“Anyway,” he says as he scans the board behind me with the drinks written in marker, “is the Colli Senesi in a bottle?”
“It is,” I reply like an automaton. Why does he seem so changed?
“Then I’ll have a glass, not hot out of the dishwater, if possible.”
Petrified by his attitude, I lose all enthusiasm for our reunion. “Coming right up.”
I disappear inside the tent that we use as a galley, where the smell of fried dough permeates our clothes, our hair, and even our souls.
“So?” Lucia asks me, coming in to fill the ice bucket.
“He didn’t recognize me,” I say dejectedly.
“Really?”
“He’s cold, rude ... I don’t find him particularly impressive.”
“Maybe he’s just tired from his trip. Get a little wine into him and then say, ‘Are you sure you don’t recognize me, you idiot?’”
I nod, reassured. “Maybe you’re right. Come on, help me get the Colli Senesi out from under all these cases.”
As we unstack the boxes, our ears catch a conversation on the other side of the tent.
“D’Arcy! Don’t you feel like you’ve gone back in time?” We immediately recognize Carletto’s voice, also no one else here would be speaking English.
“A little too much. In fact I’m quite sure absolutely nothing about this place has changed.”
“Instead of being so critical, try to enjoy the change of scene and have some fun.”
“Excuse me, Bingley, are you trying to tell me you’re having fun?” Michael’s tone is tinged with skepticism.
“Have some of these fritters; they’ll bring you back from the dead.”
“No, thanks,” Michael declines.
“And look at all the girls! Not bad, eh?” Carletto says, undeterred by his friend’s constraint.
“Right. Certainly none up to par. In London, I can find all the beautiful women I want.”
“There’s Giada over there. Do you know she and her family are still at the estate?”
“Oh yeah?”
“She’s wonderful, D’Arcy. I remembered she was beautiful but not like this!”
“Are you talking about the estate?”
“No—Giada. Look at her! Can you blame me?”
I am going to remind my sister of this conversation every time she takes a selfie and loads it with ridiculous filters because she doesn’t like herself enough.
“You’re not wrong.”
“And her sister Elisa is cute too!”
Hearing the compliment makes me blush. Ultimately, it’s nice. Especially when I’m dressed like a recycling bin.
“If I remember Elisa correctly, time certainly can’t have done her any favors.”
