Dario doesn’t know what else to say, so all that comes out is, “Andiamo.” Let’s go.
Post-takeoff, sitting across from his brother in the tan leather reclining chairs, Dario gives in to the temptation of real conversation. He grips the armrests and asks, “Did you mean what you said back there about us sticking together?”
Emilio’s gaze stays trained out the window. “Obviously.”
“I didn’t think it fazed you,” Dario confesses as the flight attendant comes by with trays, meals and drinks for them.
“Just because I don’t show it doesn’t mean it doesn’t faze me.” He illustrates the sentiment when he finally meets Dario’s eyes. There is an apathetic calm spread over his face—a stoic, masculine mask—but Dario sees a crack in it now.
Antagonism always seemed easier in the mired face of their differences.
“Mom told me about the…the…the thing you have. The anxiety thing. I don’t remember the name. I called her before I drove over,” Emilio says.
While Dario doesn’t love that his mother shared this without his permission, sometimes, needs must. He gets that. “That was nice of you.”
“I can be nice,” he says. As if to prove his point, he gives Dario first dibs on the plate of bruschetta.
Dario picks a caper off his chicken and says, “What happened with Michelle?”
“We spent some time together and then she flew back to France. She’s really sweet. Talented, too,” Emilio says. Stripped of his usual bravado, he comes across as genuine.
“And Daniella…?” Dario asks, even though it might bungle the easy rhythm they seem to be falling into.
Emilio downs half his chicken in one bite. He chews, clearly stewing over this. “I want a divorce, but Daniella won’t give me one.”
Dario’s head might explode from the news. “Che?”
“I know you and Mom don’t want to hear this because you love her, but she’s been cheating on me since we got married. I realized pretty quickly that she’d married me because she thought Nonno left me a lot in the will,” Emilio says, wearing a pensive expression.
Dario refrains from saying that that doesn’t sound like her because, what does he know? He’s been absent from his brother’s life for a while now. Social media posts and occasional text threads don’t amount to the character of a person.
“That sounds tough,” Dario says.
“It didn’t bother me much at first, telling myself it was slipups because I wasn’t around a lot or because we’d been together a long time and I wasn’t keeping it fresh, but then it continued happening, and I realized that maybe it was always about themoney,” he says. “I’m not stupid. I know our wealth is half the reason some women want to get with me. I didn’t get Dad’s looks like you did.”
“What are you talking about?” Dario asks.
“Vaffanculo!” Emilio says with no bite. He even laughs a little. “Take the compliment. All I’m saying is that when I realized she was never going to change or be with me the way I want her to be, I told her I wanted a divorce, and she refused. Anything I inherit from Nonno once everything is cleared can be put in our joint account, which means she gets half if I were to leave her,” Emilio says. “If I inherit Amorina, that half goes way up, but fuck that.”
“Merda. That’s awful. I’m sorry, Em,” he says, wishing he’d been there for his younger brother earlier. “When you showed up at the villa with Craig, you made it seem like you wanted Amorina.”
“I did that to piss you off. If you haven’t noticed, I’m good at that,” he says with a self-aware laugh. “I figured if I riled you up enough, you’d kick your ass into gear and get the fuck married. Saying it now, I know that it was selfish of me but I don’t want to run Amorina. I’ve never wanted to run Amorina. I just pretended to so Daniella would get off my back and you’d get hitched.”
“A devious plan but,” Dario says, “I think it kind of worked?”
“I have good ideas every now and again.”
“Coming here was a good idea. Thank you for that. I’m getting better, but I think I tried to rush it by going alone. You saved me back there. I appreciate it,” he says. At over 31,000 feet in the air, having listened to his brother’s woes, his problems down on the ground feel tiny in comparison.
“Don’t mention it. You should probably get some sleep before we land. You look like shit,” Emilio says, slapping his knee. “You need the energy to woo Charlie and his family.”
Dario darts for his phone. “Charlie! Right before you showed up, I texted him. He probably thinks I’m not coming. He’s probably a wreck.” He frantically drafts a text that won’t send. Airplane mode. He tries to switch to the Wi-Fi but it won’t work. The flight attendant informs him that it’s out of service and that they weren’t able to fix it before takeoff.
Dario flops back in his chair. “Damn.”
“Maybe Charlie is a big fan of surprises,” Emilio offers.
Dario prays for that to be true.
