Aida looked out the window. The day was gorgeous. “It’s warm today. Why don’t we go out for lunch? Have what the locals are having instead of room service?”
Trista straightened in her chair, visibly tensing. “We have work to do. I’d prefer not to waste time over lunch. Of course, you may choose to go out tonight on your own to have what the locals are having.”
Aida returned to the window, not wanting Trista to see her frustration. “Very well. Go ahead and send for lunch.” She still knew barely anything about her assistant. She was efficient and anticipated problems before Aida ever encountered them, but Trista was all business, all MODA. She refused to share meals unless they were working sessions. She never talked about anything other than work, even if Aida tried to get her to open up her shell.
Aida didn’t understand it—they lived and worked under the same roof. Their schedules were largely the same. Not for the first time did Aida find herself missing Yumi and Graham. It reminded Aida of what Mo had called her.Funless.While Trista certainly lived up to her name—tristemeant sad in Italian—the made-up adjective fit her so much better. She was less sad than she was no fun.
The garage was a strange place, and just as Trista had said, there were frescoes of modern and vintage cars lining the walls of the access ramps. To give some oomph to the place, in 1987, the garage commissioned an artist, Carlo Capanni, to paint the two long frescoes. It immediately enlivened the typically sterile, industrial garage environment. Aida spent time recording her observations, and also observing both passersby that peered in and the cars driving past the paintings. Trista left after she had helped the photographer set up, but promptly reappeared at the agreed-upon time to take Aida to the next destination—the Borgo Pinti garden, a little hidden jewel of greenery in the heart of the city, known for having the first jasmine plant inItaly centuries past, and today for its rare plants, sporting field, and community vegetable garden.
The following days found Aida researching all sorts of other wondrous Florence destinations. There were the centuries-oldbuchettedel vino—wine holes—that were essentially places to get takeout for glasses of wine. This aspect of the research was something Aida took great pleasure in, interviewing Florentines and tourists, wineglasses in hand. She visited Casa Guidi, the palazzo where poets Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning spent many happy years, and Liberia Antiquaria Gonnelli, an antiquarian bookshop that first opened in 1875. Aida loved the fact that these treasures weren’t on every tourist’s radar; their obscurity added to their charm.
Trista usually shadowed her during the first hours of an excursion, then left her alone to work. It was during these moments of solitude that she’d reach out to Yumi through texts or video calls, ensuring their bond remained strong despite the miles between them. However, when it came to Graham, their interactions were growing more sporadic and subdued. The excitement of her days in Florence contrasted sharply with the terseness of their conversations. The difference in time zones didn’t help, making their calls feel more like obligatory check-ins than heartfelt conversations. Graham was bound by the constraints of his time teaching, whereas Yumi could text or call her anytime.
A week into her Florence adventure, Trista revealed a change in travel plans. While she would be boarding a train back to Rome, Aida’s journey would follow the winding roads of Tuscany, making a stop at the fabled Chapel of the Madonna di Vitaleta. A driver would bring her there and back to Rome, and a photographer was set to join her at the chapel, capturing its image for MODA’s archives.
Aida spent a few hours the day before researching the chapel before she went, so she was familiar with the history of the little church. Set against the verdant expanse of Val d’Orcia, near the town of San Quirico d’Orcia, the chapel stood resplendent,its silhouette accompanied by six stalwart cypress trees. A UNESCO World Heritage site, the church was one of the most photographed spots in Italy. Aida had glimpsed this scene in countless photos and films, including the dreamy Elysian Fields ofGladiator.
The weather that day couldn’t have been more perfect. Mid-morning rays bathed the landscape, the air was a cool embrace, and the sky—well, there were precisely what Graham would’ve cheekily dubbed “Simpsonsclouds” after the clouds in the cartoon’s opening credits. She wondered what he was doing. She snapped a photo of the church and sent it to him.
The photographer and the guide she was to meet had not yet arrived, but Aida wanted a few moments to experience the church alone. She left the driver in the car and walked up the dirt road through the fields to the chapel. It was a Monday and there weren’t any other tourists. With no other visitors in sight and the neighboring restaurant’s doors firmly shut, solitude enveloped her. It was just her, the soft rustling wheat, and the timeless beauty of the Madonna di Vitaleta.
Gently pushing the chapel door, Aida’s gaze wandered into its luminous white expanse. Three tall windows and modern recessed lighting showcased a minimalistic interior: several benches and an altar. At the center was a radiant Madonna statue—a pristine replica of the famed glazed ceramic Madonna crafted by Andrea della Robbia. Legends whispered that the original was, astonishingly, “commissioned” by the Virgin Mary herself during the Renaissance. As the tale went, she materialized before a shepherdess, guiding her to gather the townsfolk and seek a Florentine workshop. There, they would find the destined statue for a church they were to erect right on that very location.
For the next few centuries, the statue remained in the church, and a number of miracles were attributed to it. For some reason that Aida wasn’t able to determine, the chapel upkeep was scant, and by the late 1800s, it was falling apart, so the statue was moved to a church in San Quirico d’Orcia.
The chapel was empty, but the lights were on. Aida stepped into the sunlit warmth and looked around. She stood in the center of the aisle, taking in the light and the clean stark lines of the arches.
“It’s a bit boring, don’t you think?”
Aida whirled, her heart pounding. There had been no one behind her, and no one in the chapel, of that she’d been fairly sure.
It was Mo, in jeans, a black leather jacket, and a white button-down shirt. If his personality weren’t so ugly, Aida might have found him handsome.
“Where did you come from?”
He pointed upward. “From the heavens, you stupid cow.”
Aida couldn’t believe her ears. “Excuse me?”
“The heavens. Don’t I look rather heavenly?” He waved a hand up and down his body.
“I was referring to the ‘stupid cow.’”
Mo gasped and put his hand over his mouth, mocking her. “Oh, did I offend you? I did, didn’t I? Oops!”
Aida turned away and walked down the little aisle of the chapel. She needed a moment to contain her anger.What an asshole.Why was it always the jerks that managed to get into the top positions at so many companies?
She stopped before the little altar, at the votive candle rack with a couple of flickering candles. Taking a match, she lit a candle. Though she wasn’t religious, she sent a silent prayer to her parents, to look out for her. She didn’t like being alone in the chapel with this strange, unpredictable man.
“That doesn’t do anything, you know.”
Aida steeled herself and turned back to Mo. “Why are you here?”
Mo plopped himself down in one of the chapel’s little pews. “Just checking up on you.”
“I didn’t realize that a basket of insults was the bonus for my work at MODA.”
Mo smirked. “Now, now, clearly I’ve upset you. Not my intention. Well, not today at least.”
