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My phone beeps and vibrates on the coffee table. A welcome distraction. It’s a message from the gallery. Sounds important.
“Are you ready, mi princessa? We are going out to explore and do whatever you want because you are the boss.” I kiss the top of Luisa’s head. “But first, we need to stop by the gallery. Just for a second, okay?”
Chapter 9
Olivia
Idecidedtobitethe bullet and head in to work confident that Gianni wouldn’t be there. I called the gallery to check, posing as a client with what I hoped was a different voice.
When I arrive, Margot is mildly concerned that I was perhaps bringing a deadly virus into the gallery.
“Are you sure you don’t need another few days to recover?” she asks, her head slightly to one side she reaches a hand towards a box of tissues she keeps in the drawer of her desk.
“No. I’m fine. Really.” I suspect she knows I was actually hung over. Not ill as such but pulling a sicky. “Where are we on the Lempicka sale?” I divert Margot’s attention as I turn on my laptop.
And this is why I don’t take time off. My inbox is chocka with mail and the calendar is something I don’t recognize. A consignment of post-renaissance paintings is arriving soon. I have to clear space for them somehow. I look around at the already crowded office. No problem. I’ll move some of the pieces into the gallery and re-hang items that aren’t due for delivery for a few days.
I bury myself in work tasks and, sneakily, I look for jobs.
My brain-rewiring efforts, to try and eliminate Gianni from my heart, are not going as planned. I definitely need to practice the mantra; I have moved on from my teenage obsession. It is pointless. It is nonsense. I am over it. Being stuck in past blissful happiness is not at all helpful in this present awkward situation. But when I close my eyes, the memories of Gianni are as fresh as the last day we saw each other in Italy.
“I’ll be waiting right here,” I shouted as I watched Gianni run backward over the bridge. He blew me a kiss, then turned and ran away, disappearing into the crowd.
It’s almost impossible to reconcile the grumpy man with the permanent scowl who is my new boss with the happy, smiling boy I fell in love with. It is excruciatingly uncomfortable to be at the gallery. I don’t want to be here at this desk anymore. I send out my CV left and right, but so far all I have is an inbox of rejections. My fingers are crossed that I will find another job before he shows up at the gallery again. I check the shared calendar for clues. Nothing is noted. I don’t want to ask anyone. An inquiry into the new boss’s whereabouts is bound to be followed up with the question, why?
The gallery door opens, causing the buzzer to sound. I hear voices. One of them is a child.
“I’ll go,” says Margot not showing any sign of moving.
“No. I’ll go.” I smooth my hair back under my headband and pull the ponytail tight before stepping out into the gallery space. My progress is halted immediately as I am confronted by Gianni and a dark-haired girl.
“Buongiorno.”
“Buongiorno.” Gulp. “Mr Moretti.” I try and keep my face impassive. “What a surprise.” Is my voice tone even? I wonder if he recognizes me.
“I don’t know why it’s a surprise. Ha. This is my gallery.” He has a point. “Ah yes. Luisa, this is…”
“Olivia. I’m Olivia.” I hold out my hand to the girl. She must be eleven or twelve years old, perhaps.
“Yes. This is Olivia. She works here with me, although, I don’t believe we have met properly.”
It’s clear Gianni doesn’t recognize me at all. Strangely, I feel more relaxed now that I’m confident he’s not going to suddenly shout out, ‘My goodness! Is that really you? The girl I kissed on the Ponte Vecchio all those years ago?’ I sneak a sideways glance at Gianni’s handsome face, fearful he might see the girl I used to be. But I’m a hundred percent positive, he has zero recall. There is nothing about me that has triggered any recollection.
I know I have changed a lot since I was eighteen. I wear glasses now. I don’t really need to wear them all the time, but the large frames cover most of my face and I feel more secure when I wear them. And I’ve gained a few pounds. I used to be rake-thin. Outside of the walk to the subway for work and back again, I don’t exercise, so I have become chubby. I’ve never been a gym bunny but… I tend to avoid mirrors. My hair is darker now: a non-descript mousey brown, its natural color. It used to be golden blond. I suppose, some might say, I’ve let myself go.
“Hello, pleased to meet you.” Luisa shakes my hand. “I’m going to school here in New York.”
“Hi, Luisa. That’s exciting. You’ll love it, I’m sure.”
“That’s what Papa says too.” Gianni stands close to Luisa and ruffles her hair. She pulls away and playfully snarls at him.
There’s an awkward pause here as I attempt to pull my face into a benevolent smile and pick my jaw off the floor where I know it fell with a resounding clunk. Ouch. Papa, huh? Why does this bother me? Come on.
“Right. So, I trust that the paperwork for the consignment is in order.” Gianni is looking directly at me as if I have the answers. I don’t know anything about anything today, but I try to appear self-assured and fully in control.
“Margot can tell you where we’re at with it,” I say, eventually.
“Alright then. Grazie, Olivia.”
