When I gain ground, she catches up quickly, and to my surprise, as soon as the road steepens, she passes me.
I concentrate on overtaking her, but my gaze, initially riveted on her shoulders, lingers down on her round and shapely buttocks and her sinuous hips that sway left and right in a hypnotic motion.
“I win!” she exults, slapping her hands down on the railing of the staircase. “Remind me who was supposed to be torn to shreds?”
“Maybe I let you win,” I suggest.
“You? You wouldn’t even let a blind, lame person on oxygen win!”
She’s right. “I got distracted by the view.”
“Nice, isn’t it?” she asks breathlessly, her breasts rising and falling.
“Incomparable.” Luckily, she has no idea what I’m referring to.
26
Elisa
This afternoon I’m taking Michael to visit the enology lab, but I arrive at the villa to find a scene that leaves me speechless: He’s sitting at the large kitchen table, speaking English with Linda.
She’s telling him about the last book she read, and I wonder how he could possibly be interested in some plot about insecure high school girls whose biggest problem in life is finding a prom date.
“Let me guess,” I interject. “In the end, the ugly loser who’s beautiful on the inside impresses the coolest guy in school and becomes prom queen?”
“Actually, the loser is only elected prom queen as a joke and her classmates bully her, but then she gets possessed by Satan, sets fire to the gym, and everyone dies,” replies Linda.
“It’sCarrie, by Stephen King,” Michael explains to me.
“Sounds fun, right Little Cub?” I say, giving her a kiss on the head.
“Come on! Don’t call me Little Cub,” she grumbles, avoiding my attempt at affection. “Mom, can I have a sleepover here with some school friends on Saturday?” she asks me imploringly, her big eyes shining, as if she hadn’t growled at me a second earlier.
“Why not? Great idea!” I say, relieved at her rare urge to socialize. She has a group of classmates she sometimes sees when she’s nothunched over her books, but Linda isn’t exactly the life of the party. She prefers to keep to herself, though it’s probably at least partly my fault since I don’t let her take part in more “grown-up” initiatives organized by her friends. Like the time they wanted to go to the water park one afternoon, but I nixed it when she said there wouldn’t be an adult with them. A sleepover at home seems completely innocent to me. “Let’s have Nonna make her famous pizza. And we can go buy snacks and gummies.” What kind of sleepover would it be otherwise? I’m happy to risk being named crappiest mother of the year if it means I can push my daughter into a healthy social life with junk food banned by the Geneva convention.
“Speaking of invitations,” Michael jumps in, “I ran into Lapo and Margherita, and they proposed we all have a reunion dinner before Carletto leaves again. What do you think?”
“We can do it in the garden. Maybe I’ll call Cosimo and Lucia as well,” I add enthusiastically. More than anything, I’m thrilled that Michael actually wants to do something enjoyable here, rather than counting the minutes until he goes back to London. “But Carletto leaves on Sunday, so that just leaves Saturday.”
“Saturday’s perfect.” Michael downs his orange juice and stands up. “Shall we go? Linda, you can finish telling me aboutCarrietonight.”
“Mom, isn’t that one of Aunt Giada’s dresses?” Linda asks me with a suspicious look.
“No, it’s mine,” I lie. “We bought the same one.” Today I’ve borrowed another of Giada’s pieces: a red dress with white polka dots and a sweetheart neckline, a bit like a 1950s pin-up, which I think she wore for aGrease-themed party.
Like yesterday’s shirt, this is a tad too modest for her.
“And since when do you go to work dressed like that?” Linda insists.
“So many questions this morning, Linda,” I reply without answering, certain she has at least ten more shots lined up.
Michael and I go out to the lab on the electric cart built by the late count, who used it to zip around the estate like some kind of furious madman.
“Your daughter looks a lot like you,” Michael observes.
“I hope that’s a compliment.”
“She’s frighteningly intelligent for her age.”
