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In all my time in Italy, I haven’t yet had the time to visit much of the countryside. As Paolo and Matteo show us around, I realize what I’ve been missing.
It’s lovely.
In the beautifully maintained gardens near the villa, Paolo finally leaves us alone. The scenery, including Tristan, is pure perfection. Behind him, the sun is setting over the trees, and with his sculpted face and intense blue eyes, it’s easy to imagine him as some medieval nobleman, utterly at home in this place that has changed little since the sixteenth century.
“Must be nice to live in a place like this,” he murmurs, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“I was just thinking that.” I sigh and lean back on a smooth stone wall lining the path from the house to the garden. The air smells of citrus and flowers. It’s like a scene from a novel. “I could do a lot with the unending supply of wine …”
Tristan laughs. “The absence of traffic...”
“And no subway.” I chuckle. “You’d miss San Francisco though, wouldn’t you?”
He shrugs.
“Have you always lived there?” I ask, curious about him.
“No. I grew up on the lower east side, before it was nice.” A shadow crosses his face. “I moved to Brooklyn when I was fourteen.”
“Why?”
“My dad died, and I went to live with my sister.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He smiles ruefully. “My dad was…a hard man to live with, especially after we lost my mom. My sister left home at seventeen. I couldn’t wait to leave too.”
I’m quiet. There’s a sadness in his face I’m sure words won’t assuage.
“So, it’s just you and your sister?”
“Yup.” A small smile creeps onto his face.
“And you?” he asks. “Any siblings?”
I shake my head. “No, sadly. I always wanted a sister or a brother.”
We’re both quiet, then my stomach rumbles loudly.
“Fuck,” I mutter, half embarrassed.
Tristan laughs. “I’m hungry too. Matteo mentioned dinner. Come on, let’s go back to the house.”
He holds out his hand and I take it. His palm feels warm and smooth. He smiles down at me and I wonder if he has any idea how often I think about him touching me in ways beyond holding hands.
Just then Paolo comes back to ask us to join the family for dinner. Donna Alethea, Matteo’s wife, embraces me like I’m a long-lost relative.
“You two are such a lovely couple,” she says wistfully, while pushing me to heap my plate with too much food. “You remind me of my youth, travelling, exploring… right, Matteo?”
Her husband agrees. “You’re both enjoying Florence so far?”
We tell him we are. I’m slightly tickled that they think we are a couple, and Tristan does nothing to correct them. In a way, we are a couple. What else could we be, right here, right now?
Paolo is an engineering student at a university in Genoa. Excitedly, he quizzes a reluctant Tristan about developing software applications and Silicon Valley news until his mother tells him it’s enough shop talk for the table.
After dinner, Tristan leads me back to the garden. The sun has set and evening is turning to twilight. A crescent moon illuminates the night sky, surrounded by an infinity of tiny winking stars.
“There’s a temple at the back of the garden,” Tristan says. “Wanna see it.”
