Chapter 20 Elisa
Elisa
I swear I’ll get Mamma back for this. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way.
This morning Elmo invited me to go for an aperitif when I was done in the vineyard. I told him I was supposed to help Mamma with the vegetable garden, but she interjected and insisted she’d do it herself.
She ignored my pleading look that said Please don’t do this to me, and told us we should go to dinner as well.
“Elisa really needs to relax,” she said. “She’s always working so hard in the vineyard.”
And now here I am with Elmo, sitting at the village bakery, stuffing myself with pretzels while he monologues. It started the moment he picked me up—in his hearse, a brand-new Maserati—and it hasn’t stopped yet.
“So, I said to my father: ‘Let’s expand. Italy is full of funeral parlors, but how many specialize in extra-luxury services?’”
“I don’t—”
But he doesn’t even give me time to finish the sentence. “So I opened a parlor in Forte dei Marmi. We had to invest quite a bit, but a good entrepreneur always knows how to evaluate risks and benefits.”
He’s overflowing with self-satisfaction: “Did you hear that Saverio Colli the date with Intemerata was exhausting.”
“If you think you have my pity, you’re wrong.”
“I’m not asking for your pity, but I would like to remind you that you and I have a pending pizza. I have my last date later tonight, then we’ll be even.”
“If you survive Pompilia Cozzi, then we can discuss the pizza.”
“You can count on it. Don’t make any plans for tomorrow night,” he replies, winking in a way that would instantly make every woman in Belvedere swoon. Every woman except for me.