"Oh, I was going to come down for breakfast," I tell her.
She laughs in an indulgent manner. "No, bella ragazza, this is your espresso to wake you before breakfast."
"I'm already awake, Maria."
She shakes her head. "Signore Volante always starts his day with an espresso. He asks me to show you the same….compensation."
I'm sure she means consideration but I'm not about to correct her. English isn't my first language either and I know how difficult it is to learn.
Picking up the tiny cup, I sip the coffee. It's stronger than I'd usually drink and I have to chase it down with the water.
"Too much?" Maria asks.
"No, it's good."
"You'll get used to it." She pats my shoulder. "Don't worry. It's cappuccino with breakfast." She frowns deeply. "Or do Russian girls drink tea?"
"Many Russians like tea." It's actually a big thing in my homeland. "But I enjoy coffee too."
Maria purses her lips. I'm not sure if I've made some huge social blunder or if she's saving that information for later. I follow her downstairs to a formal dining room that's too large for one person. The long, dark wood table seats eighteen.
A full breakfast has been laid at one end. There's bread, fruit, meats and cheeses along with some pastries. There's also a jug of orange juice. Only one place has been set.
"Sit, sit, Signora." Maria ushers me into my seat. She may be almost a foot shorter than me since I'm wearing heels, but there's no arguing with her efficient manner. When I sit, she pats my shoulder again, a gesture of reassurance I'd guess I'll be receiving until she thinks I'm settled here. "I'll fetch your cappuccino."
"Grazie mille, Maria." I exhaust a third of my Italian vocabulary with that one phrase.
As she bustles from the room, I take a look around. Like the other parts of the house I've seen, it's clean and tidy but worn around the edges.
Someone has placed a vase of freshly cut flowers on the windowsill. The edges of the vibrant blue and white petals catch the morning sun. It's a nice pop of color in a room decorated in shades of burgundy.
I wonder if Gabriele is attached to the décor because I am itching to bring it into the twenty-first century.
I reach over to take a couple of strawberries and a pastry with what appears to be an almond glaze. Maria brings my coffee and leaves me alone again.
Perhaps Gabriele ate already since there was only one place set. Or, maybe, he’s not a morning person.
If that's the case, I'll ask Maria not to go to so much trouble. This seems over the top just for me.
I'm halfway through my cappuccino when Lukas saunters into the room, carrying an espresso cup and an empty plate.
"Good morning, Signora Volante." He looks very much at home as he fills his plate with salami, cheese and bread before taking a seat opposite me. "You slept well, I hope."
"I did." No need to tell him it took me hours of tossing and turning, trying to find the right position in the unfamiliar bed before finally enjoying an undisturbed rest. "You're here early."
"My house is on the property. Maria usually feeds me."
"That's good of her."
Lukas nods. "She's more accommodating than his last housekeeper. She kept trying to force muesli on us."
He shudders as if he can't imagine anything more horrific. I can't help laughing because I know this man has seen worse things in his life than a healthy breakfast.
"Does Gabriele rise early?"
"You tell me. You're his wife."
"I've been his wife for less than twenty-four hours."
