I want to believe him, but I can't afford to make any mistakes here, as my future depends on this estate. "What's your last name?" I inquire, trying to keep my focus.
With a bewildered look, he copies my movement again. "Olivetta."
He seems to genuinely belong here. And if this Camilla really is his sister, I will soon meet her too. His lie will be exposed then. Maybe I should just let it go, right? A businesswoman would probably focus on her mission, wouldn't she? "Alright, Vico Olivetta, let's get started," I say, trying not to let his odd behavior affect me.
Briefly, a strange flash flickers in his eyes, then they close off again. "Follow me," he says, waving his hand.
Is he trying to throw me off balance? I can't let him succeed, no matter how strange he behaves. With my shoulders hunched back, I march beside him across the courtyard and enter the estate through the creaking double doors.
The first glance inside gives me no reason to rejoice. The plaster crumbles in some places, and I spot a damp stain in the corner of the wide hallway. A crack runs across the ceiling.
Before I can bring up the condition of the building, he opens a door. "This way, please."
I step in hesitantly. The room looks like an abandoned teenage bedroom. Tape residue and tiny holes cover the wall behind the white-painted bed. The wide dresser next to the window is empty, just like the wardrobe with its doors open.
At least I find a bottle of water and a bowl of grapes and oranges on the nightstand.
"This is your room," he says in a strangely controlled tone. "The tour will start tomorrow. Rest up, you must be tired."
Is he alluding to our first encounter?
"Not at all," I reply quickly, not wanting him to notice how much he's unsettling me. "I'll just settle in quickly, and then I'll be ready." Florian's checklist is frighteningly long, and I only have three weeks before Natalie's internship at our inn ends.Even though the sky outside transforms to a pale pink, it would probably be better to start right away.
Suddenly, he looks as if he has a stomachache. "Everything in due time. The bathroom is across the hall, and the kitchen is next door," he says, turning to leave. "It's better if you don't go anywhere else alone. See you tomorrow."
He leaves the room so quickly that I can't respond. What about dinner, for example?Or when do we start tomorrow?
He closes the creaking door behind him, and then it becomes conspicuously quiet. He must be on the other side. On tiptoes, I sneak around the room. When I reach the door, I hold my breath.
Yes, he's still here. Just a few inches away, I hear his shallow breath, followed by a rustling sound.
Is he brushing his shoulder-length hair away from his face? Or is he wiping his palms on his worn-out jeans?
Is he considering coming back to me?
"Cursed," he mutters in despair, and then footsteps follow.
I have no idea why, but I start running too. Straight to the window that overlooks the courtyard. With a pounding heart, I peer outside.
"See you tomorrow," I murmur.
