Lucia waves her hands in front of her. “Someone like Giac, really.”
I nearly drop the blankets she’s so thoughtfully brought me. “Giac?”
She giggles and shakes her head, leaning forward to put a conspiratorial hand on my arm. “Not actually Giac, obviously, but someone like him. You and my brother are alike too, and I see how much Giac balances you out. You’re always laughing when you’re around him. Benito needs that.” She gestures toward the moonlight dripping in through the window. “He needs more light.”
I rack my brain for a response. She’s not wrong—Giac is light. Giac is the human equivalent of an early-summer sun. Maybe Benito needs someone uncomplicated, not someone who sees an opportunity to verbally take down a family friend and takes it.
“Yeah, maybe that’s what it is,” I say.
“Don’t get me wrong, I like Sutton.” Lucia puts her hands up in surrender, but I don’t know that I believe her. “She’s beautiful, she’s brilliant—”
“Sure, of course,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Who knows what will happen? I’ve given up on trying to guess the next moves of my brother and father, as lately they’ve been totally unpredictable.”
Lucia leaves me to ponder that as I change out of my dress and into the cream-colored silk shorts and tank top pajama set I brought. There’s a soft cotton robe in the closet that I fling on as a breeze rolls off the lake, and I close the open window.
It’s unsettling that the Benito I know is not the Benito Lucia is used to. For her, he’s always been far from home: boarding school, Cambridge, his life in London. Raffaello’s been the one who has beenthere. He was frequently away on business trips and “business” trips to Milan and God knows where else, but her whole life, up until six months ago, he was La Musa’s Mayor Farentino.
Vincenzo said he hasn’t ever seen Anita, Lucia, and Benito as happy as they’ve been lately, but that doesn’t mean the new normal I found them in will last. Maybe Benito will return to London. Regardless of whether or not Sutton is in the picture, he’s never wanted the small-town life. Maybe Raffaello is back for good, and maybe his family will continue to turn a blind eye to his more illicit extracurriculars. It’ll be chaos, but there’s a comfort in chaos if it’s all you’ve ever known.
Maybe it’s not possible to let go of who you used to be and escape old patterns. At least not forever.
Despite my exhaustion, I can barely lie still, let alone keep my eyes closed. Without the window open, the air in the room has gone stale. I desperately wish Simone Cantoni had installed a ceiling fan or that Italy had a penchant for central AC. I think of my bedroom in the Beachwood house with its slanted shiplap ceiling and the two big windows on the east and west side. My parents weren’t the biggest fans of air-conditioning either, but when the cross-breeze cut through after the marine layer settled on summer nights, it wasn’t necessary.
Knowing sleep won’t find me anytime soon, I venture downstairs. The party has long since wrapped, and even the staff has gone home for the night. It’s serenely quiet, and I can finally appreciatethe view out back for its full worth. I perch myself against the terrace wall and breathe in the crisp air.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I turn and see Benito walking toward me. He’s in the same clothes from earlier, but his hair has been the victim of several stress comb-throughs.
“I think my room is haunted by the ghost of Marco Polo,” I say.
He leans against the wall next to me, a slight, amused smile emerging across his lips. “Is that really the first Italian you could think of?”
“No, I was going to say Julius Caesar, but this just doesn’t really feel like his vibe.” I smile back at him.
His mouth tilts to one side as he looks at me. “That those are your top two proves troubling.”
I turn so I’m facing him. “Since you’re so elitist, who are your top two Americans?”
He thinks for a moment. “Joni Mitchell and Bethenny Frankel.”
A laugh explodes from deep in my chest. “I mean, yeah. Our two finest.”
He tries to keep a straight face, but a laugh breaks through. His mood is so much lighter than it’s been all day, and a thrill runs through me to know I’m its cause.
The laughter settles into a silence, and it’s not a comfortable one. My eyes drift back to the lake. The lights from the villas and the town across the water’s speckled reflections look like stars on the dark water. “Today was a lot,” I say.
Benito inhales sharply. “I shouldn’t have let you walk into that scene tonight. I knew who my father invited, but I had no idea what they were proposing.”
His eyes narrow as he joins me in gazing outward. There’s so much to unpack from the revelations of this evening, but right now I just want to be here, with him, in the now. “It’s a lot,” I say.
Benito, much to my chagrin, is ready to dive in. “I don’t think my father wants to be mayor again, but he’s always had an issue relinquishing control. A few small changes I could understand, or even encourage, but this is far beyond what I imagined. I won’t let what they envision happen to La Musa. And I won’t let them make you the face of it. I won’t.”
His shoulders start to shake, and I place a hand on him. He’s startled by the contact but relaxes. “I know,” I say. He turns to face me, and I lift my hand off him. “Sutton told me you decided to let me stay in the house because of who I am. Because I might be. . . helpful to you all.”
Benito sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Those were her words, not mine.” He faces the lake, staring out across the water for a moment. “You know we didn’t exactly click when we first met.”
I lean forward, trying to catch his eyes. “I know.”
