I hold up the bag of wine I just purchased. “You read my mind.”
We walk back to the house, and as I open the gate to the front yard, I see the unmistakable sleek silhouette of Sutton walking toward us. She waves and grins when she spots me, and I have no choice but to be personable. “Sutton, hi.”
“Izzy! I’ve been looking for you.”
I do my best to smile and pretend I’m at all happy about the run-in, or that she’s still here at all. She’s been seemingly utilizing every square inch of the Farentino villa as her at-home office since she’s been here, always on the phone or clacking on her laptop or both at the same time.
“I’ve convinced the family to do a Lake Como trip this weekend. We could all use the reprieve,” she says.
“Lake Como?”
“Yes, the family home.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder, and I try not to show my annoyance at herreferring to it asthefamily home. “We’re all heading up this evening, but you could join us tomorrow. It’ll be the first time we’ve all been up there since. . .” She tapers off. I know the rest. Since Raffaello left. Since Benito and Sutton broke up. Since Isabella Rhodes was a congresswoman in the U.S. and not in Italy making out with Sutton’s not-boyfriend.
“Well, that’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly intrude.” I’ve barely spoken to Benito all week, mostly because being around him makes me wish I never put us on pause. The last thing I want to do is watch another episode of the Sutton and Benito in Love show.
“Have you been to Lake Como?” Giac asks.
“No,” I say.
“Then you must go. It is one of my favorite places in the world.” Giac grins at Sutton.
Sutton lights up. “You could come too. . .”
“Giac.” He sticks out his hand for her to shake it.
“Giac, you are more than welcome as long as you can convince Izzy here. It’s a massive house, so don’t worry about feeling like an intrusion.”
My throat dries and I feel sweaty as I struggle to come up with an excuse. “I’m sure Anita doesn’t need two extra people to entertain.”
Sutton laughs. “Are we talking about the same woman? She loved the idea when I floated it past her, and I’ll let her know that Giac will be joining us.” Before I can say anything else she claps her hands together. “This will be great! I’ll forward you all the details. What’s your number?”
She takes out her phone and hands it to me to add my contact information. At this point it would be more uncomfortable to continue to decline her offer than it would be to go. Besides, Ihavealways wanted to see Lake Como. I type my number. “I guess we’re going to Lake Como.”
Giac offers to drive us and picks me up at the crack of dawn the next morning. “Nice car,” I say as I open the door to Giac’s tiny Fiat, ducking to avoid hitting my head as I get in. I’m wearing a chambray romper and white sneakers, with my hair pulled back in a silk headband.
“It’s actually my aunt’s,” he says, “but she isn’t allowed to drive.”
“Oh, has she lost her eyesight?” I ask.
“No,” Giac says. “It was a town ordinance. Everyone voted and said, no more.”
“Oh.” I can tell from Giac’s rigid shoulders that it’s an uncomfortable subject. “Do you travel often?” I ask.
He glances over at me, which is slightly unnerving as we whip down the narrow cliffside road. “As much as school is on break. I spent a year traveling all over Europe, Asia, Africa. It was the best year of my life.” He merges onto theautostrada, speeding up. “What about you? Your job must have taken you all over.”
“Not really.” I lean my head against the headrest. “I don’t even remember the last time I traveled for fun.”
“I need to see new places like I need to breathe,” Giac says. “I don’t like the idea that there are corners of the earth I’ll never see. I want to know it all.”
It’s the exact type of comment that reminds me of our subtle but not insignificant age difference. The idea of seeing everything the world has to offer, while once maybe an intriguing idea, now makes me tired. “If you come to LA, you can skip the Walk of Fame in Hollywood. Now that it’s not part of my district, I can be honest and say that it’s a piss-covered money pit with a mediocre mall.”
Giac shakes his head. “If you skip the less pleasant parts, you’ll never appreciate the good.” He points out the window. “See that?”
I look. There’s perfectly pleasant countryside somewhere out there, but all I see is the wall that separates it from the highway and the thick early-morning fog. “Concrete? Yes.”
“And it’ll last forever. Hundreds of kilometers of nothing special.”
I look back at the drab sight. “You’re a great road trip buddy.”
