I waved at Luigi. He nodded and gave me a quick “Buongiorno, Signora Fausti” before turning back to Brando.
“What?” I asked. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“You’ve been doing the work.”
“I help now and again.”
Violet came out of her room then, dressed in a matching pair of boots, ready to get things done. “More like the head forewoman,” she snorted. “I’m supposed to be here on vacation, and she’s working me until my hands bleed and my feet blister! You feelin’ a little Dino today?”
“Fine with me,” I said.
We slapped each other’s hands.
“See ya’llpiano di sotto.” She grinned. “Romeo told me that means downstairs.”
“That’s my handkerchief,” Brando said.
I touched it. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Don’t wash it after you’re finished with it.”
“You are a strange beast sometimes, Signore Fausti.” I took his hand, directing him. “Let me show you what we have.”
I took him on the grand tour, giving him Rosaria’s spiel, because he enjoyed the technical aspects of the world, whereas I enjoyed seeing it as it was in my head. But I also gave him my vision, and we were on the same page in almost every room.
A few times he became thoughtful, and I thrilled at his expression—he was becoming lost to the idea of what we could have here, just as I had. He would offer his opinion if he thought the plan would be better served by doing it differently. He had an eye for things, and he was practical about it.
It wasn’t until sometime during the tour that Brando told me the villa had belonged to his grandmother’s family. Rosaria knew that, as well, and had decided not to mention it to me. I told him Rocco had mentioned it, too, but he didn’t reply.
After we had thoroughly been through every room in the villa, I gave him a fist bump, ring to ring, and then we got to work. But I had surprises for him (the last ones, I swore), and I held out for as long as humanly possible.
By the time evening lowered to meet the land, I was about to burst. I knew he hadn’t fully explored the property, and I used this as my excuse to get him to leave the bathroom demolition he was doing.
He guzzled his water, face in profile against the sun. Sweat slid down his forehead in glistening bubbles, gliding down his face, to his chest, and then beyond. His skin shimmered bronze in the light. His scent was borne on the breeze, musky.
“Ready?” I said, a bit breathless.
I didn’t wait for a response. Taking his hand, I directed him to one of two stone barns that sat not too far from the main farmhouse. The air inside was cool, even after a full day of heat, and still held the tang of long deceased tenants and the emptiness they left behind, yet old scents mixed with new—rubber and metal.
Brando peeked his head inside. “You had a gym put in.”
“There are a few pieces of modern equipment, but it was meant for a more primal sort of workout experience.”
He entered into the space fully, standing in the center, looking around. He pointed to an adjoining opening that led to the second barn. “What’s in there?”
“Another barn. It’s bare though. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.” I shrugged. “I thought you would enjoy having this.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet, but not too soft. “Tell me why.”
“Mitch told me that’s all you did. I thought you’d enjoy having one here too.”
He removed his shirt, handing it to me. He took hold of the pull up bar, going up and down with a finesse that made the exercise look easy. The muscles in his arms and back flexed with his strength, rippling with each movement. His six-pack abs melted into a deep, defining V, all of the muscles straining there too. I suddenly wished for a fan. It was so hot that I felt faint.
Catching the look on my face, he smiled and released the bar. Taking a cue from the pleasure in his eyes, and knowing I needed to cool off, we walked hand in hand toward the bridge.
He stopped me, jutting his chin toward Maggie Beautiful. She had invited Aberto Colombo, her movie date, over for antipasto on the terrace. But she refused to call it a date—she claimed they were only friends. She said he was a reader, he loved poetry, and that he challenged her. The friendship seemed to be growing.
“He’s wearing a sweater in the heat,” Brando commented almost to himself. His eyes narrowed when Maggie Beautiful laughed at something Aberto said. “She likes him.” He didn’t pose it as a question, but I knew it was meant to be.
