Well done him. Although . . .
I don’t like to give too much credence to gossip, but what Giliola and Regina said about Giada is ringing in my head, all this about Giada looking for a winning horse to bet on.
Bingley has already ended up in the crosshairs of a few social climbers, and he’s the perfect prey for that kind of huntress: generous by nature, a good Samaritan by vocation, always assuming people have the best intentions, and ready to trust anyone with a smile.
I got his ass back on track twice and don’t intend to stand by while some vampire sucks up his soul along with his bank account—first therewas Brielle, from his company’s design department, and then Kelly, the physical therapist who helped him heal after his ski accident two years ago. And they say trouble comes in threes ...
Not that I’d enjoy shattering his fantasy, but I learned to recognize slimy opportunists from a young age—my brother, George, was a master social climber. And Charles, unfortunately, is a magnet for these types.
Within a few minutes, Charles and Giada disappear, probably to a more secluded corner of the sprawling garden.
I return to the villa, and right as I’m about to go upstairs, Donatella surprises me from behind, taking two years off my life.
I turn, and next to her there is a brunette girl with very straight hair and bangs that fall like a curtain over her eyes.
“Mr. D’Arcy, it pains me to interrupt your plans for the evening, but Miss Ballini has come to see you,” she announces with the funereal voice of someone who has fought and lost, and a look that saysI’ve tried everything, and there was no way out.
I sigh and hold out my hand to the girl. “Pleased to—”
“My name is Chiaraluce. I’m Regina Cozzi’s neighbor,” she interrupts me, overwhelming me with her machine-gun speech. “I heard you were at Regina’s for dinner with her family. What a shame we didn’t meet there. I stopped in to bring you this black cherry cake, but they told me you’d already left, so I thought I’d come straight here so we could enjoy it together.”
Eat more?! God, please no!
“I’m full,” I apologize.
“Come on. There’s always room for dessert. Plus we could get to know each other better.”
“Mr. D’Arcy.” I recognize the thin voice calling from the kitchen: Linda. “You’re finally back. I was waiting for you to help me with my English homework.”
“Your homework . . . ?” I ask, confused.
“English,” she repeats. “Remember? That extremely difficult translation you said you’d help with?”
Linda, what a little genius you are. “Of course! The translation!”
“Can’t that wait?” Chiaraluce objects, annoyed.
“I’m afraid not,” I insist. “Otherwise, Linda could get a bad mark. It’s full of idioms that can’t be translated into Italian. You have to be a native speaker.”
“And Mr. D’Arcy was so kind to offer his help.” Linda plays along.
“Forgive me, Chiaraluce. We’ll have to save it for another time,” I say.
Linda and I disappear into the kitchen, where, however, no translation awaits.
“I told you you’d need me again,” she starts.
“How much will it cost me this time?” I ask, my hand already on my wallet.
“I actually wouldn’t mind your help in English. This year I’ll be in eighth grade, and then I want to go to high school in London.”
“Ambitious.”
“An ambitious person knows how to live; everyone else is just existing,” she states confidently.
“Plato?” I guess.
“No, me.” Linda sits down at the long oak table and from under a white linen cloth takes out a biscuit in the shape of an S. “My ... Mariana made them, for tomorrow’s breakfast. Want one?”
