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“Ti stavo cercando, bella.”
“I haven’t been hiding, Paolo.”
“Andiamo.” He grabbed the hand that held her flowers.
“Arrivederci, Signora Stone, Mylos.”
“Well, that was rude.” My mum huffed and grabbed the rest of her purchases from my arms and put them in the car through the window like she had the other.
I watched as Pia walked away with Paolo, realizing now he was the same guy I saw her with from my window, the one who’d flipped me off. I was bothered less by his rudeness than the idea the arsehole was her boyfriend.
My mum prattled on all the while I drove back to the farmhouse. I learned that Pia, who was my age, was the only daughter of Giovanni Deltetto and his wife, Countess Maria. She had no idea why Pia’s mother was a countess and her father wasn’t a count, nor did she know who Count Valentini was other than that the estate named for him had been in their family for several generations.
Later, as we sat on the terrazza having just finished another brilliant dinner prepared by my mum, who’d embraced Mediterranean cuisine in a way she never had with traditional English fare, we heard loud voices coming from the direction of the hilltop villa.
“Oh, dear,” she muttered, getting up to clear the dishes and take them inside. My father joined her, but I didn’t.
I walked down the steps to the lawn and looked toward the sound of the voices. I couldn’t make out the exact words, but I could tell that a male and female were in a heated argument. I wasn’t certain the female’s voice was Pia’s, but it sounded like it could be.
When the shouting died down, I went inside, where I found my parents sitting at the table in the kitchen.
“Everything all right?”
“Your mum finds this somewhat…disconcerting.”
I nodded, wondering—not for the first time—what they were thinking when they’d decided to rent a place in Italy for an entire summer holiday. I mean, what had they expected?
The following week, when my mum appeared recovered from the excitement of a few days prior, I volunteered to take her into the village. I suppose part of me hoped to run into Pia again, given I hadn’t seen her since the day we met.
Rather than waiting at the car, this time, I walked through the market after both my parents, since Dad had also volunteered to ride along.
“Where did she learn this?” I asked my father as we both stood stunned, watching my mum haggle with the street vendors. “I didn’t even know she spoke Italian.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Clearly, she—”
He shook his head. “Pia coached her. If you pay attention, you’ll notice she repeats the same phrases again and again. I don’t know the exact translation, but I believe she’s calling them crazy for asking for so much money.”
Now that he mentioned it, I had heard her say the word pazzo, which meant crazy, although I was fairly certain she was using it in the wrong context.
I turned around and looked out at the fountain that sat in the middle of the public square. I sighed, wishing for just one glimpse of the girl I couldn’t stop thinking about.
Someone else caught my eye instead. Paolo. I squinted and took a second and third look just to confirm the girl he was with, the one he had his arm around, the one whose neck he just nuzzled, was absolutely not Pia.
This had to mean I’d been right when I guessed it was them arguing that night on the hilltop. It also had to mean they’d broken up.
When I saw him look over, I spun around so my back was to him.
“What’s this?” asked my dad when my expression of bored disinterest transformed into a smile I couldn’t contain.
“Nothing…Think Mum is ready to head back?”
My father shook his head and motioned over to where she was embroiled in an argument with the fishmonger as heated as the one we overheard that had sent her into such a tizzy.
Three more days passed before I finally saw Pia again.
I spent as much time as I could outside, taking in the lush, rolling hillsides covered in vineyards and orchards. Val d’Orcia, where the estate was located, was arguably the most beautiful stretch of Tuscan countryside in existence, and the sandstone villa and accompanying winery was as picture-perfect as the landscape. If I were to close my eyes and imagine what a quintessential view of Italy might be, even before visiting, this was exactly what I would’ve conjured.
