One Hot Italian Summer

by Halle , Karina

  “Ah, you found her,” Claudio’s melodic voice booms. I look up to see him walking across the lawn, yellow lemons cradled in his hands. He pauses behind Giada, his eyes brightening as he looks at me. “I hope they’ve been kind.”

  “They’re lovely,” I tell Claudio, giving his sisters each a warm smile.

  “I see,” he says. “You’ve already joined their side.”

  I laugh at the mock hurt expression on his face. The man can be completely adorable sometimes.

  Maria clears her throat, and I look at her. She’s watching both me and Claudio with interest, a touch of suspicion in her eyes. I immediately press my lips together, willing my face to go blank. I know my facial expressions give everything away, and the last thing I need is for his sisters to think I have some crush on their brother.

  I mean, that’s the only way I can describe it. A crush. There’s something so juvenile about the term, but it is what it is. An infatuation. I never even crushed on anyone growing up (what was the point? I could barely talk to anyone, let alone look them in the eye), so this feeling is new to me, but it’s there all the same.

  But crushes go away, right? It’s just based on attraction. Eventually it will fizzle out.

  I’ve decided that’s what I’ll tell myself.

  “What would you like to drink?” Claudio asks me, his voice warm, his eyes still fixed on my face, ignoring whatever look Maria is giving us. “Aperol Spritz?”

  I nod. “Please.”

  It’s become one of my favorite drinks to have in the sun, just before dinner. Claudio says it’s an aperitivo, which is meant to open up the appetite for dinner, but I’m just in it for the bittersweet buzz. One thing about being at Villa Rosa is that I’m always ready for whatever Claudio is cooking.

  Claudio heads inside to the bar with his lemons, and I still feel Maria’s eyes on me. I glance across the table at Giada and Veronica, and they are in the midst of communicating something to each other with their eyes. Then they look at me.

  Uh oh. Why do I feel like they’re thinking the same thing Maria is (whatever that is)?

  They never come out and say it though and soon Claudio joins us with Aperol Spritzes for both of us, plus the slices of lemons for their waters (and it turns out Veronica’s water contains vodka). We all toast to the summer and then the sisters get talking. Most of it is in Italian, with Maria translating when she can. A lot of it is just them picking on Claudio. They like to call him the “Golden Child” since he’s the only one of them that followed in his father’s footsteps and became a successful artist. There’s a lot of love there, but I can tell they don’t really take the arts that seriously.

  Only Veronica has a mild interest in the arts, doing watercolor paintings of landscapes when she can. She doesn’t sell them though, despite years of Claudio trying to convince her to let his gallery carry them. She says that would take all the fun away and it would no longer be a relaxing activity to her.

  “If you sell my paintings, it is a job,” she says with a dramatic wave of her hands. “It is no longer a hobby. It is no longer something I do for my soul.”

  Claudio and I exchange a knowing look. I’m sure he feels the same way I do, in that when I was writing stories for fun, it was a completely different experience. The pressure wasn’t there, the creativity came easily and free-flowing. Now, well, here we are, lucky to be doing what we do, but terribly aware that luck runs out when you’re not creating.

  “So, Jana is your agent, yes?” Maria asks me.

  Giada and Veronica exchange a dark look.

  I nod. “She is. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “That’s very interesting,” she says carefully.

  I raise my brows, wondering what she’s getting at. I sneak a glance at Claudio and his face has hardened, a look I don’t see on him too often.

  “How so?” I ask.

  “Well,” she says, sitting back in her chair, holding two fingers in the air. She ticks off one. “For one, we haven’t seen Jana here since … well, I suppose since she went to London and never looked back.” She ticks off another finger. “For two … no, I suppose that’s it. You’re here on behalf of Jana, and yet that woman has nothing to do with our lives.”

  “Maria,” Claudio says coldly. “She has plenty to do with my life.”

  A current of jealousy runs through me, catching me off-guard.

  “Is that so?” Maria asks, not looking even a little intimidated by his steely tone. “Then tell me, why is it she never comes here? Tell me why Vanni so rarely goes to see her? The woman does not care for you, does not care for Vanni. So don’t pretend like she has something to do with your life.” She pauses and adds something in Italian. Judging by her tone, it’s not good.

  I sit there quietly, feeling extremely self-conscious, my eyes darting between Maria and Claudio’s face-off. Veronica and Giada’s eyes are doing the same.

  Claudio looks like he’s simmering, his face darkening, a deep crease between his brows. Is this a prelude to him losing his temper, which he has warned me about before?

  “She is the mother of my child,” he manages to say, each word hard and deliberate. “And anything you want to say, you better say in English so Jana’s client can hear you.”

  Maria looks at me, nonplussed. “Does this bother you? You are friends with Jana?”

  I shake my head, flashing my palms in surrender. “Oh, this is none of my business.”

  “Uh huh,” Maria says slowly. “I think it is your business. If you and my brother are together, then well…”

  Oh my god. She’s not insinuating we’re, like, a couple, is she?

  I glance at Claudio in confusion, but he’s not looking at me for once.

  “Jana is still a presence in my son’s life,” Claudio says carefully, ignoring what she said. “Therefore, she is still a presence in mine. She will not be disrespected by you, or by anyone.”

  I stare down at the orange bubbles in my drink, a tense silence coming over the table. In the distance a rooster crows.

  Knowing how complicated Jana and Claudio’s relationship is, it’s refreshing that he defends his ex-wife when I’m sure many men would not.

  On the other hand, this is a stark reminder for me that Jana is very much a part of Claudio’s life—contrary to what Maria might think—and that any feelings I have for Claudio, crush or otherwise, don’t have a place here. No matter how badly I want Claudio to want me, I know that the two of us could never be a thing. It just couldn’t happen. Jana makes a triangle, whether I like it or not, and there is no point in making my own life more complicated, let alone Claudio’s.

  Giada opens her mouth to say something to break up the ice that’s formed between the siblings, when suddenly Vanni and his cousin come barreling out of the house.

  “Papà,” Vanni whines to his father. “Sono molto affamato!”

  From the way he’s clutching his stomach, I assume he’s talking about wanting dinner. I think everyone is just grateful for the interruption.

  “Sì, sì,” Claudio says, getting to his feet and heading inside. Again, he doesn’t look this way, which leaves me feeling a little bereft.

  Thankfully, Maria and her sisters move the conversation on to other topics, and we end up eating dinner at the big table on the veranda. Things seem easy again, with everyone in a good mood, and the wine flowing, and the sisters sparring on and off, but for whatever reason, Claudio never meets my gaze. I’m not sure what to make of it, but it’s noticeable and I hate it. I feel like I did something wrong but I have no idea what.

  It isn’t until later, when I excuse myself and head up to my room, that I realize he never corrected his sister when she said that we were together.

  Eleven

  Grace

  Time is a funny thing.

  It’s been nearly a week since Claudio’s sisters were here.

  It’s been the slowest week of my life.

  Time has absolutely been dragging on by, whi
ch for a writer, is often a good thing because it always feels like we never have enough time to write.

  But it’s different now.

  Claudio has put some distance between us. It’s like what Maria said about Jana shocked him into remembering that I’m just as tied up in Jana as he is. Before he was all flirty banter and simmering looks, and now, well, it’s not that he looks at me coldly … his gaze is still warm, his smile still genuine.

  It’s that it’s like he pulls his eyes away quicker, his smile fades before mine does, and before there were many instances of him getting in my space, asking me questions, always around me. Now he gets up and goes to his studio, and the door closes and that’s it. I’ll see him doing something with Vanni, but it seems like father and son bonding and I don’t want to get involved. The only time I see him is during mealtimes, the only chance for us to talk.

  But the problem is, once the meal is over, it all comes to an end. We go our separate ways again.

  It shouldn’t matter what Claudio does. It’s his house and he has his own busy life, and I’m…just the guest.

  But when you get used to something and it’s taken away…

  Well, sometimes you end up wanting it more.

  And this week has dragged on because I know I have two opportunities to be with him again. There’s tonight, for the INXS concert, although Vanni is coming with us too. And then there’s tomorrow night for the gallery.

  So, yeah. I’ve been reduced to pining for the moment to be alone with him again and it’s fucking killing me.

  Not to mention it’s killing my book. It’s hard to focus and concentrate when your mind keeps being pulled elsewhere. Which means I’m kind of screwed, because it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation. Either way, Claudio is on my mind too much for my own good.

  “Are you ready!?” Vanni yells from outside my bedroom door, immediately pounding his fists on it.

  I laugh to myself and head over to the door, opening it.

  He’s on the other side, wearing an INXS shirt that hangs to his knees that I assume his dad got him, and he’s so freaking adorable.

  “I’ll be ready in a couple of minutes,” I tell him. I just have to do something with my hair. Otherwise I’m ready to go in my jean shorts and black tank top. No concert shirts for me. “You know, you’re not supposed to wear the band’s shirt to the concert.”

  Vanni’s nose wrinkles. “Why not?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s an unwritten rule.”

  “Well that’s stupid,” he says, pulling at his shirt and staring at it. “Are we supposed to pretend that we’re not there to see the band?”

  I laugh. “Good point.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “I don’t think that’s a rule. I think you’re just jealous that my father gave me this shirt and you didn’t get one.”

  Again, I’m grinning. “Okay, Vanni. That’s it. You got me. I’m jealous.”

  He shrugs, raising his chin haughtily. “It’s natural,” he says with a flourish of his hands.

  Then he turns and runs down the stairs.

  I roll my eyes and head back into my room, deciding to pull my hair back into a high ponytail, my minor contribution to the eighties. I grab my crossbody purse and head down to the living room.

  Claudio is sitting in the armchair, back to me, Vanni on the couch across from him.

  “She’s finally ready,” Vanni exclaims dramatically, as if he wasn’t just at my door.

  Claudio turns his head to look at me, his eyes coasting up and down my body, leaving a trail of heat where they’ve been.

  He smiles.

  And goddamn it.

  He’s completely disarmed me with a simple look. He can’t even exist anymore without my heart tripping over itself, without my knees feeling weak. I can’t even be sure that my feet are holding me up.

  You’re a hot mess, Grace.

  “No dress?” he asks, getting to his feet, stopping a few feet away.

  I lick my lips, my throat feeling dry. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You could never disappoint me,” he says, voice dropping, eyes glinting with sincerity.

  I swallow. I can’t stop staring into his eyes, lost in this look, this voice that I’ve been craving all week like a junkie. Seconds seem to span into eons.

  “Can we go?” Vanni whines, breaking through the spell.

  Claudio turns to him. “Yes, Vanni,” he says while my eyes flutter closed for a moment, giving myself space to breathe.

  “Grace?” he asks.

  I open my eyes to find both of them staring at me.

  “Yes. Let’s go,” I manage to say.

  Because there are three of us going to the concert, we can’t fit in the Ferrari. Instead we get inside the Range Rover parked outside.

  “This isn’t as fun to drive,” Claudio says as I buckle up in the passenger side, Vanni in the back. “And it’s awful on fuel, and breaks down more than it should. But it is still sexy, no?”

  I nod. I’ve always been a fan of these cars. “They’re very popular back home. Lots of people drive them, especially around the Highlands.”

  “Ah,” Claudio says, taking the car out onto the road. I watch his tanned hands on the wheel. The way he holds it is the same way as when he’s making art. There’s something so distinctive about the way he uses his hands, so much grace and skill and strength in them.

  He turns his head and eyes me. “Perhaps when this is all over, we will come up there and visit you.”

  I manage a small smile, part of me thrilled that he would think of me when this is all over, the other part hating to be reminded that this is a short-term thing. I’ve got only two weeks left here in Tuscany. Two weeks to get most of my book finished. Two weeks to fall out of … well, whatever has been tied up in knots when it comes to Claudio.

  “If we drive to Scotland, that means we’ll have to take the car train from France!” Vanni exclaims. “Then we can go to London, pick up Mamma, and then come see you, Grace.”

  Yeah. That wasn’t what I had in mind, but because that’s what Vanni has in mind, it’s a wee slap in the face. Serves me right for feeling the way I do.

  I eye him in the mirror. “That sounds great.”

  It’s not long until we’re pulling into a parking lot outside the walls of Lucca. Already it’s crazy busy, the concert itself being held on the long green expanse of grass just below the walls. It takes time to finally find a free parking space and then walk through the throngs of people all heading over to the venue. The band doesn’t start for another two hours, but everyone had the same idea in getting here early.

  It’s exciting though. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a concert, and it was the opposite of this. Robyn insisted I go with her to a BTS show, and though my knowledge of K-Pop is minimal, it was a lot of fun. And I was keenly aware of being some of the oldest people there.

  Here, everyone seems older than me and there aren’t that many kids. There’s an infectious buzz in the air, people chatting happily, drinking alcohol from plastic cups, the air heavy with sweat, the sun slowly creeping down behind the hills to the west.

  We cross the road and head into the gates of the concert, giving the tickets to the volunteers, then squeeze past the lines outside of the merch tents.

  “Papà,” Vanni says, begrudgingly holding on to his father’s hand. “Look. You could buy Grace a shirt like mine.”

  Claudio stops and glances at me inquisitively. “Would you like a shirt, Grace?”

  “No, that’s okay,” I tell him quickly.

  “She thinks it’s wrong to wear a shirt of the band when you go to see the band,” Vanni explains.

  Claudio’s brow raises higher, a devious smirk on his lips. “Is that so?”

  Uh oh. I don’t trust that look.

  “Allora,” he muses, stroking his chin, “Grace thinks she’s too good for a t-shirt, is that right?”

  “No,” I say carefully, but he’s reachi
ng over and grabbing my hand, pulling me toward the closest merch tent.

  I’m both dreading what he’s going to do and completely swooning at the feel of my hand in his. Giddy. That’s what this feeling is. I’m giddy.

  Over hand holding.

  What are you, twelve?

  He brings me right to the tent, in a five-person deep line, and waves at the t-shirts. “You pick. I’m buying.”

  “Really, it’s okay.”

  “You don’t want to match with me, Grace?” Vanni asks. I glance down at him on the other side of Claudio, and shit, he’s looking up at me with big eyes. “It would mean so much.”

  My eyes narrow. The kid doesn’t care. He’s trying to embarrass me.

  “Yes, Grace,” Claudio says, dropping my hand to take out his wallet. “You want to disappoint my son like this?”

  Oh lordy.

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll take that tank top over there.”

  “Tank top?” Vanni says. “We have to match.”

  “We will match, Vanni,” Claudio assures him. “Grace can have the tank top.”

  “You’re buying a shirt for yourself?” I ask him, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Why not?”

  I look him up and down, at his dark jeans, black t-shirt, black moto boots, the aviators pushed up on his head. He’s the epitome of sexy cool.

  “You would ruin your aesthetic? I mean, I know how much aesthetics matter to you.”

  He flashes me a wicked grin. “It will be worth it to embarrass you.”

  And so that’s how I end up in a scratchy INXS tank top, pulled over my other one, with father and son in matching shirts. It is somewhat embarrassing. We look like a family of the biggest nerds but Claudio doesn’t care at all. He’s living off of my reaction.

  What helps is a trip to one of the bar carts and getting some glasses of wine, and then heading over to the edge of the crowd where we find a patch of grass to sit down on.

  “We can’t see the stage from here,” Vanni whines, trying to look over the people in front of us.

  “Don’t worry,” his father says. “We’ll get up and go into the crowd when they start. Do you want to stand for hours if you don’t have to?”