Chapter 37
Hanna
Restlessly, I pace back and forth in my room. I still haven't told Florian about my accident or my diagnosis. Both should be easy for me, yet I find myself afraid of his reaction. With each passing day, the fear grows.
What if he's just as disappointed as Vico? How will he react when he realizes that our lives may never be the same again?
My fingers tremble, but I dial his number on my phone.
It rings. I walk to the window and peer through the white side panels of the curtains. No one is here. Three days have passed since Vico fled from me. There's no reason he would suddenly show up today. Perhaps it's for the best - for both of us. I need to stop picturing his angular face, hearing his soft tone, and wondering how he's doing.
"Hanna, how nice," Florian breathes heavily. He must have rushed to answer my call. "What's up?"
"Everything's fine," I reply without thinking and immediately bite my tongue. Breaking this automatism is not easy. I make a new attempt. "It's just…"
There's a brief silence on the line. "Yes?"
"I…" Come on, Hanna. I broke my arm. Just say it. "When will you be here tomorrow?" Dammit. Why is it so easy for me to express what's on my mind with Vico, but not with Florian?
"I'll leave as soon as I get rid of the departing guests." I hear him typing on the computer in the background. "I'll be with you in the late afternoon."
"That sounds great." I glance at my casted arm. He'll find out about it tomorrow anyway. If I can't bring myself to tell him about the epilepsy today, at least I can mention the accident.
"Have you gone through the checklist?" Florian asks in his businesslike tone.
"Mm-hmm." Dammit, what's wrong with me? I can't lie to him. It's not a shame that I haven't completed everything.
Suddenly, it becomes so quiet that I can hear his breath. "Is something wrong?"
Now or never.
Three. Two. One . "I broke my arm," I manage to say with effort, turning away from the window and continuing to pace between the old wooden bed and the dresser.
"Oh, that's terrible!" Is it concern or astonishment in his tone?
Unconsciously, I nibble on my lower lip. "I was careless."
"But you should take good care of yourself," he replies, just as shaken as my mother used to be. He cares about me. "How did it happen?"
"An accident with the Vespa." I sigh, pausing and sinking down onto the bed. "I just wanted to go for a short ride," I say remorsefully. My anything is possible attitude has been shattered.
"Just a short ride?" he repeats incredulously. Of course, he can't comprehend it all, as he doesn't know this side of me.
"It was a mistake," I say helplessly, blinking away the tears welling up in my eyes.
A loud clearing of his throat is heard. "No problem, we'll handle it. After all, it's just a matter of time until you're fully recovered," he says determinedly, and suddenly, I don't know why I was worried in the first place. "And if a hospital bill comes in, we'll manage that too."
Oh no, I hope I haven't incurred any costs; we need every cent for the estate. "I'm so sorry," I murmur.
"My dear," Florian says affectionately, "it happened, and we can't change that."
Internally, I relax. I've delivered bad news, and he responded with understanding. We are, and will remain, a good team that can talk about anything. I just need to show him more of the woman I truly am, as I've never done in the past years.
"Thank you," I whisper into the phone, and a tear of relief escapes my eye. Now, I have the courage to tell him about my illness. "I…"
"Can you still do something for me with your arm?" he interrupts before I can reveal the whole truth. He sounds so motivated for our cause that I decide not to take away his joy. Not now.
"Sure." I straighten my back. "What do you need me to do?"
The typing on the keyboard resumes. "There's a newly opened vineyard nearby. They offer dinner amid the vineyards. Can you test it and take a few photos?"
Testing, yes. Taking photos will be challenging with my cast.
"Send me the address, and I'll see what I can do," I say anyway.
"You're the best." I think I hear a smile in his voice. "There's one more thing: the bungalow on the property. I thought it could be used for the workers during the renovation."
That sounds logical, but suddenly, I feel queasy at the thought. Swallowing hard, I try to maintain my composure.
"Give me the number of rooms and bathrooms, and check if we can fit in some extra mattresses or foldable beds. You know, the essentials," he continues with fervor. His enthusiasm shows me how much this project means to him.
He's fighting for us. Always for us.
"Consider it done," I try to sound as determined as he does. "Anything else?"
The sound of rustling papers is heard. "We have the cost estimates, and the loans are ready. I've summarized the outstanding contract points. Hopefully, we can resolve them soon. But we're already moving to the next round tomorrow," he mutters to himself, as if mentally going through everything. "Also, I need to reinspect the building's condition… Oh yes, one more thing. I want to arrange with the previous owners to vacate the main house immediately after the sale."
Immediately after the sale?
"Can you keep an eye on them, see if they're slowly packing up their belongings?" he asks me with a doubtful tone. "Even though the contract will probably take a few more weeks. It would be necessary for them to prepare for their move."
No, I can't do that.
How can I watch the family, whose fate has become so close to my heart in the past weeks, as they pack up their belongings in boxes? How does he expect me to do that? To stand in the doorway and supervise them? With a tight chest, I shake the thoughts from my head. "I still have a lot to do and probably won't have time for that," I reply. It's not the whole truth, but it's a step toward being more myself with Florian.
"You'll manage, I'm sure. I know I can always rely on you. Honestly, you're amazing," his affectionate words feel like a warm embrace. That's exactly what I need after all the turmoil and emotional upheaval of the past days. Florian is my haven.
"We'll see each other tomorrow. I can't wait," Florian adds before we say goodbye to each other.
Hesitantly, I lower the phone. At least now he knows about my casted arm, and I'll tell him the rest when the moment is right.
My phone screen lights up, showing a new message. It's the promised address of the winery. I've already reserved a table for you. Castello di Olmo, 7:00 PM. Be on time, so we can find out how well the kitchen is organized , I read in the message. Until then, you can keep an eye on the family's move it also adds,
I don't respond. Instead, I let the phone fall onto the bed and head outside. I want to be in the garden, to clear my mind. There, among the wonderfully fragrant flowers and the tall grass tickling my shins, I can embrace life and the feeling of freedom in my chest.
But as soon as I close the door to my room, Camilla appears at the entrance of the house. Under her arm, she clutches a stack of folded cardboard boxes, which she leans against the damp hallway wall. She spots me before I can hide.
"Hey," she says with a tired voice, grabbing one of the boxes and unfolding it.
I raise my hand and return her greeting. A heavy silence hangs between us. And this, even though we used to understand each other so well. We were friends. Today, I'm the cause of her sadness.
"Let me help you," I say on impulse and step toward her.
She nods toward my injured arm. "You should rest."
I can barely bear her caring concern. "Please. I already feel guilty enough." I probably shouldn't admit that. I should be tougher and think more about the business. But it's the truth, and Camilla can probably see it written all over my face.
Suddenly, her features soften too. "You can't help it. I know that, and Alessia does too."
I wish it were that simple. "We're taking away your home." That's not true.
She reaches for a picture on the wall, carefully takes it off the holder, and places it in the box. "But only because we're not capable of preserving it," she says softly.
Suddenly, Tyrol and everything that's important there seems miles away. And I realize that there's still a solution that could work for all of us. Florian and I can find another property for our new inn and build our secure future there, just as we've always dreamed. It doesn't have to be this one!
I feel the fervor rising, pushing aside the guilt that has built up inside me over the past few weeks. I'm sure I can convince Florian, but as long as the Olivettas lack a plan to resume olive oil production, it won't help them.
"Is there no way to save the estate?" I ask urgently. "If Vico…" No, I won't even speak those words. Because that thought is still fuel to the fire of my quietly smoldering longing, a longing that must not flare up again.
She packs a candleholder into the box. "Vico…" she mutters absentmindedly. "He has changed." Suddenly, she looks directly at me. "Because of you."
She shouldn't say something like that. I better pretend not to understand what she means. Besides, there are more important things to discuss. "Do you think he could still take over the estate?"
She nibbles on her lower lip. "When he returned home three weeks ago, he was like Mount Vesuvius. He thought I wouldn't notice, but I always knew that beneath his unapproachable facade, a fire was burning, one he had kept small for years."
"I have no idea what she's trying to tell me. So I just gesture for her to continue and lean against the cool wall behind me.
"Mother's death hit him hard too, but he didn't let anyone see it. Instead, he ran away," she says, shaking her head, and turns to the next picture. "He keeps insisting that he wants to be free. How important his career as a cliff diver is and that he can't survive without adrenaline."
"He does," I confirm, as I've seen the sparkle in his eyes more than once when he talked about his passion.
Camilla pauses in her work and brushes the fringes of her short haircut away from her face. "There was nothing more important to Vico than his family and his homeland in the past. He wanted to be nowhere else but here."
But that's it. That could be the solution! If Florian and I buy an alternative property and Vico returns here to run the estate, everyone would win. "Do you think there's still some of the old Vico left?"
"I don't know." She lifts her shoulders with a mournful look. "He probably would have done something to stop the sale if that were the case. But when I asked him yesterday to get Father's signature on the contract, he did it without batting an eye."
The contract already has one of the two necessary signatures? My stomach feels like it's filled with rocks. No. Florian just said on the phone that there are still clauses to be negotiated. The agreement is not ready for signing. There must be a miscommunication, which is quite possible given his fragmented Italian. And who knows how well Signor Olivetta speaks English.
"Ask him what his homeland means to him," Camilla continues with a soft voice. "If he tells anyone the truth, it will be you." There's something meaningful in her expression.
"No more," I reply quickly, because I actually believe that. It might have been true once. But that's over now.
As if my response doesn't bother her, she looks at me knowingly. "Ask him," she repeats insistently.
"We won't see each other anymore. I still have a lot to do today, and in the evening, I'll be testing the vineyard dinner at Castello di Olmo." And with the way Vico has been avoiding me lately, I don't think he wants to talk to me anyway. "It would be better if you talk to him."
Her forehead furrows, and I can almost see the question on her tongue. Fortunately, she doesn't ask it but reaches for another box to unfold. "I will," she murmurs thoughtfully and walks into the kitchen.