Chapter 11
11
As tempting as it is to look out of the car window, to see what beautiful Italian scenery Bari has to offer, it’s hard not to stare at Andrea – male Andrea!
Nothing rocks your world like believing a fact – for pushing two decades – only to find out that what you thought was true wasn’t true at all. It’s like my brain has tripped. I’m trying to recalibrate, to get all the facts in order, but my brain can’t quite adjust to the new information.
Andrea hasn’t been in the car long – not even a minute – but so far all we have done is stare at one another, almost suspiciously, both of us trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle in place.
I’m mostly racking my brains, trying to remember every word I ever wrote to him. Well, I thought he was a teenage girl too, so I most likely said all sorts of embarrassing teenage girl stuff. In fact, it’s probably for the best that I don’t try to remember. Nothing good can come of it.
Eventually, Andrea smiles and starts the car, finally with it enough to regain his motor functions.
‘Okay, so, first of all, if you want to let me know where you are staying, I will drive you there,’ Andrea says, his bemusement present in his voice. ‘And perhaps on the way, I can explain.’
‘Riva Del Mare,’ I tell him, trying to keep my tone casual despite everything that is going on in my brain. ‘In Giovinazzo.’
Andrea fusses with his car’s navigation system. It’s a huge relief when I see the resort is only twenty minutes away from where we are. At least I won’t have to endure this awkwardness for too much longer, should it get worse.
‘ Allora ,’ he says as he pulls out of the car park, the car gliding smoothly onto a busy road. ‘I think, when they told me I would be writing to an English student, they told me it was a boy. But you are Robin, right?’
Suddenly it all makes sense.
‘Yep,’ I say simply, trying to keep my cool despite the overwhelming urge to ask him to drive me to the nearest beach so that I can throw myself in the sea. ‘And they told me you were a girl. I guess, in England, An dre a is pronounced And re a, and it’s a girls’ name.’
‘Robin was not a common name in Italy,’ he continues, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. ‘But I think… I only knew of Batman and Robin, at the time.’
I snort at his comment, the tension between us easing slightly.
‘He may well be the most famous Robin, to be fair,’ I reply with a smile, ‘but no, it’s a name for both boys and girls in England. I guess this is our teachers’ fault.’
‘Still, I feel so silly,’ Andrea says with a smile, and my heart does a silly little flip at the sight of it. It’s a good thing that I didn’t know I was chatting with an absolute dreamboat, or I would have undoubtedly fumbled it.
I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks and it’s not because of the weather. Andrea is gorgeous, like something from a sexy Italian movie. Everything about him is just so flawless – he even manages to make embarrassment look good. From a combination of the awkward situation and the warm weather, I probably look like a boiled English woman right now. I’m so glad I decided to fly in my sundress, so that I would be in the right kind of clothes the second I stepped off the plane, but it’s not doing much to take the edge off the heat right now.
And I’m staring at him. I quickly avert my gaze, like you would if you had accidentally looked at the sun, instead looking out of the passenger window for a moment – not that doing so will save me in any way from his lovely voice. It’s strangely amazing, how effortlessly he switches between English and Italian. His English is impeccable, but it’s that still seriously present sexy Italian accent that really gets me. Each word seems to dance off his tongue. Meanwhile, I cringe at the thought of how I must sound with my Lancashire accent trying to say ‘ ciao’ .
‘So, your family were expecting a boy to turn up?’ I finally break the silence, needing to fill the air with something, and to try to distract myself from lusting after him. I know, I sound crazy, and maybe it was because I was expecting to meet a girl, but I am totally bewitched.
‘No, they didn’t know what to expect,’ Andrea explains. ‘I took Lucia – my sister – to collect her wedding dress, and we got stuck in traffic. So, while she was in the place, I called my parents and asked them to pick my friend Robin up from the airport for me. I told them to hold a sign with your name on – because I didn’t know what you looked like, to describe you to them. Although I didn’t tell them that part.’
‘Well, if they weren’t expecting a boy, then you might have gotten away with the misunderstanding,’ I reassure him, attempting to lighten the mood.
I look out of the window again, noticing the city views slowly fading into something more scenic.
‘Except…’ Andrea starts, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he laughs his way through the word. ‘I may have told them a little lie. Just a tiny one, but…’
‘Go on,’ I urge him, oh so curious about what he’s going to tell me.
Bloody hell, even his potentially dishonest side is sexy.
‘My sister, Lucia, is getting married next week,’ he explains, running a hand through his hair nervously. ‘Here, some people are still a little old-fashioned. To be single at my age is… is a problem, for some. Lucia is my younger sister, so since I arrived back from Roma where I was working, for the wedding, people keep asking me, “Andrea, when will you get married? Why are you still single?”’
I nod my head sympathetically because I relate to that in a big way. It’s not that I feel like the people around me are old-fashioned, more that they are just nosy and judgemental.
‘I hear you,’ I say with a sigh. ‘People are always asking me why I’m still single – as though there might be something I’m doing, or not doing, that I hadn’t realised.’
Andrea nods thoughtfully for a moment.
‘The problem is, I lied,’ he continues. ‘I have been working away, in Roma, for a while – I’ve only been back a few days. I knew that, with the wedding coming up, there would be lots of people asking if I had a girlfriend, and that I would have to say something – even just to my family. So I tell them I met a girl, in Roma, and when they all ask me if it’s serious, I say yes. I don’t know how it happened but, for some reason, they think it’s you, and that we’re getting married.’
My jaw practically hits the floor but then, as I try to figure it all out, suddenly I can see where it all got mixed up. Shit. You’ll never guess who is to blame…
‘Oh, God, I think that might be my fault,’ I blurt. ‘I didn’t know how to tell your parents that I was me, when I first saw them, so I mimed that I was here for a wedding. I did this.’
I re-enact the cringe-worthy mime I performed earlier, feeling utterly ridiculous as I do so. At this point, I might as well have done the full performance from Beyoncé’s ‘Single Ladies’ music video.
Andrea laughs at my impromptu dance.
‘Ah,’ he replies, his expression a mixture of understanding and amusement.
‘Shit, I’ve still got your mum’s ring on,’ I point out, noticing it catch the sunlight. ‘Suddenly this makes a lot more sense.’
‘ Sì , it was the ring my papa used, when he proposed to my mamma, and when my nonno proposed to my nonna – it’s sort of a family tradition,’ he explains. ‘My mamma was angry that I had proposed to you without it. I thought it might be best if I take you to your hotel, and get the ring back, before I tell her the truth.’
I try to remove it from my finger but it won’t come off.
‘Oh my God, it’s stuck,’ I say. ‘My hands have swelled up, I think from the heat, and I can’t get it off.’
‘That’s okay, don’t worry,’ Andrea says reassuringly. ‘Just cool down, relax, it will come off later. It’s not like I do have anyone I need to give it to, and anyway, it suits you.’
‘Sorry,’ I offer sheepishly, feeling a flush of embarrassment colour my cheeks. ‘I know I didn’t know about your… fake relationship status, but I am sorry for making things more complicated for you.’
I really do feel for him. When you stop and think about it, really, this whole situation he’s got himself into is giving off a really specific energy – mine. This is exactly the kind of stupid stunt I would pull, landing myself in a silly situation, all to try to achieve something that was supposed to be simple. I relate to his situation even more now.
Andrea shakes his head, his smile warm and forgiving.
‘It’s not your fault,’ he insists, his tone reassuring. ‘I will get you to your hotel, and then I will go home and I will tell them the truth. See, this is what happens when you lie.’
He laughs at the absurdity of the situation he has created and his laughter is so contagious, I can’t help but join in.
‘I will keep that in mind,’ I say through my grin.
‘Here we are,’ Andrea announces as he turns off the road, through large metal gates.
There is a sign at the entrance to the gate, carved into a large stone, that has the resort name: Riva Del Mare. We’re here.
With everything that has happened, I’m not early at all, I’m right on time. It’s been a fun little detour, I suppose, but it’s back to reality now.
As we drive through the large metal gates, my eyes widen in awe at our surroundings. Towering palm trees – tall as buildings – sway gently in the breeze, their fronds casting dappled shadows over the pristine grounds. Beneath them the roads are lined with the most beautiful fuchsia-coloured bushes, the likes of which I’ve never seen back in Lancashire, which give a stunning pop of colour to the green and earthy colours it interrupts. Oh, and the fountain, wow. It’s huge – technically a pool, surely – with ornate sculptures and a mixture of bubbling and cascading water features. The place is paradise; so tranquil and picture-perfect, like something out of a postcard.
‘Wow,’ I practically exhale, unable to contain my amazement. ‘This place is incredible, right?’
Andrea chuckles beside me, his eyes twinkling as he smiles – with amusement, I think. Then I realise.
‘Right, you live here, you see this all the time,’ I say with a mildly embarrassed laugh.
‘I don’t live at this resort,’ he kindly points out. ‘This place is… wow… bellissimo .’
‘ Bellissimo ,’ I repeat back to him but, nope, it sounds awful in my accent.
‘You never did learn Italian, no?’ Andrea says with a knowing smile.
I shake my head.
‘Would you like me to come inside with you, to help you check in? Just in case?’ he kindly asks.
I want to say yes, but my mouth has other ideas. I suppose it would be awkward, if anyone from work saw us together, because how on earth would I explain this one?
‘Oh, that’s okay,’ I tell him. ‘Someone from work should be around so… I’m sure I’ll be fine.’
His smile falters, ever so slightly, like he might just have taken that as a rejection.
I avert my eyes awkwardly, looking out of the window again . We’re just passing the main hotel – a large, pristinely white building with a sweeping staircase that leads up to ornate double doors, flanked by towering columns that only add to the sense of grandeur. I can say right now, without a moment of hesitation, that I could not afford to stay here if I were paying myself. Good on Rick, for shoehorning his wedding onto the end of the work trip, because it’s truly beautiful here.
Andrea pulls into a parking space and, once again, we both freeze, staring at one another.
‘Well, thank you for the lift,’ I tell him, breaking the silence.
‘Anytime,’ he says. ‘And you have my number now so, if you have any time, and you do want to get that drink… Although maybe it’s weird now, no?’
‘Yeah, I can see what I’m doing with work,’ I reply, which is funny, because my brain is screaming at me to take him up on his offer, to go for a drink with him, but my mouth is – for some reason – playing it cool. I suppose it’s because he seems to backtrack on his suggestion, seconds after it leaves his lips.
‘The least I can do is get your luggage out of the car for you,’ Andrea says, springing to action.
I suppose that’s my cue to get out of the car too.
I open the door and the heat from the sun comes flooding in – I guess the car aircon was doing a lot – and, while I might feel out of my comfort zone in the summer dress I’m wearing, I certainly feel nice and cool. It’s a long, almost gold-coloured thing in a silky material that cascades down my body and just about brushes the floor. It’s the kind of flattering fit that you only seem to get if you spend a small fortune, but speculate to accumulate, right?
I suppose, as out of my comfort zone as I do feel in it, confusingly, I feel oddly good about myself. I’m not one for light colours or delicate spaghetti straps (although, when in Italy, I guess) but here they just feel right. Perhaps this is the start of a new and improved me.
Of course, the second I step out of the car, the old me comes charging back. I somehow manage to step on the front of my dress, meaning that as I stand up it is trapped underneath my feet, and it tears the spaghetti straps clean off. I gasp as I feel the dress simultaneously falling down at the front and the back, and it would have dropped to the floor had I not managed to catch it at the front. Andrea brings my luggage around to me and the sight that greets him is me, in my ripped dress, which I am holding to my body by seemingly cupping my own boobs. It’s been about four seconds.
‘Robin, what happened?’ Andrea asks – and, God love him, he doesn’t even smile. He has every right to be pissing himself right now but, like the gent it turns out he is, he only seems to be concerned for me.
‘Ripped my dress,’ I say simply, in a whomp-whomp kind of tone, the kind that suggests this sort of thing happens to me all the time.
‘Let me carry your luggage inside for you, help you check in,’ Andrea says. ‘I’ll carry these, you…’
‘…Carry these?’ I dare to joke.
I quickly but carefully switch from holding my left boob in my left hand, and my right boob in my right hand, so that my hands are crossed in front of my chest, which I’m hoping will look a little more natural… for what it’s worth.
‘Come on, let’s get you inside so you can change,’ Andrea says, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin.
I nod before following him to the hotel, keeping close behind him, hoping no one spots me.
As we step into the lobby, I’m almost overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of the space. I thought outside looked amazing but inside is even more spectacular. The air is filled with the soft murmur of conversation and the soft tinkling of a live pianist, working his magic over by the bar. The lobby has a white marble floor that is so shiny I can see my reflection in it, and super-high ceilings adorned with ornate lights. I bet it looks even more beautiful on an evening.
‘It’s like something out of a movie,’ I murmur, my eyes wide as I struggle to take them from the artwork painted on the ceiling above. But when I eventually do start looking where I’m going again, I realise that we are just a few steps away from Rick, James and two Italian men.
Rick looks like he’s in a bit of a flap. He’s alternating between looking at his phone and shouting loudly at the two men (who don’t look like they work here) in front of him. I think he’s trying to speak Italian, and he’s doing an even worse job than I am.
‘Robin?’ James blurts as I catch his eye.
I notice him look me up and down, then he looks at Andrea, then back to me. Because of course I’m going to bump into my work crush when I’m literally holding my tits in my hands.
‘Hello,’ I say brightly.
Rick looks over at me. He must be stressed because he doesn’t even acknowledge the dress situation.
‘Oh, Robin, it’s such a mess,’ he says. ‘I had booked a translator, because the Come a Casa bigshots don’t speak English, and they’ve turned up here to greet us, as planned, but the translator hasn’t. Apparently there is no sign of my booking at all. And this is Beppe Barone, it’s his company, and I can’t talk to him. We look like amateurs right now.’
‘I speak Italian and English,’ Andrea offers up.
‘Oh, thank God, help me out, mate,’ Rick says to him.
Andrea steps in and starts acting as a go-between, bridging the gap between Rick and Beppe. I move forward, to listen to their conversation, but then I realise James is staring at me.
‘Hi,’ he says with a flirtatious smile.
‘Hi,’ I say back.
‘That dress…’ he starts. ‘Wow. I like what you’ve done with the front.’
I laugh.
‘Literally cannot wait to get it off,’ I reply. ‘And get my bikini on.’
Rick laughs wildly as he slaps Andrea on the back.
‘I didn’t realise Davide from Love Island was driving taxis now,’ James jokes, nodding towards Andrea.
‘Oh, haha, no, well, he’s not a taxi driver,’ I babble. ‘I know him.’
The second the words leave my lips, I realise I probably should have just said he was my taxi driver, to save on any further explanation, but for some reason I just felt like I needed to jump to Andrea’s defence, because it felt like James was making fun of him.
The smile drops from James’s face in an instant.
‘You know him?’ he says, asking for clarity, although I feel like I was pretty clear.
‘Yeah,’ I say simply.
I notice James’s jaw tighten as he looks over in Andrea’s direction.
‘The two of you aren’t…’ His voice trails off.
Oh my God. Is he… is he jealous? Surely not?
‘ Ciao , ciao ,’ Rick says to Beppe and his associate. ‘So, he says he’ll see us tomorrow? So that gives me time to find a translator. You saved the day, seriously. Are you two together?’
I realise Rick is talking about me.
‘Together, yes,’ Andrea replies. ‘Me and Robin.’
Oh, shit. When he says it like that, it makes it sound like we’re a couple.
I look at James and, wow, he really is jealous. I can see it all over his face. Honestly, you flirt with a guy for years and you get nothing, then, as soon as he thinks you’re taken, that’s it.
Oh my God – that’s it. He was like this with Liz too, when he thought she was seeing that guy at the bar. James doesn’t just want a girl – he wants a challenge.
‘Robin,’ Rick calls.
I turn to face him and it’s only now that he notices the situation with my dress. That’s not all he notices.
‘You’re engaged?’ he says, clocking the ring on my finger. ‘You’re engaged to this guy?’
I look at Andrea, not sure what to say.
‘It’s, er… it’s…’ Andrea starts, but he doesn’t know what to say either.
‘It’s great news,’ Rick said, clapping Andrea on the back again. ‘I mean, it’s great news for you two and, Robin, I didn’t realise you were settling down – you should have told me. But this is great for us because, Andrea, Beppe seemed to really like you. Are you busy this week? Can you be our translator?’
Andrea looks to me for any kind of indication of what he should say but I can’t seem to get my jaw out of the dropped position.
‘You’re staying here, right? With Robin?’ Rick continues. ‘Your holiday is on us. You’re part of the company now. Stay, enjoy the facilities – hell, come to my wedding, just say you’ll be our translator?’
‘I, er…’
Andrea still doesn’t know what to say.
‘This reflects well on you, Robin, really well, good work,’ Rick tells me. Then he turns back to Andrea, waiting for his reply.
Andrea smiles, as though he knows exactly what to say now.
‘I would love to,’ he tells Rick.
Rick lights up, James deflates, and I’m just in shock.
‘Right, let’s get you two checked in,’ Rick says. ‘And we can find out all about you at dinner later…’
Rick fades his voice out in a way that implies he hasn’t caught Andrea’s name yet.
‘Andrea,’ Andrea replies.
‘Andrea,’ Rick repeats back to him. ‘Welcome to the team.’
As the two of us follow Rick to the front desk – me still cupping my boobs – there is one thing echoing in my head. What was it Andrea said earlier? This is what lying gets you.
What am I getting myself into?