The day after she’d arrived, she’d called him on her personal phone during a walk outside the palazzo. She’d explained that they shouldn’t discuss her plans to leave after the trial period over the MODA phone, suggesting instead that they pretend he might move to Rome after the trial and the wedding just to keep everything smooth with MODA’s expectations.
“You are really going to love it here. I’ve been walking every morning, wandering the streets and getting lost. There’s something amazing around every corner! Right now, I’m at the palazzo, in a majestic ballroom. Imagine ornate frescoes andcrystal chandeliers. I can almost hear the echoes of centuries-old waltzes.”
Graham chuckled. “Only you could be so poetic about a room. But honestly, how’s the job? And the people?”
“The job is... unique, more than I expected. And the people... they’re different, but that’s just part of adjusting to a new place. But, oh, Graham, you will love Rome. There’s so much history, and I keep imagining what it would be like exploring it together,” she said, maintaining their agreed-upon pretense.
“I’ll be happy anywhere you are,” he said.
Aida brightened. “How is the wedding planning going? Have you figured out the limo yet?”
“Yep, we’ll travel in style in a 1959 Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce. Oh, speaking of the wedding,” Graham said enthusiastically. “I ran into Erin yesterday at the grocery store. She’s offered to help us figure out the favors and gift bags. We’re going to meet up this weekend and put something together to show you.”
A mix of gratitude and relief filled Aida. “Oh, that’s so sweet of her! I’m so glad she’s back in town. I know wedding planning isn’t exactly your favorite thing.”
“It’s not too terrible. The outcome is what matters... that walk down the aisle.”
Just as Aida was about to respond, she heard the faint clearing of a throat and turned to see Trista at the door. The woman’s expression was unreadable.
“Oh, I have to go,” Aida said quickly, a surge of discomfort tightening her voice. “We’ll talk soon.”
“What? Wait—” Graham’s voice crackled with confusion and a hint of disappointment.
“I’m sorry, really, I need to take care of something for work. I love you.” Aida hurriedly ended the call, pressing the disconnect button. She set the phone down, her thoughts swirling uneasily. She didn’t like cutting Graham off, but something about theway Trista had been standing there, overhearing their conversation, left her with a gnawing feeling of unease and foreboding.
Turning her attention to her assistant, she tried to steady her voice. “Is there something you needed?”
“I’ve left some new information on your desk to prepare you for tomorrow’s visit to the museum.” She gave Aida a curt nod and then departed.
Aida stared at the empty doorway, confused and irritated that her aide thought something so trivial was worth interrupting her call with Graham. She considered calling him back, but the thought of MODA listening in was so unsettling that she decided against it.
That night, Aida lay awake, unable to sleep. Finally, a little before midnight, she threw on a robe. Hearing voices, she wandered to the kitchen, where she found Ilario and Pippa sitting at the little table in the corner, sharing a glass of wine. They both stood quickly when they saw her.
“Signorina, tell us how we may help you.”
“Please, please, sit. I don’t need anything. I just couldn’t sleep and thought I’d take a little walk. I heard someone else was still up.”
“Ahh, then you must sit and let me... what do those Brits say... make you a nightcap.” Ilario left her with Pippa and headed toward the interior of the kitchen.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt your conversation.”
Pippa shook her head. “Nahh. It’s al’ right.” Her cockney accent was thick.
“Where are you from?” Aida asked, curious.
“Essex originally, but me fam moved ’ere when I left school, and I thought I’d come too. This—” she waved her arm expansively “—place is way better than any borin’ university back in England.”
Aida had to chuckle. “I suppose it is.”
Chef Ilario returned with a dark bottle of something and three glasses.
“My nonna’snocino,” he said proudly. “My grandparents were from Modena and owned a walnut orchard. It’s tradition that every year on the night of San Giovanni, you harvest the walnuts all night by hand, by the light of the moon, or by the light of torches if there is no moon. I loved being able to stay up to help pick the walnuts.” He poured the thick brown liquor into the glasses and passed them around. “One of my last few bottles.”
“I’m honored,” Aida said, taking a whiff of the aromatic mixture. “But I thought only virgins could harvest the walnuts,” she teased, remembering her history of the drink.
Ilario waved a hand in dismissal. “Virgins are hard to come by.”
“You know this ain’t Italian,” Pippa said before she took a sip. She closed her eyes to savor it. “This comes from me people. The druids were gettin’ blotto on this stuff long afore you Romans come in and pinched it.”
