Chapter 20
I t took Andrea longer than I’d have liked, but he managed the new contract in time. I channel all my frustration and anxiety into the farmhouse and by the end of the week it actually looks like something . The walls are a fresh soft blue in the main living areas and gentle sage in the bedrooms. Wood floors gleam despite being pocked and scarred from many years of use.
Isabella even got someone to fix the broken front window. Mattress delivery was as covert as I could manage it. I even bamboozled a couch into the deal which now sits in the living area with decorative throw pillows finishing the look. Chiara ran interference by bringing the kittens into Giuliana’s office while the van kicked dust up along the drive. There’s been this unspoken pact between all of us. And now we have something to show for it.
I need to head into town to sign the contract but this evening I’ll finally show Giuliana what I’ve been up to. A week until harvest is cutting it close but I’ve managed it, with help of course. It really does take a village and I’ll be sorry to leave this one.
The clinic called with my results so I head there first—relieved when I get a clean bill of health and for the first time in my life, I don’t take it for granted. I actually care about the fact that I’m not physically rotting from the inside after using my body as an escape. The vaping’s been hard to kick but ultimately, it’s for the best. New leaf Matteo won’t be stumbling around clubs trying to crawl out of his skin. No, I’ll be slowing down, I think.
I can’t flee what I’m feeling, and in trying, I’ve made mess after mess. It’s clean-up time.
My Vespa vibrates down the road in Gravina. By the time I make it to the lawyer’s office my hair is damp with sweat from the helmet. The curls cool against my neck with the breeze winding down the street. Hanging the helmet from the handlebar, I prop up the bike in plain sight from the office window.
The secretary waves me through as soon as I step inside and Andrea has the new contract ready—tucked in my folder atop my passport and the old agreement that led me here.
“I’m sorry it’s taken so long. Since you’re a citizen but not a resident here, it complicated matters. But it’s all taken care of. I need a few signatures from you and then you should be good to go!” Andrea pushes the stack of papers toward me and my signature slashes above the line, Matteo de Palma now for real, not just in the pages of my passport.
He flips each fresh leaf of paper and explains the sections to me before I sign. I appreciate it. He’s probably covering his ass but it’s nice to know he’s forthcoming.
“I do have a question before we finish up here. Giuliana’s talking about adding a B more I want to say. Every brush stroke is a love letter. These rooms are my apology. They’re the only thing I have when my words fail me and the truth has turned to ash on my tongue too many times.
This time she slips her hand into mine without me needing to ask or even blinking, and I lead her up the staircase to where her guests will be staying. Will be, not might be, because there’s no doubt in my mind she’s going to make it a success.
Her hand strokes over the cool brass of the bed frame and the texture of the quilt folded at the end of the bed. Giuliana drinks it in like she’s been denied a taste for far too long and I realize what I’m seeing. Ambition met, desires within reach. This is a small mark she can leave that’s hers. This will help her take that coveted step closer to making this grove all her own.
And my heart aches with pride at knowing I’ve played a small part in it. It’s been worth it. She’s worth it all. One of Chiara’s kittens finds its way to us, winding between Giuliana’s legs, desperate for some attention. But she has eyes only for one thing and her mind speeds ahead, even after we leave.
“This is going to be so perfect. You’ve done such a good job. I doubt there will be much else we need but we could potentially start getting people in after the harvest!”
I manage a soft hum in agreement, trying to relish it while I can. Reaching into my back pocket I hand her the checklist.
“This is what you’ll need to make sure everything is above board, but yeah, it should be fairly close. You’ve got this.”
She presses the scrap of paper to her chest before folding it and tucking it into her own pocket.
“I can’t believe you did this, Teo. I’ll never be able to thank you. This could make such a big difference to the grove’s success. We’ll have volunteers to learn the trade and I’ll be able to use the money from the B&B to supplement teaching women in the area. It’s going to be wonderful!”
“There’s no need for thanks. I was glad to get to do this, to contribute a small bit to what I know is going to be a massive success. It was a team effort anyway. Isabella was a godsend with helping me source this stuff. I was just the muscle.”
Giuliana gifts me a smile that will keep me going through the lonely nights to come. If I ever question whether this was the right thing, that bright smile and those warm eyes will be the answer.
We walk back to the big house with her chatter filling my mind, the hand not currently within my grasp gesticulating as she speaks grand plans and dreams into the evening air. Night wraps us in a shroud of darkness—in a place where secrets are whispered between friends and wishes thrive. Where the sky listens and maybe, hopefully, grants them.
We part at the hallway between our rooms, a pause in the movement. Our hands outstretched for a moment to make the contact last as long as possible, she heads her way and I head mine. Our bedrooms are so close and too far. Pausing in her doorway, Giuliana looks back to where she’s left me and nods her head once more in thanks. And then she’s gone, reality clicking between us like the latch of her door.
I flop onto my bed, staring up at the black ceiling feeling both overjoyed and grieving. I’m out of time. Next week it’s the harvest and then…
The maw of the unknown gapes wide open, threatening to swallow me whole.
And then we go back to that nothingness where I hate you and you hate me and no one is around to notice the war we wage within. The voice in my head is almost poetic, almost sorry that it hurts me so much.
A light hits the ceiling, a square cutting through the black. It’s not my door opening, not as I hoped. It’s the vibrating phone on my bedside table, Alan’s name flashing across the screen. It’s time to face the music.