Chapter 14
Vico
Hanna's migraine seems to have disappeared overnight. As always, she clings to the clipboard in her hand as if it were a lifebuoy.
"Spiaggia bianche?" she asks.
In truth, I don't really care where we go. The main thing is to get away from here. "Is that a question or your answer?" I reply nonetheless, just to see her smile.
"My answer," she says seriously and immediately marches to her car. There's something different about her today compared to the past few days. This closed offness. And the probing look she gave me since our greeting earlier, as if she were trying to determine whether I have ill intentions.
Whatever it is, it won't stop me from carrying out my plan and giving her a taste of freedom. Perhaps that's exactly what she needs right now. "The beach isn't far from here; we don't need the car," I call after her.
She whirls around and raises her eyebrows. "You want to walk?"
Oh no. I certainly don't want that. "Come with me," I say.
"Where to?" She looks at me with that anxious expression that makes me want to wrap my arms around her.
What is she afraid of? Surely not me? I flash a teasing grin to help her relax a bit. "You'll see."
She doesn't like my answer, but she doesn't have much of a choice if she wants to visit Spiaggia bianche. Once we arrive at Camilla's bungalow, I open the garden gate where my sister and her husband's Vespas are hidden.
"Tada," I announce, gesturing with both hands to the original Italian mopeds. White and Ferrari red, they stand before us. "Today, we'll travel in style."
"No." Her body tenses up.
Really? Does she have absolutely no fun in life? "But you have to try everything the guests can do. And a Vespa tour is precisely what tourists want to do in Tuscany."
She places her hands on her hips. "Oh, really? You don't even live here. How do you know what tourists like to do?"
Because I grew up here. That would be the right answer, but I don't say it. I don't want her to start asking questions about the past. "You have no idea what you're missing," I respond disappointedly, closing the garden gate.
Suddenly, she seems remorseful. "I'm sorry," she says even though she doesn't need to apologize to me for holding back any feelings of happiness.
I wave it off. "No problem. It's your life." As I say the words, I suddenly feel that a part of me doesn't want to accept it. What's the point? Why is it so important to me to tease the real Hanna out of her?
"Shall we take my car?" She points at the mundane Golf that I had planned to leave in the parking lot outside the estate.
"Sure," I say with a shrug, trying to shake off my disappointment about not making her smile. I shouldn't feel like this.
Side by side, we trudge back to the car. But even during the drive, I can't help but secretly observe her. My gaze lingers on her lips. Way too long. They look soft.
Now they move. "There it is, right? Vico?" She turns to me. "We've arrived."
A jolt runs through my body, and I startle, opening my eyes wide.
Right, there it is, Spiaggia bianche.
I try to collect myself as Hanna already leaves the car.
What was that just now?
Doesn't matter at all. Now is the time to be myself again.
Maybe we can take the speedboat or rent some Jet Skis. A bit of adrenaline would be just right to prevent these strange feelings from resurfacing.
"I hope you brought your bikini," I say with a deliberately casual tone, slamming the car door shut.
