Chapter Fifteen
I wake up the next morning to sunlight pouring through the window and an empty bed.
Benito snuck back to his room reluctantly hours ago, and I wish I was still tangled up in him.
I open the curtains and inhale the view.
With the morning fog lifting off the water like steam, it’s an even more ethereal sight than the day before—if my body weren’t still tingling after last night, I’d be worried this has all been a part of an elaborate, extended dream.
“Izzy? Are you up?” I hear Giac from the other side of the door. I snap back to reality and open the door. Giac’s lips glide into a snide smile when he sees me. “Someone had a rough night.”
I fling my hands to my head and walk into the bathroom.
My hair is a mess, all askew with no discernible part, and my normally beachy waves have turned into a chaotic, tangled mess.
I splash water on my face and try to work out the knots with my fingers.
Giac finds my brush on the counter and hands it to me.
“Bless you,” I say, and run it through my hair until it no longer resembles a lion’s mane after an aggressive hunt.
“There’s breakfast on the terrace,” he says.
“Of course there is.” I head toward the door, but he is still staring at me with a foxlike grin on his face. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head and laughs.
“Shut up.” I playfully hit him on the shoulder. I throw my robe back on over my pajamas and we make our way downstairs.
“Buongiorno, Isabella.” Raffaello greets me on the terrace with a double air-kiss and I cringe to notice he has an extra pep in his step this morning.
The table from last night is adorned with pastries, bowls of berries, and freshly squeezed juices.
When I sit, a server pours me a fresh cup of coffee.
“Isabella,” Raffaello begins, “I hope you weren’t too put off by my colleagues last night. They meant no offense, they’re only excited about their work.”
I stopped thinking about the events of last night somewhere between Benito’s lips and his tongue, but now a pulse of nervous energy courses its way through me with the memory of it all.
“Not at all,” I say, because if we’re going to rehash some portion of last night, I don’t want it to be dinner. “I apologize if I made it contentious.”
Raffaello claps his hands together. “Nothing wrong with a little spirited conversation. I’m sure you’ll agree.”
I nod. “It’s kind of my love language.”
The doors to the terrace swing open and Anita and Sutton walk out.
Both their cheeks are rosy and sun kissed, and Sutton sets a loaf of bread down on the table.
Anita flings her arms around Raffaello’s shoulders and kisses him on the cheek.
“We were able to acquire the honey you like, my love,” she says, and I have to consciously stop myself from rolling my eyes.
Anita and Raffaello have yet to make any sense to me as a couple, though stranger pairings have occurred.
“I love mornings in Como,” Sutton says, stretching her arms to take in the sun. “Is Benito still not up? I was surprised he was snoring when I left, given that he’s such an early bird.”
“I’m sure he’s exhausted after last night,” Giac says with a knowing look toward me.
I nearly choke on my Nutella-filled cornetto.
“We all are. What a great party. Thank you again, Raffaello and Anita, for having us.” The words churn out of my mouth so quickly and chaotically that everyone is now staring at me with bemusement.
“Giac, we should probably head back to La Musa soon, no?”
Giac shakes his head. He is enjoying watching me squirm way too much. “I am in no rush.”
“Such an American sensibility to always be on the go,” Raffaello says with a wave. “If you are going to live here in Italy, Isabella, you cannot always be thinking about what’s next.”
“Don’t be condescending. She’s adjusting.” Anita waves her hand at Raffaello and I’m glad to know she doesn’t allow herself to completely roll over and adhere to her husband’s every wish in his presence.
Raffaello takes her hand and kisses it. I want to retch. “No, no. I mean no offense, Isabella.” He’s said this so many times the words have lost all meaning. “I want you to feel at home in our country. I do.”
“I’m with you, Izzy,” Sutton says, delicately stirring a sugar cube into her coffee. “The Italian way of life is perfect for a vacation, but I’m meant to live at a faster pace.” She points her spoon at Raffaello. “And you’re one to talk, Mr. Workaholic.”
“There’s a difference between working hard and never being able to slow down and enjoy life. I enjoy life’s pleasures as much as I can.”
I’ll bet you do, I want to say.
The terrace doors open and Benito walks out to the patio.
He’s in those soft gray pants from the first night we spent together and a plain navy T-shirt.
He rubs his eyes sleepily and my heart does a somersault when I notice his hair’s still askew from where my fingers ran through it.
“’Giorno,” he says, meeting my eyes first and smiling.
“Look who’s finally up to greet the day,” Sutton says.
Benito averts his eyes from me and takes a seat next to Sutton.
She rubs his back and once again I find my cornetto making its way back up my digestive tract.
The logistics of the villa’s sleeping arrangements under this ruse was not a question I thought to ask while Benito’s tongue was in my mouth, but now my stomach turns sour at the thought of them sharing a room.
“Sleep well?” I ask.
Benito looks down as the server pours him a cup of coffee, but I see the ends of his mouth turn upward. “Not so much.”
Giac leans in. “Why’s that? You have a bad dream, amico?” I kick him under the table and muffle his wince by pouring myself a glass of grapefruit juice.
“On the contrary,” Benito says. “I had a dream so good, I didn’t want to fall back asleep and risk thinking about anything else.
” He eyes me again and the heat of his stare warms me more than the brightness of the blaring morning sun.
I raise my eyebrows; he raises his back and I have half a mind to grab him by the hand and sprint back to my room.
Benito breaks eye contact and self-consciously glances around the room. “Sutton and I broke up,” he blurts.
“What?” Anita gasps.
I lose track of what I’m doing, and my glass falls over, spilling juice everywhere, including in my lap.
The server hops in right away to help me blot up the mess with napkins, but quite frankly I needed the cooldown.
Giac hands me his napkin and I wipe what I can off my bare legs.
I see Benito watching out of the corner of his eye as the napkin rounds the crease of my inner thigh.
I stand up. “Shit. I should go clean up.” I look around at everyone else at the table who’s staring at me and to Sutton, who’s glaring at Benito. “Sorry about your breakup.”
I run into the house and walk swiftly to my room.
Once I’m inside, I throw off my robe and root through my bag to find a suitable replacement.
I slink out of my juice-stained pajamas and pull on a pair of white shorts.
I pick out a green tank top and just as I’m done pulling it over my head, the door to my room swings open.
Benito walks in and shuts the door behind him.
I gasp. “You don’t knock anymore? I could’ve been naked. ”
His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Is that supposed to deter me?”
I bite my lip to keep my pleased smile from giving me away. “Ok, perv.”
He walks over to me and pulls me into a hug. He must’ve showered after last night, because he smells like an extra dose of himself this morning: pine and lemon with a hint of some kind of tangy-scent aftershave. “Good morning.”
I let his hands run down my back, sliding onto my hips as he pulls back ever so slightly. “Why did you just tell everyone you and Sutton broke up?” I ask. “I thought you needed to keep your father appeased?”
“I know. I panicked.” Benito kisses my forehead.
“I saw you sitting there all dewy and angelic in the golden light and I couldn’t do it anymore.
I couldn’t pretend to be in love with Sutton for another second when it’s only you I want.
” He brushes my hair out of my face. “It’s your fault. You distracted me with your beauty.”
I take a deep breath. The ooey-gooey feelings are threatening to take over and I still need my wits about me. “What did they say after I left?” I ask.
Benito shrugs. “I don’t know. I ran after you.”
“Benito,” I say. “They’re going to know something’s happening between us. You should go back there, explain everything.”
“Or.” Benito leans in and kisses me and I’ve officially lost the battle, my insides are mush. Every cell of me completely liquified by him, each nucleus sending the signal to surrender. I pull away.
“What are you going to do about your father?” I ask. “What are you going to do about La Musa?”
Benito sighs. “Jesus, Izzy, I’m trying to kiss you here.” His face lightens, the lines around his mouth deepen with just how wide he’s smiling. “My mother is downstairs, and I do not care if she walks in. That’s how badly I want to kiss you, need to kiss you.”
I take a step back farther, hoping more space will allow the friction between us to fall.
Law of gravity or whatever.
“We need to be rational about this,” I say.
“We need to have a rollout plan. A good spin.” I dig through the covers on the bed for my phone.
“I can call a fixer I know. She could help us crisis manage your family.” I find my phone next to my pillow and start scrolling through my contacts.
Benito’s hand reaches over my shoulder and takes the phone away from me. “Hey!”
I turn and he’s sitting on the edge of my bed and gestures for me to sit next to him. He reaches out his hand and I lace my fingers into his. “Let me handle my father,” he says. “And my mother. And my sister. You don’t need to worry about it. You just need to worry about us.”
I jump to my feet. “So you do think I should be worried about us.”
I’m still holding Benito’s hand, so he jiggles it to get me to sit back down. “That’s not what I meant.” He takes a deep breath. “All of this drama with my father, with La Musa, it’s not your problem. You shouldn’t have to stress about it. Let me deal with it.”
I nod. He’s right. None of this is my problem. The fate of La Musa does not rest squarely on my shoulders. Just because I care doesn’t mean I have to be in control. “What about Sutton?” I ask. “I’m sure she’s not happy you outed your breakup.”
Benito rolls his eyes. “If I know her at all, she’s already using it to win brownie points with my father. Sutton will be fine. She’ll go back to England, and we won’t have to worry about her anymore.”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask. From what I know about Sutton, although it’s admittedly less, it’s more likely she sees this as a temporary setback. “I think she had ulterior motives for participating in your little ruse.”
Benito laughs. “Sutton always has ulterior motives, but again, don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not my problem,” I repeat. “Right.”