“Nothing in Urbino is modern, dolcezza. And those animals over there”—I gesture toward the fields that slide down the hill where the sheep are grazing happily—“those are sheep.”
Nina purses her lips and wipes one hand over the other—the Italian gesture for “it’s nothing.”
Ava blinks twice.
“The apartment is—how should I say—in disrepair, no?” Nina asks, then looks to me like I have all the answers. I didn’t evenknow who I was driving until this morning when Nina handed me the sign, so there’s no surprise that Nina’s rented out the apartment without my knowledge. My aunt shrugs her shoulders and I shake my head and focus on Angry Smurf who is back on her phone for the thousandth time since we met. I’d love to take it out of her hand and throw it over the hill.
“If we are talking about the studio on Via Mazzini, then yes. Air-conditioner is broken and there’s a leak in the roof,” I add, then turn to Zia and lift my chin. “Which I could have handled had someone told me the apartment was being rented this summer.”
I was under the impression that I was living here to fix up the guest house and help with the farm during tourist season. But this wouldn’t be the first time my impressions were mistaken with Zia Nina. She and my Zio are the conductors, and I’m lucky if they hand me sheet music.
Nina makes a dismissive sound and the American looks to the sky. I hear her whisper something that sounds like “Why, Mom?” then she settles her gaze back on me.
“Can’t I just put a bucket under the drip or get a fan with some ice …”
All of the fight has leaked from her voice. Her bare shoulders drop an inch and her words trail off. I have the sudden urge to tip her chin up. Just like I had in the car when she overshared her secrets.
“Don’t be silly, carina. My husband and I will host you until James can fix it up.” Nina steps up and puts an arm around the girl. “It is nothing. Dottore Pastore is an old friend.”
“You know my advisor?” Ava asks, leaning into my Aunt’s touch. Nina has that effect on everyone. Born nurturer. Keeper of lost souls like mine.
“Certo. How do you think you ended up here? He studied with my husband, Leonardo. Leo is the dean of the university here, butthis can all wait. You must be tired, carina.” Nina makes a dismissive hand wave and points up the gravel path then turns to me. “Gi, show her to the guest house.”
I open my mouth to object and Nina widens her eyes and tips up her chin at me. I close my mouth. Nina turns and leaves, murmuring something patently false about a pregnant sheep and kicking up a poof of dust in her wake.
“Right. To the guest house,” I murmur, tugging the ridiculously large luggage to my side before I set off again for the house.
“Could you fix my apartment tonight?”
I laugh.
“Right on top of that, principessa.”
She ignores the sarcasm and keeps at it, though. Persistent little thing.
“I feel like that’s the least you could do after—”
“Driving six hours to escort you from the airport?” I can feel her right behind me, her breathing growing heavier as I pick up the pace.
“I was going to tip you on top of whatever you got paid for that, but with the delay and then the lies.” She sighs. “I’ll double whatever they are paying you to fix my apartment.”
I stop short and she runs right into my back. The American thinks I’m some sort of hired help. A butler, maybe? Family chauffeur? How entitled is this woman? I think back to my exchange with Nina. She only used the word nipote when addressing me, and for all the Italian the American knows she could be translating that word as manservant.
Our collision makes me drop the handle of her overpacked suitcase, and it wobbles then falls to the gravel at her feet with a thump, sending dust and dirt onto her toes. She stares at her luggage, shuts her eyes, and takes in a deep breath that makes her chest rise so it’s nearly touching mine.
“Listen, Signorina Graham,” I start.
She clears her throat and I find her staring at my jaw. I start again.
“I’m not sure who or what you think I am—”
I stop. Her eyes are darker than they were at the airport, more like the needles on the cypress trees that line the path up to my Zia’s. Her brows pull together, forming two little indents above her nose. My fingers go to my chest where my camera usually hangs, but I find only fabric.
Ava must think I’m finished because she takes over. “I think you were my driver who was over an hour late. Who then lied about speaking English and sat soaking up all of my personal information like some sort of villainous sponge. And who finally just manhandled my belongings like a gorilla,” she says, pointing to her fallen luggage.
Villainous sponge? I’m biting hard on my lip so I don’t smile and piss her off further, but come on. I know I should apologize. She’s Zio’s guest—and my uncle is the best man I know. But the clipped tone. The privilege that oozes out of her like the chocolate from the center of Zia’s lava cakes.
“Fine. I’ll fix the apartment tonight for five hundred euro,” I tell her, surprising myself with the obvious lie. I lift my brows and hold out my palm. “Deal?”
