"Maybe one month more. Depends on special tiles from Palermo."
We tour each room, Franco explaining the work completed and planned. Even Sarah seems impressed by the transformation.
"This must be costing a fortune," she observes.
"Madison's house is a good investment," I say simply. "The village needs restoration projects like this to attract tourism."
True enough, even if tourism isn't my primary concern.
Sarah watches the interaction, still analyzing but with less hostility than yesterday. "Are you funding the renovations?"
"It's a business arrangement,” I reply. “Madison's tourism project needs a base of operations."
"That's generous of you,” she says.
"It’s practical. Financial success requires investment."
We tour the house briefly. I stay back, letting Franco lead, only commenting when asked directly. Madison relaxes slightly when she realizes I'm not controlling every moment.
"Shall we go to lunch?" I suggest as we finish. "There's a good place at the marina. Unless you have other plans?"
"The marina sounds nice," Jessica says before Sarah can object.
The drive there is separate. Antonio drives the girls with me following in my own car. No handlers, no obvious supervision. Sarah notices the difference.
At lunch, I choose a table on the terrace but don't insist on a specific arrangement. Small choices, but Madison's friends can make them freely.
"The seafood here is exceptional," I recommend, then let them order without interference.
Conversation flows more naturally. I answer questions about the region's history, recommend other places they might enjoy visiting. When Sarah tries to probe more about business, I give boring answers about agricultural exports and property management.
All true but intentionally dull.
"You seem very invested in the village," Sarah observes over coffee and dessert.
"My family has been here for generations. I was born here. The village success is also my own. The villagers are my family now that my parents are gone."
"That's a lot of responsibility."
"It's my home. You do what's necessary for home and family."
The words carry weight without being threatening. Sarah processes this, perhaps understanding that Madison has become part of what I consider home.
After lunch, I walk them to their car.
"Thank you for lunch," Sarah says, and seems to mean it.
"My pleasure. Enjoy the rest of your visit."
She pauses. "Madison seems happy here."
"I hope she is,” I say.
"Take care of her."
"Always."
It's not a threat or a promise. Only truth. I hope she believes me.
