There’s half an hour to go until the party starts. The kids are upstairs, getting ready. Theo and I are already dressed, in our new, freshly ironed shirts, our reliable, regularly worn chinos, and the Panamas we’ve commented will remind us of this summer forever. We’ve been working hard all morning, although Theo has been whistling and humming jaunty tunes. Since his conversation with Kate, it’s like he’s had an added spring in his step. And now that our work is done, it’s time to inspect the results.
On the island in the kitchen, we’ve laid out a buffet of bruschetta andcrostini, polenta chips,aranciniballs,capreseandtricoloresalads, spinach and ricotta pastries—all of which I’ve made—plus cooked meats, olives and artichokes that Theo picked up from the deli in Camaiore. The only food we haven’t set out are the ingredients for the build-your-own-pizza bar that we’ll take out later and arrange on a table next to the wood-fired oven.
We’ve converted the larder into a bar, the centerpiece of which are the jugs of our pre-mixed cocktails—with refills in the fridge. There are also bottles of beer, white wine and Prosecco standing in ice buckets, plus spirits and mixers and a bowl full of lemons and limes. Outside, the patio is dotted with extra tables and chairs we’ve borrowed from Angelika and the Fiores, and we’ve decoratedthe front of the house with bunches of balloons and strings of Italian flags, plus we’ve hung from the pergola a disco ball that Mabel spotted in the window of a gift shop in Lucca.
All the elements for a fab party are present. The only thing missing is guests.
Normally, I’d be apprehensive before a party, especially one that’s going to bring together groups of people who don’t know one another—some who won’t know anyone, other than us. And I am worried about Dad and Debbie: will they feel like they don’t fit in or be able to relax and enjoy themselves? But other than that, I feel under much less pressure than I normally would. And that’s because I’m not hosting this party alone: I’m hosting it with Theo.
The two of us stand in the entrance to the house—the turquoise doors propped open behind us—and gaze out onto the patio, behind it the Freddana valley stretching out in all its late-summer glory.
“We did it,mio carissimo,” I say.
“Youdid it,mio tesoro,” Theo replies.
I shake my head. “This is a joint project—I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I’m not sure I agree with that but I’ll take it,” Theo concedes. “And whatever happens now—even if the heavens open and nobody turns up—we can be proud of ourselves.”
“Yeah.” I draw in a long breath and let it out, slowly. And Iamproud of myself.
“Do you remember what this place was like when we first saw it?” Theo says.
“How can I forget?” The two of us sat on the patio, looking out over the spring landscape. I struggled to believe the property belonged to me and was clueless about Uncle Wilf, but enchanted by the romance of the place. “I think I fell in love at first sight.”
“I think we both did.”
I frown. “I also remember being frightened I wouldn’t be able to pay the inheritance tax and keep it.”
Theo nods. “And I remember being daunted by all the work that needed doing.”
“But it was so beautiful.” I sigh. “And now we’ve done all the work, I think it’s even more beautiful.”
There’s a beat.
“I tell you what else is beautiful,” says Theo.
“What?” A smile lifts the corners of my mouth: I hope he’s going to say me.
A wolfish glint appears in his eye. “Your bum in those chinos. Bloody hell, Ads, what are you doing to me?”
He starts grabbing at me and growling, and I burst into giggles.
“Shall we just cancel the party and go upstairs?” he says, kissing my neck, hungrily.
I give a little scream and slap him away.
Just then, the kids come clattering downstairs.
Theo and I jump back from each other, straighten out our shirts, and turn to face them.
“We’re ready!” announces Archie.
Mabel gives a little twirl. To my surprise, she isn’t wearing the crop top I bought her yesterday but the lilac jumpsuit her mum brought from Atlanta. There’s no sign of the bracelet she was going to make, either. But I’m not remotely offended. Sheiswearing the lip gloss I bought—and her hair is off her face, revealing the false eyelashes and more makeup than I’ve seen her wearing since Gloria was here. But it isn’t over the top, and she’s done a great job.
Callum, meanwhile, is wearing black shorts, his new gray shirt and freshly cleaned white trainers—and he’s had a spritz of my aftershave, which he’s started doing whenever he sees Lina. Next to him, Archie is dressed in denim shorts and his newCiao!T-shirt, clutching a jar of hair product.
“Will you put some wax in for me?” he asks.
