A Place in the Sun

by R.S. Grey

  I liked the sound. It’d been months since I’d heard happiness in her voice.

  I positioned her in front of the building and pulled my hands away from her eyes with a dramatic flourish.

  She blinked her eyes open and inspected the wooden sign hanging halfway off the front of the building.

  “Bed and breakfast?” she read, confused.

  I grinned. “It belonged to my grandmother. She left it to me and Massimo and I want us to fix it up.”

  Her smile fell, just a bit. “Fix it up? What for?”

  Her meaning hung thick in the air.

  If I’m going to die, what’s the point?

  I didn’t argue and we never went back.

  Now, the subject of fixing up the bed and breakfast had been brought back up, and I was humming with anger at Georgie. Lord knows I wouldn’t forget her name now. Not ever. She was a spoiled brat on holiday from England, used to getting her way. She assumed she could just snap her fingers, take my nonna’s bed and breakfast from us, and I wouldn’t put up a fight? Like hell.

  The fact that Massimo hadn’t been on my side of things was even more infuriating. He didn’t know Georgie any more than I did. His farm and restaurant were doing well. He didn’t need the money, which meant he had other motives. Nonna would have been so disappointed.

  I took the long way back to the villa after I’d stormed out of dinner. I was in no rush to get back to its deafening quiet, so I wove through the back alleys of Vernazza, listening to the sounds of life. There were two ways to live in the village: down in the center where everyone was nearly piled up on top of one another, or out in the hills with a bit more privacy. My villa was perched on the edge of a cliff, looking out over the ocean, and while the view was worth the trek, it was a lonely existence up there.

  I was still worked up by the time I made it home, unable to quell the surge of adrenaline that would make it impossible to sleep. I wound through the ivy in the dark and felt for the shed tucked behind the villa. I pulled open the heavy wooden door and fumbled around inside until my hand hit my work lamp. Its stand was lying beside it and I yanked both out of the shed and carried them to the front of the house.

  Once the light was plugged in, I had enough light to work on my wall. I yanked off the button-down shirt I’d worn for dinner and wiped my brow, intent on working until I was too tired to stand. I pushed the wheelbarrow out from the shed and tore at the stones on the wall, tossing aside one after another. They clanged against the metal, and I focused on the sharp sound until I’d settled into an easy rhythm.

  I wouldn’t entertain the idea of selling the bed and breakfast to Georgie. She could butter Massimo up all she wanted, but I saw through her façade. Her family had money, and she’d lived a cushy fairytale life. She could buy any bed and breakfast in any village on any continent. But she would leave mine alone.

  …

  The next morning, I woke up to loud banging on the villa’s front door. I was an early riser by habit, but I’d stayed up late into the night working on the wall, and I wasn’t quite prepared to leave my bed as the banging continued. Bloody hell. It’ll be Massimo, I thought, come round to rage at me for storming out of Katerina’s. I padded down the stairs, prepared to tell him to sod off and crawl back in bed, but then I caught a hint of woman’s voice instead.

  “Hellooo! I know you’re in there!”

  BANG. BANG. BANG.

  “Please come open the door or your coffee will get cold!”

  I yanked the door open, vaguely acknowledged the fact that Georgie was standing there, and then tried to close the door in her face.

  “I don’t want coffee.”

  She pushed the small paper cup against my chest and I had to reach for it before it spilled. I was still shirtless, and I didn’t feel like having third degree burns on my chest.

  “Bloody hell. Are you mental?”

  She grinned. “Never been confirmed one way or the other. Regardless, I’ve come to have a chat.”

  She propped her hands on her hips, all proud and confident, and I registered then that she wasn’t dressed like normal. She had on denim overalls, a tight white t-shirt, and a red bandanna tied round her head. She looked like she was about to work construction and the idea of it nearly made me laugh, but then I remembered how annoyed I was.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’ve come round looking like a construction worker.” She waved her hand down her front. “Well, we have a big job ahead of us and it’ll be best if we get started right away.”

  She didn’t take a breath. She pushed through the front door of my house and made her way inside.

  “I know you’re not keen on the idea of selling me the bed and breakfast, and I completely understand. But, I’m not asking for a majority stake or anything, just enough so my brother can be proud that I’ve done something with my life. Did I tell you I have a brother? Fred? He’s this real superstar, actually, an Olympic swimmer for Great Britain, and he’s quite annoying to have in the family. My mom’s always going on about how much he’s been able to accomplish and then she’ll say how I haven’t even snared a husband yet. It’s like I’m the black sheep, only that’s ludicrous, because I happen to think I’m the only normal one in that lot.”

  I held up my hand to stop her, but she just rambled on, oblivious to the fact that I was waving for her to leave my house.

  “That building is so lovely and it’s not right to leave it empty like that. It’s cruel, really. I’m not a designer or anything, but I think I have a good eye for color and furniture. I grew up living on a bloody estate, so goodness knows I’ve seen enough posh homes. I’m not saying the bed and breakfast should be that extravagant per se, but I know how we can make it welcoming and warm. We’ll need lots of color—that’s where I’ll come in, of course. I’ll do all the superficial interior stuff, and you, you’ll be in charge of construction. I think you can manage all right; you have the build for it.”

  She patted my naked chest, as if kicking the tires on a car she was test driving.

  “You’re quite muscly, you know, and that’s a weighty compliment. I’ve been around Olympic athletes and you wouldn’t stand out too far from that crowd.”

  I snapped at her to be quiet. Her mouth dropped open and I swore she nearly thought of continuing on again, but I stepped forward and covered her mouth with my hand to ensure she’d shut up.

  “You’re barking mad and I want you out of my house. Now.”

  Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion and I realized I was still rather close to her, covering her lips with my hand. I could feel her breath hit my palm and I whipped back, putting a bit of distance between us.

  “You won’t help me fix it up?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t owe you any explanations. I just need you to leave.”

  I walked back to my front door, yanked it all the way open, and waved for her to get out.

  She crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes, and kept her footing, right in the center of my living room.

  “You think you’re the only person to experience loss, Gianluca? You think you get to mope around here forever?”

  I saw red. Georgie didn’t get to talk about loss. She didn’t get to judge me or the way I chose to deal with mourning. This girl who lived life with a silver spoon in her mouth, this girl who floated around on clouds—she had no clue what she was talking about.

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I replied with a tone that would have warned most people away.

  Georgie seemed to dig her heels in deeper.

  “Nor you about me. If you had ever cared to ask me about myself, I’d have told you that in the span of a few years, I lost my father and my oldest brother. One day they were there with me, alive and well. The next? Poof. Gone.

  “So you see, I’m no stranger to death and dying either, but I’ve moved on with my life, and you…you’re just like that dreary bed and breakfast. You’ve let yourself fall into r
uin. Katerina says it’s been five years. Five years and you act as if you lost her just yesterday!”

  I was shaking then, shocked at how far Georgie was willing to push the subject. Normal people would have backed off. They’d have faltered, realizing how many lines they’d crossed. They would have apologized and left.

  Not Georgie.

  “You can sit up here in your villa and mope around for eternity for all I care, but don’t you feel like even Allie herself would have wanted you to be happy someday?! You’re this lovely man with real potential! I see it, but it’s under all these layers you’ve built up around yourself. Why can’t you move on?”

  “It’s none of your business!”

  “I’m making it my business! What are you trying to prove, anyway? That you’re the most miserable sod on Earth?”

  “That’s enough—”

  “Well congratulations, YOU’VE DONE IT!”

  “GET OUT!”

  I reached out and yanked her by her bicep, dragging her out of my house. She was nearly tripping over herself and I knew I was hurting her, but I couldn’t see past my anger. She’d pushed too far, too fast.

  I tossed her out the front door and slammed it closed behind her, squeezing my eyes closed and leaning back against the door jamb. I felt bad about kicking her out like that, but she deserved it. Who did she think she was? Storming into my house? My grief? I didn’t need a pompous English girl lecturing me on the ways of life.

  I leaned back against the door, trying to calm the burning anger welling up inside of me. Eventually, the adrenaline started to fade, and by then, I’d assumed Georgie was long gone, crying her way down the hill and prepping her speech for Katerina (The miserable arse tossed me out of his house!), but then I heard a soft voice just on the other side of the wood.

  “Good progress. We’ll start tomorrow, then?”

  I WAS UP early the next morning, seemingly the only person alive in Vernazza. I eased down the trail and followed the path around the ancient church in the square. The bell inside its tower would start chiming soon, but for now, it sat quiet, allowing everyone another hour of sleep. The plan was to take the train into La Spezia. I made the trek about once a month, picking up supplies that the small shops in Vernazza didn’t keep in stock. I needed a new shovel for my work on the wall, but then I spotted Georgie in the square.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised to see her, but I was. I’d assumed after the day before, she’d take the hint and back off, but she was there, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, flitting around the outside of the bed and breakfast. The front door was locked so there was no way for her to get inside, but she didn’t let that stop her. She had a clipboard in one hand and she was jotting down notes as quickly as her pen could go, measuring windows and doorways and front steps. I hadn’t a clue what she was doing and I had no intention of interrupting her until I saw the sign pasted to the front door.

  OPEN SOON. UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT.

  Bloody hell.

  “Morning!” she called when she spotted me approaching from the side of the square.

  I grunted in response and headed straight for the door so I could tear down the sign.

  “Hey! What’d you do that for?”

  I crumbled it up in my hands and leveled her with a steely glare, but it had little effect on her.

  She shrugged and glanced away, the early morning light playing up her delicate features. “Fine, if you don’t want the sign, we won’t have it then. I thought the customers would like to know they wouldn’t be dealing with you every day, scaring them and all.”

  I didn’t let her see my amusement at that.

  “This is better though,” she said, turning back to me with another wide grin. “Element of surprise and all that. They won’t know we’re redoing the place and then WHAM, we’ll open and have the best bed and breakfast in all of Vernazza!”

  I turned away with a yawn and headed up the long road toward the train station. Unfazed, she followed along, chattering about her inane plans for the next month. God, she was exhausting. The persistent positivity, the sheer stubbornness. If the woman put her mind to it, I bet she could make herself the prime minister of England in two weeks flat.

  Normal women would have been standoffish, or at least a bit cross. Not Georgie. She was a moving locomotive; I could either get out of her way or let her roll right over me.

  I still wasn’t quite sure which option would hurt less when I rang up Massimo a few days later and asked about getting some building supplies from the farm.

  “You’re going to do it then? Fix it up?”

  “Only because I want to, and I think Nonna would want to see it open.”

  There was quite a long pause after that.

  “What?” I asked, annoyed that he wasn’t getting on with it.

  “Nothing,” Massimo said. “Just shocked is all. I mean, I don’t buy your reasoning. You’re totally doing it because you’ve always struggled to tell a beautiful girl no—but it doesn’t matter. You could be fixing it up for Morgan Freeman for all I care.”

  I ignored his suggestion. “I’ll be round in the morning to pick up those supplies. Just have them ready for me.”

  I WASN’T AN oblivious girl going through life unaware of how people felt about me. I knew Gianluca wanted me to bugger off, and I knew I was making him uncomfortable talking about Allie. I knew, I just didn’t care. I wanted to shake him silly, to shout at him, WAKE UP. THIS IS YOUR LIFE AND YOU’RE WASTING THE BEST BITS OF IT.

  The bed and breakfast was the only way I knew how to do that. Sure, I wanted to have a hand in fixing it up and I knew I’d have fun decorating it and getting it back in good shape, but more than that, I suspected it’d be good for Gianluca to have a project.

  When he’d shouted at me in his house (right before he’d dragged me out and locked the door), it wasn’t out of rage, it was out of fear. It clouded his eyes and made him address some issues he’d kept buried. From experience, I knew it was loads easier to crumble under the weight of grief than it was to stand up with it on your back, but every day you carry it forward you get stronger and stronger, and eventually it doesn’t feel as heavy as it once did.

  He needed to take that first step.

  I showed up at the bed and breakfast the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. It was nearly a week since he’d tossed me out of his house, and my small hope that he would come to his senses was beginning to dwindle. I sat out on the stoop with two espressos and a couple of pastries in a brown paper sack and waited for Gianluca. I watched the old man across the square sweep out his doorway and I fed a bit of crumbs to one of the boat cats. It meowed and twisted itself round my legs, doing quite a good job of coaxing a bit more croissant out of me.

  “Okay, that’s it, you greedy cow,” I insisted, showing it my empty hands. “You’ve stolen even more than you did yesterday. Soon you’ll just have to flop around like a chunky sea lion.”

  “You shouldn’t feed them. They’re all fat enough as is.”

  My head shot up at the sound of Gianluca’s voice. I couldn’t believe it at first. He’d just arrived in the square, dressed in jeans and a worn pale blue shirt. He had a tool belt wrapped round his middle and a big trolley loaded up with supplies resting beside him.

  “His diet starts tomorrow,” I explained.

  He nodded and wheeled the trolley closer. There was lumber and paint and brushes and giant saws loading it down.

  “Have you decided you’ll help me then? Or is this a cruel joke?”

  He shook his head as he stepped past me, yanking a set of keys out of his back pocket. I glanced up at him, nearly swooning at how beautiful he looked with his work clothes on. He’d taken the time to shave and his smooth jaw was enough to do any girl’s head in.

  He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Fresh air rushed into the abandoned building and I stood, wiping my hands on my jeans and following him through the door. It was just like I’d remembered, dusty and dark inside, ne
arly haunted-looking with all the windows shuttered closed. Right past the front door there was a small desk covered with a dirty cream linen. Beyond that, I knew there was a bedroom, where they’d carried me nearly four weeks ago.

  Gianluca tossed his keys on the top of the desk and turned to me.

  “Listen, I don’t know what plans you’ve got in that head of yours, but I’m not selling this place to a stranger.”

  “Understood.”

  “Then why are you so keen on helping me fix it up?”

  “Because when we finish, you’ll give me the job as manager.”

  “Have you ever managed anything?”

  “On paper? No, but I have managed to get this whole project started, haven’t I?”

  He dragged a hand across his forehead, most likely ready to toss me out again, but I spoke up first.

  “Look, you’ll fix the building, all the electrical and plumbing, the real boring stuff, and I’ll spruce up the interior, paint and all that, make sure people actually enjoy their stay here. I’ve already picked up enough Italian to know how to say Do you need more shampoo? and Thank you, I do look lovely today don’t I?”

  He sighed. “Let’s say we do get this place to a point where it could be opened, and let’s say I needed someone to manage it. I couldn’t pay you much,” he said, dropping his hand and turning to fully face me.

  I grinned. “I don’t need much.”

  “It’s not glamorous work. Renovating an old place takes longer than you’d think. Once we get going, we’ll probably find quite a bit of damage in here.”

  “I’m not a quitter, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Oh, believe me, no one would ever suspect you of quitting.”

  I smiled and reached out my hand for him to shake. He glanced down at it for a few seconds, seemingly working out the arrangement in his head.

  “Partners,” I said.

  He accepted my hand and I nearly shivered from the warmth of his large grip.

  …