“Vanni, where’s your father?”
Vanni doesn’t even raise his head, his eyes glued to his iPad, where someone with a very serious voice is talking about something. Probably a scientist.
“Vanni,” I say again, leaning against the railing. I had woken up late this morning since Claudio hadn’t come to wake me. Neither had Vanni. I’ve been up and down the house, peeked at the pool, and haven’t seen Claudio anywhere.
“Parla in Italiano,” Vanni says dismissively.
This kid, I swear.
“Dove tuo padre,” I say, pretty sure I’m saying it right. “Dove tuo padre?”
Finally, Vanni looks up at me and smiles triumphantly. “I am an excellent teacher, am I not?”
Truth is, it’s been Claudio that’s been helping me with my Italian lately. Though half the things he’s said, I can’t repeat in front of his child.
“Yes. Of course.”
He turns back to his iPad. “He is in the chapel.”
My brows shoot up. The chapel?
“He said not to wake you,” he goes on. “Said you needed to sleep.”
My face immediately goes hot and I’m grateful that Vanni is so involved with whatever he’s watching. The truth is, the last few days here, the only time Claudio and I have had time alone together is at night, which means there’s a lot of him sneaking into my room. We have sex for hours, feeling spent and exhausted, but he can never stay the night and sleep with me, just in case we get caught.
There’s a dirty thrill about it, the sneaking around, the keeping our liaisons a secret. Not that it feels all that good to keep secrets from Vanni, but in this case, the less he knows the better.
Besides, I don’t know what we are and I don’t want to put a label on it. I’m well aware that my time here is ticking away. I only have ten days until I’m supposed to leave.
Ten days left of having Claudio sculpt me, with both his hands, and with his tongue.
Ten days of trying to get as much of the book finished as possible, before I head back home and lose my inspiration entirely.
With the weather getting progressively hotter, working on the veranda isn’t cutting it anymore. I do what I can in my bedroom, with the fans whirring full blast, and sometimes I’ll go and write in the study. But the heat, plus the ever-present distraction that is Claudio, makes it hard to concentrate.
But in some ways it’s also been easier. I’m able to put my feels directly into the book, as my character starts to fall for her love interest. The only difference is, I know my characters are going to have a happy ending and that won’t be the case for me.
It can’t be.
However complicated my feelings for Claudio are, I know deep in my heart that I’m setting myself up for a sad ending. This can never move beyond a temporary thing, a vacation fling. Even if I let myself fall deeply for him, if I remove the bars around my heart and let him in, give something of myself to him that’s more than just my body, I’ll be devastated when it all comes crumbling down.
Sleeping with my agent’s ex-husband is one thing. I already feel as if I’m breaking some kind of “girl code,” even if Jana and I aren’t exactly friends. But dating her ex-husband? Taking this to the next level? I can say goodbye to the book deal, say goodbye to having Jana as my agent. She is the one chance I have to get my career going, to stand on my own two feet, out of the weight of Robyn’s shadow. If I fuck this up, it’s over.
So then don’t fuck it up, I tell myself as I head out the door and down the outside staircase to the front, catching the scent of the geraniums. I walk along the pebbled driveway, past the flowering oleander and potted lemons, the heat bearing down on me and making me break a sweat, even though it’s only ten a.m.
I cross the country road to the chapel, the rows of silvery olive trees climbing up the dusty hill behind it.
I’ve actually never been in it before. It’s quite small, white, with two narrow slits for windows, and one glass door with a curtain. The door is open, the curtain billowing in the hot breeze.
I go up the stone path and pause outside the door.
“Claudio?” I ask, hearing the muffled sound of something being moved around.
“Shit,” he swears from inside.
Swearing in a church? How uncouth.
“Are you okay?” I ask, not wanting to go inside in case he’s, like, praying or something. I know the Italians are very religious, although the swearing has thrown me off.
Suddenly the curtain moves and Claudio pokes his head out.
He smiles, perfect white teeth glowing against his tanned skin, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, and once again I feel my insides melt, my legs growing weak. All he has to do is just fucking appear and I’m a goner.
I’m hopeless.
“Good morning, musa,” he says to me. “I was hoping you wouldn’t discover where I am.”
I frown. “Vanni gave up your whereabouts. What are you doing in there?”
He doesn’t look impressed. “Did Vanni mention that he was supposed to keep it a surprise?”
I shake my head. “He didn’t say much. What’s the surprise?”
“Well, it’s not done yet. I was planning to show you this afternoon.”
“And the surprise is in the church?” I pause. “You’re not planning to introduce me to God or something, are you?”
He smirks. “Not quite. More like God might find you.”
Okay, now I’m really worried.
He chuckles warmly at the look on my face and then straightens up, pulling back the curtain. “Come on in, then.”
I hesitate, because honestly I don’t know if I’m about to walk into a religious intervention or what. That would be a surprise.
But I walk through the curtain and into the chapel.
I don’t know what I was expecting, a church I guess, but this isn’t it. It’s a literal bedroom, complete with a queen-size bed that is pushed haphazardly against the wall. The walls are painted pale yellow and there’s a nave at the center, a carved out arch where the altar would be, dotted with golden candles. An oil painting of Mary hangs in the middle. Handmade decorations in low relief line the side walls, and there’s a velvet chaise lounge with golden legs and gilded trim.
In the middle of the room is a desk. It’s large, made of dense dark wood. It looks very old and is covered in patches of dust.
“What is this?” I ask, and then my eyes are drawn to the ceiling. I gasp. There are frescoes along the curved ceiling, each one intricately painted.
“This,” Claudio says, leaning against the desk, “was a chapel that Francesco Scatena built for his family in the 1880s. Before this was a hunting lodge, a family had a house here and this was a working olive farm.”
“But what is it now?”
“Oh. It was renovated a long time ago to become a suite for the lodge. Naturally, it hasn’t been used for a long time, unless I have a lot of family staying over. Now, I’m turning it into your office.”
I stare at him, mouth open. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your office,” he repeats, wiping dust off the top of the desk with a smooth swipe of his hand. “Do you like it?”
“Like it?” I repeat, shaking my head. “I’m … what do you mean this is my office?”