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Why do people need to lie to get their way? Doesn’t she realize she could’ve told me she wanted a date with Mr. Dumpster Kink and I would’ve still said yes? There was no need to lie about her mother needing medicine.
People suck. Well, people have always sucked, but they suck times ten thousand right now.
Breathe, girl. You want the money. Who cares if someone you barely know lied to you?
Because it squashes the hope that there are still decent people out there with morals.
Teri doesn’t bother explaining, and I don’t stick around waiting to hear an apology. There’s only two months left before I bust out of this city. And thanks to Teri, I’ll be a few bills closer to my end goal.
Someone cue queen Riri because this girl is about to work, work, work, work, work, work.
4
Chloe
After arriving yesterday in Lake Como and knocking out from an intense case of jet lag in the run-down bed-and-breakfast near the center of town, I finally walk the main road of the village.
Lake Como is a beautiful lakeside town surrounded by mountain ranges. The village truly is something stolen straight out of history, with old stucco buildings and cobblestone roads. My charming temporary home has a population the size of La Guardia airport on a Tuesday. Seriously, Google told me less than two thousand people live here. Not to mention George Clooney has a house here.
Yes. I’m talking about that George Clooney.
Did I take a gamble by never messaging Matteo before to let him know I was his long-lost daughter who wanted to meet him after all these years? Probably. But I couldn’t risk him shutting himself off to me and claiming I was some scammer. So instead, I took a risk and decided to introduce myself the old-fashioned way—in person while shitting bricks. But first, I need to find out where he lives.
Small shops line the streets, with people waving at each other and children running around. It comforts me to see the locals caring about one another. It’s like a fairy tale, with people stopping to have a conversation. Their kindness makes me hopeful that someone knows who Matteo is and where I can find him. Unfortunately, Brooke’s stalking abilities only go so far. Matteo’s address wasn’t public information, much to our frustration.
Like a bad salesman, I visit different shops trying to find out where he lives. I attempt the same awful Italian conversation in four different shops before I hit the gold mine.
“Sto circando signore Accardi.” I gesture toward the latest prop in my hands and ask about Matteo. Brooke suggested impersonating a food delivery person.
“Signore Accardi e morto.” The store owner frowns.
Accardi is dead? I laugh to myself. That’s not right. The man updated his profile picture on Facebook yesterday. I don’t know what Accardi she is referencing, but I guess it’s a popular last name here. “Morto? No. Sto circando signore Matteo Accardi.” I emphasize his first name for good measure.
Her lips form an O. She apologizes in Italian and scribbles Matteo’s address on a piece of paper.
Italian people. So kind. So trusting. The true unsung heroes of Expedition Find My Father.
I exit the store and dump the empty paper bag in a nearby trash bin. The entire walk back to my bed-and-breakfast is spent with me grinning like a madman at the townspeople.
It’s time to meet the man I’ve spent my entire life wishing for.
The screech of the car brakes pulls my attention away from my thoughts.
“Here we are.” The driver speaks in a heavy Italian accent.
My eyes slide from my lap to the car’s window. A quaint house sits at the top of a winding path, with high walls and a front gate covered in ivy. The yellow stucco walls stand out against the backdrop of the beautiful lake. It’s a house I wish I had grown up in.
I release a shaky breath and sift through the front pocket of my backpack to grab my money.
The driver accepts it with a grin. “Grazie.”
I exit the car. A quick scan of the street reveals only two houses. One belongs to Matteo and the other looks like it’s something straight out of the latest horror film. The dark mansion sits at the edge of the lake, surrounded by tall trees. Dark brick spires shoot into the sky, reminding me of a villain’s evil castle. A rotted wooden fence reveals unkempt bushes and an overgrown yard.
I turn away from the abandoned house back toward Matteo’s. “You can do this.” With legs resembling Jell-O, I walk toward the huge iron gate at the base of Matteo’s property.
Loud music plays from somewhere on his property. I stick my head through one of the gaps in the gate and check his driveway, finding multiple cars parked. Shit. Stupid me for thinking my father would be by himself.
I text Brooke to let her know I arrived at his house but he’s not alone. This moment makes me grateful that she insisted on paying the ridiculous service fee for two weeks while I got situated in Italy. I need her advice on what to do.
