Chapter 54
James
I shift the camera so that the lens rests between my left thumb and forefinger. Maso flicks the ball up from his toe to his chest, down to his knee, back up to his head. I snap away, the huge grin he’s wearing lighting up the frame as much as the sun hanging directly overhead.
“Lose the camera and come play,” he says without pausing his juggling.
“My back’s bothering me,” I tell him.
He makes a face and kicks the ball my way anyway.
“Did Ava hurt your back?” he asks, the joy in the grin turning to something far more devilish.
I put the camera on the chair next to me and get a toe beneath the ball to flick it back up in the air without answering his pervy question—mostly because he’s right—I am sore from Ava. We’ve only left the bedroom for meals and passeggiata with the family. And I still haven’t had enough of her.
Honestly, I don’t know if I ever will.
The sting of knowing she doesn’t feel the same way reminds me that there are tough days ahead. She doesn’t feel the way I feel, which should make it easier to let her go—knowing that the love is one-sided. But it doesn’t.
Right now she’s in the guest house with my phone and computer, finally calling Tammy back and writing that email to her father. And I’m giving her plenty of space.
Massimo clears his throat and pushes a hand through his curly hair.
“You should focus more on getting your own life than what’s going on with mine,” I say, floating the ball his way.
He receives the pass effortlessly.
“Not much excitement happening in Urbino, that’s why I’m pumped about—”
He meets my gaze as the ball hits off his shoulder and rolls away.
“Pumped about what, Maso?” I ask.
He shakes his head and starts to jog after the ball.
“Niente,” he says. “Just some party.”
Maso is a lot of things, but a good liar is not one of them. The kid is more transparent than a windshield. They tried to plan a surprise party for my thirtieth and Maso gave it away before they’d even settled on a date.
“Maso—”
He dribbles the ball in the opposite direction toward the field, waving to me over his shoulder. I could run after him, but he’s too damn fast. What the hell is he up to?
I head for the barn knowing Nina is in there milking the sheep. If Maso has a secret, Nina will know it. In fact, if anyone in Urbino has a secret, Nina will know it.
The warmth in the barn hits me like a wet, hay-scented towel. The sheep let out a few nervous bleats and stomp, sending up clouds of dust, alerting Nina to my presence. She spares me a glance over her shoulder, not losing any rhythm as she grips and releases Elisabetta’s udders.
“Nipote, are you here to help? I just stripped Lu so she’s ready,” she says, nudging a stool my way. I sit beside her facing the opposite direction, then pull an empty pail beneath Luciana, who watches me suspiciously.
“I’m here because your son is up to something,” I tell her, getting to work, matching her rhythm. When I first came here, the two dairy sheep Nina had were my favorite distraction from my anger and grief. We’d sit like this twice a day, once in the morning before school and once in the late afternoon before dinner prep, and at first we barely said a word. Just sat there beside each other, working to bring the sheep relief as the pail filled up with the milk used for the delicious casciotta Nina has perfected over time.
“Certo. Maso is always up to something, no?” she says.
I study the side of her face looking for clues.
“Sì, ma questa è differente. You are up to something too.” Luciana lets out a low bleat and I turn my attention to what I’m doing, making sure the pressure isn’t too much on the ewe.
“And don’t think you’re off the hook about Davenport. I know you knew he was stopping by.”
She turns down her lips and shrugs a little.
“I don’t make a habit of turning down guests, Gi. Specialmente, ones who recognize my nipote for the genius that he is,” she says, then stops her milking and gives the ewe a pat on the side before standing with the pail of milk and heading off to the temperature-controlled room to mix it with the cow milk and let it coagulate.
“I’m not leaving home, Zia,” I say to her back, and her shoulders lift into another shrug.
“We will see, Gi,” she calls back to me. “Forse, you should find your uncle and speak to him.”
The door shuts behind her and I’m left dreading the conversation with Zio, staring up the wrong end of a sheep. Isn’t it enough that the woman I love—who does not love me—is leaving for the other side of the world? Now we need to add on some sort of treacherous scheming from my family?
I focus on the sound of the milk hitting the pail and let it partially drown out the bellowing thoughts and fears about Davenport, Ava, and my devious family.