“Sì. He is…ah, good.”
“You? Do you race?”
“A volte.” I laughed at how innocent she was in that moment. She was a mysterious combination of a woman and a girl. “I take care of the family affairs. Mostly.”
Our eyes locked. And a simple question came to mind from the silence that had stretched between us.
“Do you like what you see,bella?” It was not truly a question, but a formal request for her to be honest with me.
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, you are attractive, but you remind me of someone.”
“Ah. Mistaken identity.” I pinched her cheek, just to touch her again. I knew she would be the kind of woman who became pliable at my touch. “Do I please you?” I leaned in closer. She moved her head back, but it was not instant, and curiosity flooded those feline eyes. “You are beautiful,” I could not help myself from speaking the truth. “Let us take that picture now. A deal is a deal. A favor for a favor, ah?”
She nodded and seemed relieved that we were back on steady ground. I brought out the camera and situated it so we were both in the frame. She stood, as if we were going to take a picture next to each other. I took her tiny waist in my hands and pulled her close before she could put space between us. The camera snapped the photo.
“This is nice.” I looked the photo over. “So nice.”
Her phone rang, and she excused herself to answer it. I waved, unable to look away from the two of us and how we complemented each other, but I was still paying attention to her conversation, even if she did not think I was.
A voice that sounded like mine, deep and with a bit of rasp, said to her, “Hey, baby,” in an American accent.
“Hello,” she responded.
Silence came between them for a second.
“You’ve been drinking.” This from the American man.
“A little.” She laughed, but it melted quickly, like she was sobering.
“Tell me where you are.”
“A farmhouse in Siena.”
“By yourself.”
“No. Rosaria Caffi showed me the place.”
Ah. There she was. I knew it would not be long before her name came up.
“The opera singer,” the man said.
“That’s the one.”
“You’ve had too much to drink.” His responses were never questions, but observations—I admired that about him. His replies were right every time.
“Yes.”
“Come see,bella,” I called, letting this man who had left this beautiful creature alone know that she was not, in fact, alone.
“Scarlett,” he said, a deep rumble in his voice.
“There are people here.” She hesitated for a few seconds. “What’s wrong,mio marito?” She moved further into the yard. She did not want me to hear the rest of the conversation.
Her voice came out as whispers, and at one point, she turned and found me watching her. She hung up a second later.
“You did not have to rush on my account,bella.” I smiled at her when she returned to the terrace. “I have plenty of time.”
“Good.” Her voice sounded stronger, not as carried away with drink. The man had sobered her. “Why don’t you tell me…more about you?”
