Charlie sits across from them. Several boiled eggs almost roll off into the grass for Angelo to gobble up. “You design wedding dresses?”
“I want to,” Michelle says, sliding her book off the table and back into her bag.
Charlie nods while peeling an egg. “Cool. What’s on the agenda today?”
Dario falters for a moment, both from the question and the coolness with which Charlie carries himself this morning. Dario’s grandfather told him to drop his armor, but he fears sword fighting with Charlie might’ve been an act of self-sabotage. That empty bed this morning, it plagues him.
“Yes, what are we to do today?” Michelle asks, sounding less enthused but interested, nonetheless.
Dario pushes his plate away. “We were set for another chocolate lesson back at the factory, but I fear with just the three of us it might be a little dull. Do either of you have any ideas for what you might like to do?”
Charlie jumps in right away. “Since we only have two full days left, I was sort of hoping to explore the city of Perugia. I love it out here in the country, but I’d love to experience a little more Italian culture up close. I hear they have an incredible art museum.”
Dario freezes at the thought, then cramps even worse under Charlie’s bright, hopeful gaze. It is like the Selina and Solomeo situation all over again. Can they see the hives cropping up beneath his collar?
Strolling the commercial streets of Perugia and visiting galleries to escape the heat would be a pleasant way to pass the time, but the presumed crowd levels stop him from agreeing.
Luckily, Michelle shirks the idea first. “I do not think I could spend the whole day out in this sun and heat in my condition still.” She peels in unseemly places.
Charlie’s expression falls. “I have SPF 100 sunscreen back in my room, and I’m sure we could get you a big hat and a parasol or something to carry around.”
“I am still not sure it is a good idea,” Michelle says, eyelashes fluttering. At once, she reminds Dario of a wedding gown—delicate, diaphanous fabrics stitched together with strong construction. Fragile yet lasting with the right upkeep. She is most certainly the kind of creative, attractive, well-spoken person the Cotogna family wants for him.
But still, what does he want for himself? A firm answer evades him.
“Dario?” Charlie asks, voice peppered with anticipation.
His fan hand can’t keep up with the speed at which he sweats. “If Michelle stays here, perhaps I should as well.”
Charlie’s lips tighten into a frown. “Okay, that’s fine.”
“Do not let us stop you,” Michelle says, sounding pleased. “Is today the day you sit down and watchThe Ladieswith me?”
“Of course,” Dario says, aware of Charlie’s disappointment steeping on the far side of the table. Last night had been heady and wonderful, but he should give Michelle a chance to spur some sparks, too. She came all this way. It’s only fair.
Without touching the rest of his plate, Charlie says, “Then I guess I’ll make an early start of it.” He stands, casting a long shadow over their table.
“Allow me to call my driver for you,” Dario says.
“I’d rather bike to the train station if it’s all the same to you.”
There is no malice in the words, but Dario’s stomach sinks regardless. Sending Charlie off alone is not sitting right with him. “If you are sure,” Dario says.
“I am,” Charlie says with the weakest smile imaginable. “Stay cool today!”
Somewhere during hour three of watchingThe Luxurious Ladies of Provence, the front door to the villa flies open. Emilio’s voice penetrates the otherwise calm house. Michelle perks up, while Dario groans to himself.
At least it provides a break from what might well be the inanest show he has ever had the displeasure of watching. Not that he gets that many hours to watch TV anyway with his busy work life, but still, if he and Michelle were to wed, on their Venn diagram of shared interests, this show would not sit in the middle oval.
In the entryway, Emilio stands in front of a man in baggy pants and a backwards hat who holds a large camera. Emilio talks a mile a minute about how he grew up in Villa Meraviglia and runs through all the great times he had there.
“What’s going on right now?” Dario asks, forgoing a greeting.
The cameraman swings the lens toward Dario. He shields his eyes from the searing spotlight strapped to the front. Without being able to see her, Dario senses Michelle straighten and hears her step forward to join him, peacocking once she does.
Emilio continues talking as if Dario hadn’t spoken. “This is my brother—mio fratello—Dario. He is the loner, homebody type. And who is this lovely lady?”
Michelle fawns as Emilio leans in to kiss her on both cheeks. “Michelle Trottier from France.”
