CHAPTER 11
Micaela de Luca Bianchi stretches languidly in bed like a cat basking in the morning sun. Indeed, she has slept far better than the night before. She slowly opens her eyes and removes the earplugs, a small but significant victory against the nightly disturbances.
Following Victoria”s outburst, Micaela had shut down her computer and ascended to the sanctuary of the bathroom. Her nightly dental routine is meticulous, guided by an app on her phone that times her brushing. While waiting, she rummages through the drawers and discovers a box of earplugs— a treasure to combat the bear-like snoring of her roommate. When she returns to their shared room, she can”t help but smirk at the fortress Victoria has built on the bed with a line of cushions.
”And she calls me the immature one,” Micaela mutters under her breath, remembering the childish scene.
As she gets out of bed, she notices that the elder writer isn”t there, so she heads downstairs to brew her espresso. But as she turns towards the kitchen, she spots Victoria outside on the patio, nestled in a hammock with a latte and a book in hand.
”Good morning,” Micaela greets, her voice carrying over the crisp morning air, a dark espresso in her grasp.
”Hello,” Victoria responds without looking up.
”Sleep well? You don”t look as radiant as yesterday,” Micaela teases, unable to resist poking fun at her.
Victoria sips her latte and sets the cup down to continue reading her novel. She”s not in the mood for Micaela”s antics and chooses to ignore her.
”Aren”t you coming in?” Micaela asks, checking the time on her phone. ”We should get started.”
”Actually, I have no intention of coming in. It”s quite nice out here. But go ahead, star, start writing,” Victoria dismisses her, turning a page with a flick of her wrist.
Micaela clenches her jaw, a flush of irritation warming her cheeks. She”s starting to suspect that every jab she throws at Victoria will be met with an equal force. But the writer with Italian heritage isn”t about to stop or lower her standards. She still believes in her talent, convinced that this wretched writer”s block will soon pass.
”As you wish,” Micaela retorts, spinning on her heel to head back inside.
”Damn it, damn it all!” Micaela exclaims, deleting the scant four words she”s managed to type again. She”s lost track of how long she”s been sitting there, wrestling with the next scene for their joint book.
With a scowl that”s more bluster than menace, she stomps back outside, determined to drag Victoria back to work.
”Are you planning to stay there all day?” Micaela”s voice cuts through the warm air, sharp and tinged with annoyance.
”Yes,” Victoria replies curtly, her response clipped and final.
”We”re here to write, not for you to lounge on the sofa or soak up the sun with your book,” Micaela fires back, her voice quivering slightly — not with anger, but with the underlying fear that Victoria might just give up on their project. She can”t even fathom the next chapter.
”Let me remind you, we”re here because of your inability to write anything beyond steamy scenes,” Victoria snaps back, her tone acidic. ”And since you”re acting like a diva, you can sort it out yourself. Clearly, you don”t need me.”
”Who even says ”fornicate” anymore?” Micaela scoffs, trying to lighten the mood but failing to mask the seriousness of their situation.
Victoria sighs and shakes her head, feeling like she”s trapped in detention with a petulant teenager. Micaela realizes she needs to dial back her attitude, at least temporarily, because otherwise, Victoria won”t be inclined to help. She swallows the harsh words she had thought but never voiced.
”I can”t get anything out, I”m still blocked, and no matter how hard I try, I can”t write a full paragraph properly,” Micaela confesses, her frustration evident.
For the first time, Victoria looks up, meeting Micaela”s eyes directly. ”Ask nicely,” she demands.
”Excuse me?” Micaela”s voice is tinged with confusion and surprise.
”Come on, Micaela, show some manners and ask politely.”
Micaela”s throat goes dry for two reasons. This is the first time Victoria has used her name instead of some flippant remark, and it unnerves her more than she”d like to admit. And secondly, the audacity of Victoria wanting her to beg for help is infuriating, but Micaela knows she has no other choice.
”Please, Victoria, could you get up from that chair and come inside so you can help me get unstuck?” Micaela pleads, her pride stinging as much as the smirk spreading across what she”s starting to consider her adversary”s face.
”What else?” Victoria asks, her tone lofty.
”What the hell do you want?” Micaela”s face flushes from pale to a deep red.
”One of those dinners you brag about. I assume that if you haven”t managed to write anything lately, you”ve at least been perfecting your culinary skills,” Victoria throws one of her sharpest barbs yet.
Micaela presses her hand against her face, squeezing the bridge of her nose tightly. ”Tonight, I”ll cook my specialty,” she responds firmly, ”but only if you help me return to my former self. Then, I”ll take care of cooking every day, both lunch and dinner.”
”It seems we have a deal,” Victoria says, her smile broadening as she closes her book and stands up. ”Shall we go inside?”
Both women enter the living room and sit at the table, Victoria in front of the computer and Micaela beside her. Victoria opens the writing program, removes her glasses to clean them, and, once she puts them back on, focuses on the blinking cursor on the screen.
”I”ll write the next chapter,” Victoria states. ”I think once you read it, you”ll have an idea of how to continue. Plus, even though each of us has our own style, we need to see how well we can write together without a glaring disparity.”
”Our styles are going to clash. You”re all about the sappy stuff, and I”m hardcore erotica,” Micaela says, her brow furrowed like she”s stating the obvious.
”Even if you do write, well, adult content, we should have something in common. In writing,” she quickly clarifies. ”Remember what Javier, the marketing director, said during that meeting? He thinks we communicate similarly. Let”s see if he”s right.”
”Fine, while you write, I”ll take a shower. When I come back, I hope you”ll be done so I can read it,” the writer with the Italian surnames explains.
Victoria doesn”t respond; instead, she switches into what seems like autopilot mode and begins to type furiously. Micaela watches her for a moment, captivated by her intense focus which she finds unexpectedly attractive. But as soon as she catches herself, she spins around and hurries upstairs to the bathroom.
When Micaela returns, clad in fresh clothes with her hair damp and clinging to her neck, Victoria can”t tear her eyes away. She looks effortlessly beautiful with her mouth, usually so crude, gently closed. As soon as the Italian-named woman turns her head toward the table and sees nobody there, Victoria averts her gaze.
”I”m done,” Victoria calls out from the kitchen, ”I”ve left the chapter there for you to check.”
”That quick? I was barely gone,” Micaela says, astounded, realizing that Victoria isn”t just a fountain of wisdom but also seamlessly translates her thoughts into text.
”Yes, it just flowed out. Go ahead, sit down and let me know if you need any help,” Victoria replies and starts making a hot cocoa, dipping cookies shaped like cartoon characters into it.
”Do you have the tastes of a seven-year-old?” Micaela teases as she sees her colleague”s snack choice, but a fierce look from Victoria wipes the smirk off her face. ”Okay, I”m going.”
Micaela sits in front of the laptop and reads the chapter written by the woman from Toledo. She”s not a fan of intense romance, yet she has to admit Victoria”s way of communicating is exquisite. She opens a new document, just as the veteran taught her, and begins to infuse the story with the erotic tone that marks her style.
Twenty minutes later, the tension from the morning returns. Her hands sweat, her mind throws out only the most absurd ideas. She”s overwhelmed.
”Damn it, I can”t do this,” she blurts out, frustrated and defeated.
”What”s wrong? Let me see what you”ve written,” Victoria approaches, and her eyes widen when she sees that the screen is still blank. ”You haven”t written anything.”
”I know. It”s infuriating. I think I”m not cut out to be a writer. I had a stroke of luck that”s run out, and I need to accept it,” Micaela says, her eyes brimming with tears. Broken.
It’s the first time Victoria sees her like this, so utterly defeated. She realizes that beneath the diva facade and coarse language hides a woman terrified for her professional future.
”Don”t say that. You”re a talented writer going through a rough patch,” Victoria reassures her sincerely, ”This happens to many in our field.”
”To many, but not to you,” the younger writer clarifies.
”I”ve been in this game my whole life, Micaela. I”ve hit some rough patches, but I”ve always found a way out,” Victoria says, her tone soothing, as she pulls up a chair next to her younger colleague. She begins laying out a series of ideas, drawing from her deep well of experience. Micaela listens, captivated not just by Victoria”s knowledge but by the passionate way she speaks about the craft of writing. If only Victoria weren”t so incessantly prickly and complaining, Micaela muses, they might get along far better.
By the time Victoria finishes, Micaela is armed with enough inspiration to start typing immediately. ”I”m done!” she exclaims, a surge of euphoria rushing through her as she reviews her work, satisfied with the result.
”Let me read it,” Victoria says, nudging Micaela gently from the chair, her eagerness palpable. She”s desperate for Micaela to break through her writer”s block, her thoughts drifting momentarily to the cozy sofa waiting at her home in Toledo.
”What do you think?” Micaela asks, her voice tinged with hopeful excitement.
”You”ve got it, see? It”s not so hard,” Victoria responds, her eyes wide with encouragement. ”I need to make some calls and handle a few things. Take a break, and later we can plot out the story. It”ll make things easier moving forward.”
”Are you ducking out to have your old lady nap again?” Micaela teases with a smirk.
”Don”t make me leave you high and dry without any help,” Victoria shoots back, fully aware of the leverage she holds at the moment.
Micaela”s smirk fades, and she raises her hands in a gesture of surrender. ”Okay, okay, but don”t get mad,” she says with a guilty grin. ”Excitement can be dangerous at your age,” she adds, chuckling as she darts away like a child who”s just played a prank.
”How long have we been at this?” Micaela asks, her voice rising over the sizzle of shrimp sautéing in garlic and olive oil.
They”ve spent hours plotting the novel, a technique Victoria swears by, especially with complex stories featuring numerous characters. They”ve moved to the island in the center of the kitchen, where Micaela starts dinner preparations while they continue their creative work.
”With everything we”ve outlined, we”ve got at least twenty chapters,” Victoria says, her smile reassuring. ”This should help you ease into the flow of the story.”
”It sounds easy when you say it, but I”m not so sure,” Micaela replies, expertly flambéing tomatoes like a seasoned chef.
”You”ll see, it will be,” Victoria encourages. ”But if it doesn”t pan out, you could always consider a culinary career,” she adds, nodding appreciatively as the aroma fills the air.
”Very funny,” Micaela responds, visibly more relaxed in the kitchen”s comforting embrace. ”We”re almost ready to eat.”
Micaela approaches the corner table in the kitchen with the precision of a Michelin-starred chef. From her Italian roots, she knows that dining is an art that starts with stellar presentation. She arranges the plates with a delicate touch, setting each item just so, and places the bottle of chilled white wine with a flourish.
”Sit down, I hope you”ll enjoy this,” she says to Victoria, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she surveys her work.
Victoria eyes the spread, her mouth watering unabashedly. ”Everything looks delicious,” she says, sounding almost reverent.
”Spaghetti frutti di mare,” Micaela announces, pointing to the pasta dish, ”and focaccia with sun-dried tomatoes and burrata. Would you like some wine? It”s quite good.”
”Yes, please. I”ve never tried this one before,” Victoria responds, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and a hint of vulnerability that the meal”s intimacy brings.
Micaela lifts her glass in a toast, takes a sip of wine, and picks up her fork to dive into the pasta, encouraging Victoria to do the same.
”My God! This is spectacular,” Victoria exclaims after her first bite, closing her eyes to savor the flavors more deeply.
Watching her, Micaela can”t help but find Victoria incredibly appealing at this moment, more than she has in a long time. She shakes her head slightly, trying to dispel these thoughts. There are many days ahead in this house, and her body is already stirring with an unfamiliar warmth.