Chapter 39
Hanna
I maneuver through the tall grass, securing my broken arm in the sling, until I reach the decaying wooden door with the old-fashioned slide latch. The metal fittings look as if they could lose their grip at any moment, but still, I step closer and open the door.
Better safe than sorryno longer applies. At least not like it used to. Because now I know that I'm not clumsy, and I never was. Thanks to my conversation with the doctor, I know the potential signs of an impending seizure. Even if there may not always be any, a heavy head seems to be part of the package for me. Today, however, it feels fine.
Unlike my heart, which Vico shattered yesterday, even though it shouldn't have been possible. But I won't allow myself to dwell on that. Whatever I thought I saw in his eyes, it wasn't real.
There's no future for us.
At least now I know what's right. Turning this estate into a guesthouse isn't my dream. But what comes after can become my dream again if I put in enough effort for that future.
With a heavy sense of guilt toward Florian, I step into the twilight of the shed and look around. I spot barrels and antiqueequipment that the Olivettas must have used for their olive oil production. I gently let my fingers glide over the grain of the wood. Dust swirls and tickles my nose. Sneezing, I circle around the barrel, where I notice a sign on the front. I free it from cobwebs and dirt to read the text.
In elegantly curved writing, I discover the family name of the estate. It looks just like the label on the bottle of olive oil from the village store. Absently, I lift my gaze and let myself be consumed by the emotions the surroundings evoke in me.
The room transforms rapidly in my mind's eye. Sunbeams stream through the windows, illuminating everything. I see Vico's father in the best of health, operating the olive press, sweat on his forehead, yet he smiles as he gazes at the woman labeling the barrels.
His wife.
Children's laughter fills the barn. Ten-year-old Vico plays with his sisters amid the equipment and shelves in a game of hide-and-seek.
With the taste of olive oil on my tongue, I wander through the space. As beautiful as the images are that my imagination paints, my heart grows heavier with each step.
This can't be the end.
Even if Vico gets to live his freedom, and even if I continue with Florian, the Olivettas need a home. But what good would it do them if I were to convince Florian not to buy the estate? It's for sale for a reason, and they can't keep it themselves. Perhaps I'd plunge them even deeper into unhappiness if I were to ruin the deal.
Lost in thought, I lean against the long table that was once surely used for filling and labeling the olive oil.
If I can't save the family, at least I can ensure their legacy lives on. We could restore all the beautiful objects in this barn and integrate them into the guesthouse, so they remain a part of thisestate. The main house must stay as true to its original state as possible, and we'll adorn the walls with pictures from the past. Yes, we will create a tribute to this wonderful family. Preserving the soul of this place and paying the respect the Olivettas deserve. Who knows, maybe they'll come to visit from time to time and take joy in what we've made of their home.
Vico, too, would have a small piece of home, in case he ever decides to return.
It's not the ideal solution, but it's the best I have.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and exhale shakily. Then I push away from the table, walk to the door, and step out into the bright afternoon sun. I carefully close the shed and make my way to the main house, immediately searching for places where we could position the Olivetta family's treasures.
Before I reach the main house, I spot Florian's black station wagon in the courtyard. I glance at my wristwatch.
Indeed, it's already half past three; once again, I lost track of time. But these daydreams were not futile, that much is certain. My imagination is nothing to be ashamed of; that's what I've learned here in Italy.
Smiling to myself, I set out to find Florian.
I find him by the pool, lifting a floor tile with a look of disdain as it crumbles under his touch. Seeing him should fill me with joy, yet all I feel is melancholy when I look at him. Melancholy and guilt.
It's certainly not his fault, but rather what has happened here in the past weeks. Even though Vico and I never kissed, on a deeper level, I betrayed Florian.
I force an unconcerned smile and step beside him. "Hey."
His eyes light up as he pushes himself up from the ground. "Hey," he responds with a gentle voice, and he cautiously touches my shoulder. His gaze wanders to my cast. "Does it hurt a lot?"
How caring he suddenly is. For all these years, I never wanted to burden him or let him see when I felt bad. I wanted to be what I thought he wanted me to be. That was a mistake. "Just a little," I reply truthfully.
He reaches out his hand to caress my cheek. "That's good. After all, we have big plans." There's something promising in his look, something I've rarely seen before.
"You're up to something, aren't you?" I ask skeptically.
