Giac smirks. “You and the mayor, huh?” He grins again, teasingly. “He is cute. I get it.”
I wave a finger. “Back off, I have dibs.”
Giac scrunches up his face as he watches Benito join Sutton and her captive audience. “Do you, though?”
I gasp, feigning insult—well,kind offeigning. “I liked you better when I thought you were into me.”
It’s probably a breach of trust to share that Benito and I are anything considering his fake girlfriend is a few meters away, but it’s a relief to debrief with someone who knows us both.
“So, what’s the deal with the ex, then?” he asks. “Why is she here?”
I look over to Sutton, who’s in the middle of a gesticulation-fueled story, skillfully holding on to the men’s attention. “That. . . that I’m still trying to figure out, but it can’t be good.”
We sit for dinner, and I’m placed at the center of the table, with Giac all the way at the other end between Anita at the head and Lucia to his left. I am sandwiched between Don to the left and Alan to the right, with Sutton right across from me, and Benito next to her.
With their partners at hand, everyone’s much more polite to begin with. I learn Don is in Italy for two weeks on business, but they’re doing a week on a yacht next, sailing from Venice to Split. Alan and his wifehave a summer home in the Italian Riviera, and he commutes to and from his office in London via private jet. Marco recently purchased a plush penthouse in Porta Nuova, Milan’s bougiest neighborhood.
Sutton, for her part, is renovating her flat in posh Kensington. “I’m in dire need of a décor overhaul,” she says, fiddling with the gold feather ring on her right pointer finger as she speaks. “It’s 2014 twee-tragic in there right now.”
Don slurps his wine before chiming in. “Make sure it’s not too girly—I have a feeling Benito here will come crawling back sooner rather than later.” He makes a jeering face at Benito as if he’s in on the joke.
Sutton stretches her hand across the table to gently tap Don’s arm. “From your lips to God’s ears.” Benito merely shakes his head.
I’m so tired of the elitist mood to the day. It’s no wonder Benito’s default state is “grumpy” if these are the types of people he’s been surrounded by his whole life. It makes sense now that Anita and Lucia are much more upbeat, left out of Raffaello’s reign of terror and free to live their unimpressive lives. “Maybe you’ll end up in La Musa, Sutton,” I say. “It’s well on its way to becoming a bustling tourist destination.”
Eyes shift among the business companions at the table and uneasiness seeps into my gut. Alan clears his throat. “Yes, well, with one of our properties in town, it’s our goal to make La Musa the luxury standard in Umbria.”
One of his properties? I’ve stayed in a hotel from the same chain before, and while the towels were softand the bed cozy, it was well over $1,000 a night, not accessible to the everyday traveler. He must be joking. “Sure, add a SoulCycle and an Erewhon and we’ll be well on our way,” I say, and more shifty eyes erupt in response. The vibe is weird. I look to Benito, who’s equally confused.
Raffaello gestures for a server to replenish his wine glass and sits back. “Izzy, Alan’s company is interested in buying and renovating the old estate on the south end of town into a five-star resort.”
My stomach drops. While the hotels are nice, it’s the kind of luxury that exudes convenience: complimentary designer water, state-of-the-art fitness studios, Netflix on every 60-inch TV instead of syndicated sitcoms dubbed in Italian—none of that goes with La Musa’s old-world charm. Benito interjects, “Villa Maria was built in the 15th century, you cannot tear it down. As mayor I will not allow it.”
“Not tear down—” Alan waves his hands in front of him like he’s presenting. “Renovate.”
“Villa Maria is a private property, and if the owner wishes to sell”—Raffaello points to himself—“which he does, then he may do so. Just like he wishes to do with the dozen other properties he owns in town.”
Don leans in. “And that’s where we’d come in with a complete redesign of La Musa’s main commercial district. Mixed-use spaces with modern amenities.”
I look back and forth between Raffaello and Benito—what happened to our conversation the other day, when Raffaello acted amenable to the plan to emphasize La Musa’s history? I could concede thatone luxury resort in town wouldn’t be so bad, but they are talking about destruction. They sound like, well, they sound like Benito when I first met him.
“And again”—Benito sits up straighter—“you cannot do any of this without the town’s approval.” I toss him a quick smile. I’m so glad he’s changed his tune.
Raffaello blatantly rolls his eyes, making no attempt to disguise his disdain for his son in this moment. “The people in town know that revitalization is necessary to keep it from becoming a ghost town.”
“Revitalization, yes,” says Benito. “Not obliteration.”
“No one wants La Musa to look like Silver Lake,” I add.
“But they are interested in the town that was so special, Isabella Rhodes abandoned her old life to up and move here,” says Don. A smarmy grin wipes across his face as if to charm me, but my blood starts to boil. He takes out his phone. “You laid the groundwork, Izzy, we plan to take this attention to the finish line.”
I look to Benito, confused, but he shrugs back at me. Don searches for something on his phone and after a moment, flips it around to show me. It’s my face. Or specifically, it’s my face superimposed onto an ad that readsLa Musa, the perfect place to run away to. I blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing it correct. “The fuck is this?” I ask.
“Our ad campaign, with you at its center, if you’ll come aboard.” Don grins at me like there’s any possible world in which I say yes.
Sutton sighs. “Don, I wanted to present this to her in a more official capacity.” She looks to mesympathetically. “I made a pitch deck.” She sits back and crosses her arms. “It was very convincing.”
My eyes dart around the table. Everyone is watching me, waiting. “You want me to be the face of the new La Musa?” I ask.
