost. "Shall I translate for you?"
"I can handle it easily. After all, this Camilla will be there too." He sips the hot brew and grabs a biscotto.
"I understand." I nod convincingly because I do. There's nothing this man can't handle.
Unavoidably, I wonder who wouldn't dream of having such a partner. As I contemplate this, I lean against the rustic kitchen counter with my coffee.
"Besides, I noticed a lot of things are still left on the checklist."
I try to ignore his reproachful tone. Mostly because I'm not sure if it's justified. I have to get everything done within a week and return to help at the inn. So it's fine if he asks about the annoying checklist, right? "I'll get to work right after breakfast."
Florian takes another bite and grunts in approval. Then he jumps up from his chair, causing it to rattle loudly against the stone floor. "I really have to go now. Wish me luck."
"Good luck," I say, doing my best not to think about what his luck means for the Olivettas. "Will we see each other later?"
For a moment, he furrows his brow. "You wanted to get started too. Have you forgotten?"
Right.
I instantly feel foolish. Instinctively, I slap my forehead with the palm of my hand. "Sorry, I guess I'm not fully awake yet."
He comes closer with a gentle expression, taking my face in his warm hands. "I trust you, Hanna."
"You can," I confirm hastily, just to make myself feel better.
He nods. "I know." His lips find mine briefly, "I'll miss you."
I should say the same in return, but instead, I wave it off. "It's just a few days."
"Still, I can't wait," he says with a soft voice and kisses me again.
"Your appointment," I mumble against his lips. I have this feeling that I should be more affectionate. I should show him how important he is to me and that I can't bear the idea of parting ways in a few seconds. But something inside me resists.
The part of me that unnecessarily keeps thinking about Vico.
"Right," he pulls away. With an inquisitive expression, he strokes my cheek one last time. Does he suspect what I was just thinking? "See you next week. I'll come back here once more. That way, we can spend a few hours together at the estate," he says with such longing that I feel even more ashamed of my uncontrollable feelings.
Florian is a great man. A caring partner and someone I can always rely on. And what am I doing? I question every word and gesture of his. I obsessively try to figure out if we truly belong together.
All because of a man I've only known for two weeks.
It's crazy. And it's completely unfair to Florian.
"Finally, we'll be together every day again," he adds with a joyful expression.
The fact that he clearly has no idea about the turmoil inside me makes my stomach clench even more. "That's great," I reply hastily, forcing a smile on my face.
***
Twenty minutes later, I stand in front of Vico's VW bus, uncertain, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The look he gave me yesterday before walking away without a word is clearer in my mind than the beauty of the estate surrounding me.
It would be better if I didn't knock on that door. We shouldn't spend any more time together. Yet here I am, staring at the glimmering silver handle of the sliding door in the sunlight.
I couldn't resist. A part of me needs answers. I must find out what exists between us. Perhaps, it's only me who feels it. Maybe it's just an ephemeral spark, ignited by the idyllic surroundings and the vacation ambience.
With a scraping sound, the door begins to move. Vico appears before me, his shoulder-length hair pulled back at the nape. "Hanna," he says, looking at me as if I were a ghost.
I raise my hand. "Hey… uh…" Great, now I'm at a loss for words.
He continues to slide open the door, steps out of the camper, and looks around. "Is he gone?" I can't discern anything from his tone.
I nod briefly, lowering my gaze. As if I didn't already have enough guilt toward Florian, now I also have feelings bubbling up for Vico. Because I realize that I am not an innocent in our strange situation. Again and again, I have taken a step toward him.
"Good," he responds tersely. "Let's go for a drive."
He's not angry.
If he had feelings for me, he should be, after seeing me with Florian yesterday, right? Perhaps I only imagined that there was a spark between us?
"What are we going to see?" I ask, feeling confused.
His smile makes my knees weak without reason. "I know of something that you'll surely enjoy."
I don't even consider asking what it is. I'm just relieved to be getting away from here. Strolling alone next to Vico while knowing that Florian is nearby feels strange. Even as he sits beside me in the car, and our forearms almost touch, my emotions ride a roller coaster.
Guilt. And longing.
Everything blends together, causing my heartbeat to remain unsteady throughout the entire ride. As usual, Vico doesn't reveal our destination, but unlike before, it doesn't bother me at all. I even feel excited because his surprises have never disappointed me.
Vico fiddles with the radio, and soon Umberto Tozzi's voice fills the speakers. I join in, and with each chorus, I notice the music soothing my inner unrest. It doesn't take long before I'm singing along wholeheartedly.
After an hour's drive, we arrive in a quaint village that exudes a sense of history. Vico grins at me expectantly. "Are you ready?"
I can't help but smile back because, in his presence, everything seems effortless and uncomplicated. Enjoying life with him comes naturally. And that's what I want. This feeling is too beautiful not to savor. "Absolutely."
We leave the car behind and stroll toward the heart of the village. "This is Pietrasanta, the artistic center of Tuscany," Vico explains along the way.
Two enormous sculptures shaped like faces emerge before us, skillfully arranged beside an ancient olive tree. Their rugged surfaces carry an impressive beauty within. Instantly, a matching melody resonates within me. I sway to the rhythm, letting my gaze roam freely. "Wow, they are magnificent."
"And there are many more," he says, smiling warmly as if he delights in my delight. Then he reaches for my hand, pulling me along.
We venture into an alleyway lined with studios and art workshops. I discover elegantly curved marble sculptures, metal creations seemingly entwined with trees, and graceful stone figures. With each new find, I feel happier. I even allow my imagination to run wild, combining different artworks in my mind and listening to the music they create within me. In my mind's eye, a new world takes shape. Everything feels possible.
With my hand firmly in his, I feel like I'm breathing in this village with its medieval core and majestic architecture. Inspiration fills me in a way I've never experienced before.
"It's wonderful. Thank you for bringing me here," I say, looking up at him, seeing his gentle expression.
His thumb strokes the palm of my hand. "I'm glad you like it."
It would be better if I withdrew my hand. Because despite everything, I know this isn't right. We shouldn't touch each other anymore until I gain clarity about my confusing feelings. So I gather my resolve and let go of his fingers.
Immediately, he steps back.
Even though I really don't want to talk about it, I feel like I owe Vico an explanation. "I didn't know he was coming."
His worn-out flip-flops snap against the concrete with each step. "It was…"
"…very surprising, you're right," I finish his sentence. "I…" My God, what should I tell Vico?
That I shouldn't have kissed him anyway? That I'm so afraid of getting entangled with him here? We've only known each other for two weeks. That's too short a time to have real feelings, if at all. Besides, I have no idea if his heart races too when we spend time together.
"Why are you with Florian?" He sighs heavily, his hands now firmly tucked into his pockets, and gazes straight ahead at the cathedral we're approaching.
I take a moment because his question isn't easy to answer. Since Florian showed up yesterday, it has already been consuming my thoughts. I haven't reached a conclusion yet.
"When we became a couple, I was eighteen," I start telling him, not only for Vico's sake but also to finally understand what's right and what's wrong.
I see his jaw clench, the muscles tense. "That wasn't my question."
True. Nervously, I fidget with my fingers. "I believe we complement each other well. He always has a plan and knows what we need to do next."
Unchanged, Vico lets me see only his profile. "So he's the boss."
"If you put it that way, it sounds like I have no say, but that…" Suddenly, I can't continue. I can't come up with a single example to prove to Vico that it's definitely not like that. "Florian is just an organized person, which can't be said about me." As I speak the words, I realize I've not only forgotten the stupid checklist in the car but also the camera. How could I let that happen again?
Abruptly, he stops and looks at me intensely. "Yet you have an incredible talent," he says, as if reproaching me for my self-critical words.
Maybe. "A talent that's good for nothing," I reply quickly nonetheless because, in the world we live in, imagination doesn't count. Numbers, facts, ambition—those are the values that truly matter. "If it wasn't for Florian, I would have ended up on the streets. That's the truth." I feel ashamed admitting it, but it's the reality. Without Florian, I would never have made it.
He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "What?"
I nibble on my lower lip and think about how best to explain it to him. Soon, I realize it doesn't matter. If I want to be myself, I don't have to choose my words carefully anymore. I can simply speak my mind.
"When my father passed away, my mother was left alone with two children and a pile of debts. We had enough to eat only because the other villagers supported us," I say, walking again to keep my inner turmoil under control. Still, I immediately feel the shame that accompanied me day by day back then.
Every time I had to leave the house wearing a faded jacket. Each moment when the owner of the village store handed me a chocolate bar with a pitying smile.
Until then, I had no idea what poverty really felt like. It's not the hunger, nor the cold when the heating only runs on emergency mode. It's the overwhelming feeling of shame that hurts the most.
I clear my throat to push the memory away. "My brother Noah had just finished high school and started working with the mountain rescue team. But his salary wasn't enough, so I had to drop out of school and start an apprenticeship."
"That must have been tough for you," Vico says absentmindedly, hooking his arm with mine.
I shake my head. "School wasn't a pleasant place for me. I was too dreamy, constantly unfocused, forgot my homework, and mathematics felt like being trapped in a hall of mirrors." I wasn't made for that world. "I couldn't believe my luck when I found an apprenticeship at a nursery."
A smile flickers on Vico's face. "I can imagine. There, your creative flair must have been highly appreciated, and you could blossom."
If he only knew… For a fraction of a second, the furious face of my former boss appears, returning the bouquet I had arranged because it wasn't exactly as she demanded. "It was more like paint-by-numbers," I reply sadly, but that's not the point now. "I didn't complete the apprenticeship."
"Because you didn't enjoy it?"
I could never afford that luxury. "Bankruptcy," I say absentmindedly. "I was seventeen and more or less on the streets." Of course, I could have stayed with Noah, but that wouldn't have been a long-term solution. "The village where I grew up is small. I tried to find another job, but… well… people knew me. They knew that…" That I'm Hanna Daydreamer. No one wants to hire someone like that.
We pass by the imposing bronze statues in front of a museum, but not even they can distract me.
"Florian took me in," I finally blurt out, not wanting to delve into the circumstances of my job search. He was so good to me, so selfless and generous; I will never forget it. "At first, I worked as a chambermaid at the guesthouse. But over time, we grew closer, and… well, we became a couple." I hear myself, and it doesn't sound convincing at all. But that's how it happened. It came slowly, without much emotional upheaval. Does that make it any less valuable?
For a moment, Vico hesitates, as if he has to overcome something in his mind before he speaks. "Do you love him?"
By now, I know I can't answer that question with certainty. What does love feel like? What makes true love? What Florian and I have is good. And I should be grateful to have him by my side. Even if the idea of intense passion has always seemed romantic to me, it's not a necessary condition to build a life together. True love is ultimately just wishful thinking. Or is it?
My heart rebels against this rational thought.
"What is love?" I ask softly. "Feeling safe? Always being able to rely on each other? Or is it something more? Something that goes beyond that?"
Could love possibly be that overwhelming feeling that changes everything?
In search of an answer, I look at Vico. And I see a mixture of panic and longing in his eyes.
"What is love?" I repeat once more, pressing for an answer, not knowing what I really want to hear from him.
He opens his mouth, hesitates, exhales shakily, and begins again. But just as he's about to speak, my phone rings loudly, and his lips close again.