“I didn’t really plan anything besides meeting the mayor,” Lora said, waving her hand toward Andrea. “So we’re free.”
“Then we’ll be there,” Vilmari said, smiling in the direction of Nico’s shoulders. “At the yacht club. Sounds amazing!”
“Probably after a nap, though,” Lora said, looking down at her suitcase and then back up at the stairway. Andrea made a plan to research how much it would cost to install a funicular. He wondered howthatwould play on Tripadvisor.
“You know, I have to speak to Beatrice, now that I think of it. Why don’t we take the bags up for you?” Andrea hovered his hand over Lora’s suitcase handle. “Is that OK with you?”
“That’s really unnecessary,” said Lora, taking the handle and pulling the bag toward her. “Thank you so much, though.” She pressed her lips together in a polite smile.
“It’s quite a climb, and honestly, it’s no trouble. I’m going up there anyway.”
“It’s very kind of you, but we’ve got it,” she repeated.
“I know you’ve got it, but maybe this time, we can get it,” Andrea said, realizing that he was riding a fine line between hospitality and outright chauvinism.
Nico, likely both tiring of the discussion and unbothered by any unintentional machismo, flipped his megawatt smile onto Vilmari and pulled her suitcase to him. Turning the bag on its side, he grabbed the handle, hoisted it up to his shoulder like he was doing a wife-carry, and started up the stairway.
“That looks fine to me,” Vilmari said, watching his muscular legs pump up the steps. “I mean—that’s fine with me.” She whacked Lora on the arm, not taking her eyes off Nico.
Lora spun her suitcase toward Andrea and took a step back. “It would appear that I’ve been overruled.”
“Perhaps just this once.” He smiled. “You two go ahead.” He gestured toward the stairs. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Chapter 3
However perturbed Lora might have been by Andrea’s insistence that he and Nico bring up the suitcases, she completely forgot about it by the time she made it up the last step and entered the flowering courtyard of Casa Cocuzzolo. Half of this was perhaps due to a lack of available oxygen after hauling herself up the 146 steps, but the other half was because the little B and B was next-level charming. Three small pale yellow cottages faced a stone-lined courtyard that boasted giant terra-cotta pots bursting with blooms, fruit trees, and palms. In the center, six cushioned chaise longue chairs lined up to face the azure sea, and two small café tables with tassel-adorned umbrellas welcomed guests to sit and contemplate the stunning view. Wearing a white cotton dress and a matching apron embroidered with tiny red strawberries, Beatrice greeted them with a nod. After exchanging a few words with Andrea, she led Lora and Vilmari to their cottage and keyed open the door.
“Hope you get some rest,” Andrea had said to Lora beforehe and Nico turned to head back down the stairway, which probably meant that exhaustion had turned her eyes into doughy puffs.
Beatrice was not able to offer Lora and Vilmari a cold drink, much to their disappointment, but she had made up for it by turning on the air-conditioning unit in their cottage before their arrival. Lora hadn’t realized how tired she was until she sat for a moment on the double bed with the crisp white sheets and her mind almost instantly went to static. Vilmari was already snoring softly over in her bed by the time Lora found the energy to pee before slamming her face into her own pillow. She dreamed jet lag dreams—running to catch someone or something slightly out of reach, feeling she’d lost something important, all of it blending together until her alarm went off.
She lay in bed, groggy, listening to Vilmari humming in the shower, and asked herself for the thousandth time if she was committed tothisarea of research, if ithadto be Zurich, and if there wasanyother option than this that would satisfy her. But the answers were always the same. Yes, she was committed to researching what people needed to succeed in a world that was becoming increasingly isolating. She had thrived on her own and couldn’t subscribe to the idea of that being a negative thing. Yes, Zurich was the right place because there were two professors there who were ready to support the kind of work she wanted to do, despite the fact that it might shred typical familial and social structures. And no, there was no other option that would satisfy her. Well, not really. Ever since Dr. Bruker from the University of Zurich sent her an email suggesting that she consider taking on a research project there, she’d fallen inlove with the idea of doing the postdoc in Switzerland. It justsoundedamazing. The whole idea felt cultured, intellectual, and about as far away from everything that she knew as possible.I’m moving to Switzerland.She’d practiced saying it in her head so that she’d be ready to brandish it when necessary. If someone asked what she was going to do next, if her ex-boyfriend kept trying increasingly assertive ways to get her back, if she had moments of self-doubt or felt lonely or couldn’t get the memory of growing up sweating in South Florida out of her head:Switzerland. I’m moving there. No, really.
“Well, you look amazing.” Lora propped herself up on her elbows and gave Vilmari an exaggerated once-over as she finally stepped out from the bathroom with a little spin. She wore a long white maxi dress trimmed in marigold-colored flowers, her wavy dark brown hair cascading down her back. Pulling up the hem, she showed off a pair of flip-flops. “There’s no other way these feet are making it down those stairs. I’m carrying my heels, then I’ll shove the flip-flops behind the cactus at the bottom of the steps for when we get back. I’m not about to show up to a party in rubber shoes. Do you think I’ll be underdressed? If these are yacht club people, I’ve seen what J. Lo wears on hers. This is not it,” she said, looking down at her dress.
“I think we’re fine. We’re tourists. We don’t have to get it perfect.” Lora rolled off the bed and hunched over her suitcase, pulling out a midi-length black silk dress. She stood, holding it in front of her pajamas. “What do you think of this?”
“It’s gorgeous. But wow, how amazing that you’ve really gone out-of-the-box on the color on this one. So unlike you.” Vilmari widened her eyes in feigned shock.
“It’s practical, I won’t get sick of it, and it will never go out of style,” said Lora. “You know how I get with color.”
“I do. I still remember the night you made me lend you a blazer because you thought your gray blouse was ‘too bright.’ Are you getting in the shower or what?”
“Getting! Going!” Lora laid the dress across her bed before taking her turn in the bathroom. She finally emerged, minus the brain fog and airplane funk, and slid into the dress. It was only after stepping in front of the mirror that she realized she hadn’t worn it since the trip to Cayman Brac with her ex, Charlie, last spring. Her expression darkened. She was still angry with herself for allowing that relationship to get away from her. It was completely out of character for Lora in the first place. He’d convinced her that his privilege was only useful to him in that it helped him to help other people, and she’d been charmed by his tales of working on pro bono cases and championing various charities. She still couldn’t believe she’d been so blind.
For instance, she’d thought it was perfectly reasonable for Charlie to spontaneously suggest a trip to the Cayman Islands while he was supposedly in the middle of one of the most important cases of his career. Over breakfast on the first day of the trip, he mentioned that he was taking a quick flight to Grand Cayman for a meeting, but would be back before dinner, and she should charge anything to the room and relax. She was stunned. Wasn’t this supposed to be a romantic getaway? Vilmari had texted her that she should spite-charge both lobster salad and a bespoke pedicure to the room, but she only fumed through that Alison Espach novel everyone was talking about and drank too many glasses of hibiscus tea.She couldn’t have known how lucky it was that she had been too furious to ask Charlie about the meeting.
Lora swept her hair into a low bun and turned around to check out the look from the back. She’d worn it down with this dress last time because Charlie liked it. But he also liked loud Kiton suits and those god-awful $900 trail shoes from Hermès, so maybe a little change-up was a good thing.
“Beautiful, as always.” Vilmari nodded while putting in a pair of hoop earrings.
“Thank you! Good call on the flip-flops, by the way, those stairs feel like they’re infinite. Of course I don’t love the fact that I was too tired to argue about letting them carry up the bags,” Lora said, pulling her own sandals out of her suitcase.
“They were being considerate, Lor. It wasn’t a referendum on our core strength.”
“I know, I know.” Lora rolled her eyes.
“I’m not going to complain about the fact that we seem to have made a couple of new friends. Plus, I didn’t mind walking up those steps behind Señor Tennis Balls.”
