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Sighing, I give her the same answer I gave Mrs. Campana. “It’s complicated.”
“Ah.” She nods. “Arranged marriages always are. That family never believed in marrying for love. But to be married to the likes of Angelo Russo on top of that?” She pats my hand. “It can’t be easy.”
Diva barks, saving me from having to reply.
“I think she’s impatient to go out,” Mrs. Paoli says. “She hasn’t done her business yet.” She gets up and takes a plate covered with a napkin from the cupboard that she puts on the table before sitting down again. She removes the napkin to reveal pink finger biscuits. “Have a boudoir before you go.” Taking one from the plate, she breaks off the end and offers it to Diva who snatches the treat from her fingers. “They’re rose flavored.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking one of the cookies.
“Here.” She tears the cheque from the book. “This is for Mrs. Campana.”
Swallowing the stale cookie down with the last of my tea, I get up and carry our cups to the sink. “Thank you for the tea. It was delicious.”
“Don’t worry to rinse that,” she says when I open the tap. “The cups are dishwasher safe.” She pushes to her feet. “Let me get you Diva’s leash. She’s very obedient. You won’t have any problems with her.”
After putting the cheque in my pocket, I follow her to the entrance.
“Will ten euros per hour do?” she asks. “That’s the going rate around here.”
“Perfect.” Feeling bad for taking her money, I say, “But only if you can afford it.”
“Of course I can.” She hooks the pink leash onto Diva’s diamond stud collar. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered.”
Thanking her again, I take the leash and lead the little dog down the street. “Come on, Diva. Let’s get some exercise. It’s a beautiful, sunny morning, a perfect day to stretch your legs.”
The dog agrees with a yelp, trotting energetically beside me. Every few meters we stop for Diva to sniff the lampposts or to inspect a leaf on the pavement. I don’t miss the lift of the curtains in the windows as we pass the houses that line the street, but I pretend not to notice.
I deliver the cheque to Mrs. Campana and return Diva home without incidents, collecting my payment that Mrs. Paoli slipped into an envelope.
“If you want,” she says, “I can pay you at the end of the week. You can come every day, can’t you?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’m happy to do it for as long as you need me.”
“Perfect.” Holding Diva under one arm, she waves me off. “See you tomorrow around the same time.”
The uphill hike home is more tiring, but I meant what I told Mrs. Campana. I’m enjoying the exercise, not to mention getting out of the house. I keep vigilant as I near the property, watching for movement in the thicker vegetation on the riverbank or for footprints in the dust, but the surroundings are quiet.
When I reach the house, I do a quick walk around the veranda. The garden furniture is undisturbed, except for a dent in a cushion on one of the chairs. Someone sat here, and it wasn’t me.
On the side of the kitchen, I check the window. A small handprint stains the glass. A shiver rolls through me when the sun dips below the mountain. The peak casts a long shadow over the house. The hair on my nape stands on end. That feeling of being watched creeps up on me again.
“Hello?” I call. “Is someone there?”
The only answer is the echo of my voice.
I unlock the backdoor, letting myself into the warm house. Making sure to lock the door behind me, I drop the key in an ornamental bowl on the counter.
The walk left me thirsty. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and down it on my way upstairs. It’s not dark yet, but I pull the curtains in the bedroom closed before stripping and having a shower.
After dressing in a sweater, comfortable leggings, and fluffy socks, I go back downstairs to make dinner. The glow on the horizon has turned from gold to purple. I close the blinds downstairs and double-check that all the doors and windows are locked. Then I switch on the new fancy stereo sound system, select a lively playlist, and gather one of the recipe books.
Heidi highlighted a few simple, easy recipes. I hum to the music as I season chicken breasts with thyme and rosemary before popping them in the oven. While the chicken is grilling, I slice and salt aubergine. I leave the slices to sweat, using the time to tidy up. According to the recipe, sweating the aubergine removes the bitterness. When the aubergine is ready, I rinse off the salt, pat the slices dry, and arrange them on a baking tray. After dribbling over olive oil, I put the tray on the top level in the oven.
Fabien stocked the wine fridge with bottles of white and red. The fridge has two separate sections, which allows for the red and white wine to be stored at different temperatures. Grabbing the first red my hand falls on, I uncork the bottle and pour a little wine into a fat-bellied, long-stemmed glass. As I sip my wine, I set the table with the beautiful new crockery and cutlery and light a candle that I place in the center. The ambience is cozy. None of the pretty things or delicious-smelling food are mine, but I’m grateful for the luxuries. I’m especially thankful that I don’t have to sleep on a dirty, louse-ridden mattress tonight.
Visiting the village and interacting with people other than Heidi lifted my spirits. For the first time since my wedding day, I experience a sense of peacefulness.
I’m about to sit down when, through the open door, I spot a light through the gaps of the blinds in the lounge. Maybe Heidi came to check on me. The thought makes me smile. The company is always welcome, and I’ll be glad not to eat alone. She can judge my first cooking effort and give me tips for improvement.
