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God bless this woman.
“Then I will go put on some pants and be right back.”
I backed out of the room, almost knocking off a bust of Niccolò Machiavelli. Interesting choice for a decoration; maybe I’ll ask Aida about it.
When I came back, she was putting wildflowers in the middle of the round two-person table that was outside.
“Young man, I didn’t know what you like, so I made you some American classics. Scrambled eggs and waffles, but I didn’t find any bacon, so I brought you some pancetta. Also, I have this amazing biscotti for your coffee. I brought a whole box.
She poured me a cup of coffee from a silver coffeepot and handed it to me.
“Thank you.” I accepted it gratefully. “Please, join me for a cup.”
“I’d like to. You are a very well-behaved young man, you know that?”
Not quite, but I liked making people believe I was.
“Thank you. I have an expensive education.”
We sat together, facing each other and I finally got a chance to look at Aida. She was a little round in the middle, with a round face and clear blue eyes. She looked like a good person overall and she brought food, so maybe she was worth having around.
“I can tell by the fancy way you speak.” She measured me with her wise eyes. “You’re American but your name is Roman Stefani? How so?”
“Italian extraction.”
“I see. Are you here to learn more about yourself?”
“In a way, yes, but not about my Italian-ness. My family is from Napoli and I’ve been there many times, signora. I need some time away and my mother loved spending time in Portofino.”
“Is she joining you?”
No, but someday I’ll be joining her.
“She passed.”
A sudden, violent, unexpected death. We never found out who was responsible for my parents’ car blowing up four years ago. The list of people to whom my father was better off dead than alive was pretty long, but I was sure of one thing. Mother paid the price for mistakes she had nothing to do with. Her only sin was that she spent her life with a narcissistic, power-hungry pig, and she ended up dying with him.
Aida probably saw the shadows descending over my eyes, because she looked away and cleared her throat. I was grateful she didn’t offer her condolences; I didn’t need them. When she spoke again, she changed the subject altogether.
“Eat your food. You’re my guest and I have to see you won’t die under my roof.”
Encouraged, I took a bite of the creamiest scrambled eggs I’ve ever had. Huh, looked like Aida had some skills going on for herself.
“This is delicious, Aida, thank you, but you don’t need to do this every day. I had no idea about your deal with Halloran, but I can eat at a restaurant.”
“Eh, I live only ten minutes away, I wake up at five in the morning, and all my sons are grown and married, scattered all over Italy. Give an old woman someone to take care of, Mr. Stefani.”
“Call me Roman, please. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come to be in possession of this beautiful pallazio?” She most certainly didn’t buy it. A house like this in a location so hunted by rich tourists from all over the world? I doubted that sweet Mrs. Aida dropped a cool few million to buy it.
“It’s been in my family for many generations, young man. If I’m not wrong – and I might be, because I never cared for my father’s stories – this home was built in 1698.”
“And here it is, still standing, in a different millennium. Impressive.”
“True. It was a summer residence for a late great aunt. She was somewhat of a duchess, you know. My father could trace his family tree all the way to Giovanni Medici. So you see, this house has a lot of history.” This only intrigued me more. “We used to live here, but in the ‘50s the tourists started pouring in and it made no sense to not monetize it. I usually rent by the room, and I’m sorry to tell you, your man, the one that contacted me? He didn’t get you a great deal. You paid more than I would have made in a fully booked summer. No refunds, though, so don’t get any ideas.”
I smiled and nodded at her tenaciousness.
“I gave him a budget and he stayed within, so I’m good.”
