Squinting at him, I say, “Thanks for the concern, but I think I’ll be okay.”
“Can you stop at the village shop for the wine we like, Gio?” Maria asks. “It’ll be perfect for the party tomorrow.”
“Party?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s just a small gathering. Nothing big,” Maria replies.
“It’s pretty much family only,” Giovanni adds.
“That sounds really nice. I’d love to meet more of your family, especially if they’re all as lovely as you.” I turn toward Maria and Roberto, who both beam.
And it’s true. Iwouldlike to meet more of the Cattaneo crew. With each day in Brescia, I’ve come to understand Giovanni a bit better.
I snatch a halved fig off the table and pop the whole thing in my mouth. “I’ll go get changed. It sounds like a really fun day. I’m looking forward to it,” I mumble through a mouthful of fig.
Giovanni smiles. “We’ll see.”
Grabbing the other half of my fig, he mimics me, popping it into his mouth.
* * *
“I thought I was going to be eating, praying, and loving, not sweating, aching, and dying,” I gasp in between shallow breaths, dismounting my bike.
Drops of sweat trickle down my hairline and burn my eyes. Which are already burning, because my entire body is on fire.
Giovanni shoots me a glare. “Who were you going to be ‘loving?’”
“That’swhat you latch onto? Not the fact that you practically left me fordead?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Please. I biked half a block ahead to see if the wine shop had a long queue before circling back to you. You could see me with your own two eyes the entire time.”
“Yeah, I could see you. See youleave me behind in this country, maybe,” I huff, flicking a bead of sweat off my eyebrow.
His eyes travel from my sticky hair down to the flimsy sneakers I wore. “Aren’t you a marathon runner?”
I unclip my helmet strap and hang it from the bike. “That’s different. I run on flat city streets. The only thing I have to worry about is the occasional rat.”
Smoothing down my sweaty helmet hair, I ponder what’s worse: not having a mirror but knowing I’m a mess, or having a mirror and confirming I’m a mess.
Looking entirely unphased, Giovanni pushes down the kickstand of his bike and tilts it against the side of the shop.
I lean my bike against Giovanni’s and fold my arms. “Why aren’t you even sweating right now? Is there, like, a special tonic you took at breakfast to survive this madness?” I squint. “It’s not nice to gatekeep, you know.”
“The hills are in my blood. When I bike, I become one with the hills.” Assessing my current state, he adds, “You anger the hills. You’re lucky they didn’t crumble on your poor attitude alone.” He snorts, pleased with his own joke at my expense.
“Glad you can find it within yourself to laugh at me,” I deadpan, reaching out to him for the water bottle he brought and chugging it.
Bemused, he says, “Don’t drink it too fast. You’ll vomit.”
“Mmhm, totally,” I gurgle, downing it as though it’s a teleportation elixir. Maybe if I drink enough, I’ll be back at his parents’ house eating pasta.
Having finished almost all of it, I slump against the wall and lower myself to the ground.
He studies me for a few moments. “Why are you staring into space with an odd smile? It’s scaring me.”
I sigh. “I’m just reminiscing.”
“About what, exactly?”
