Honora said anxiously, “How long?”
“As long as it takes for me to buy the villa,” he bit out. When she flinched at his angry tone, he tried to smile. “On the plus side, it will give us more time in my birth country, so I have decided to host a reception here, to properly introduce you to all my European friends. We’ll have music, and dancing...”
Her old insecurity went through her. “You want to introduce me? At a formal ball? To a bunch of wealthy, gorgeous society people?”
“As you said, such social events are necessary, are they not? For the community?”
“I guess so,” she said reluctantly.
“The household staff will plan everything. All you need to do is find a ball gown. Excuse me.” He glanced back at his home office, which was filled with even more lawyers than before. “I must get back to work.”
She didn’t ask questions because she feared he’d only snap at her. She wanted to be supportive, to be a good wife. Surely if she was always agreeable and kind, he would love her for it? Surely she should be as small and quiet as she could, no trouble at all, so she wouldn’t be a burden?
She’d done that most of her life. She told herself she could do it again.
But suddenly, strangely, she didn’t want to. She thought of how she’d felt so powerful in Nico’s bed. How he’d encouraged her to stand up for herself, in everything from not feeling guilty over things that weren’t her fault, to refusing to eat things she didn’t like.
Be happy. Live your life only for yourself.
Okay, she thought, I’ll give it a try.
So the next day, when Honora walked the dog, she didn’t rush right back to the villa in case her husband finished work and wanted to see her. No. She would try to make herself happy.
She took the long coastal path and looked out at the sea.
She could see Le Sirenuse in the distance, the three lonely islands rising from the blue waves. One of the villa’s staff members had told her that, according to ancient legend, the rocks had once been inhabited by sirens who’d seduced sailors to their own destruction.
Honora shivered as she looked at the three rocky islands in the distance. How awful to think that someone could be led to their own ruin, simply by following their heart’s desire.
It felt good to be out of the villa, and not just falling asleep in a chair with a book in her lap, waiting for her husband to have time for her. Honora felt exhilarated to be in this village, to breathe this air, sweet with lemons and salty from the sea, that seemed so different from New York, or even the Hamptons.
As the days passed, she started talking to people and making friends. Once she tried it, she found it wasn’t even hard. Many English-speaking tourists came to the Amalfi Coast, and Trevello’s shopkeepers and inhabitants all spoke English to varying degrees, enabling her to chat with everyone, usually about the sweet-natured dog Figaro, who attracted love everywhere.
As the housekeeper rested her twisted ankle, Honora looked forward to walking her dog every day, hiking along the cliff-side path, even window-shopping in Trevello, looking for a ball gown.
Early morning was the best time to walk, she found, before floods of tourists arrived via buses or cruise ships. When the town was quiet, she could walk Figaro and hear his nails click against the cobblestones, as church bells echoed and shopkeepers swept their doorways and restaurant owners sprayed off their patios. She saw elderly women heading to church—stoop-shouldered, with handkerchiefs covering their hair—while other women of a similar age snuck back furtively to their homes, returning from midnight assignations, chic in Dolce & Gabbana and navigating the crooked streets in high heels.
She loved Italy!
Honora met an older lady of the first type coming up the hillside early one morning, pulling a small wheeled basket filled with groceries. She seemed to be struggling to lift it over the crooked curb in front of a tall gate and stone wall.
Honora hurried forward, Figaro trotting on his leash behind her, his tongue lolling happily. “Please, let me help,” she said awkwardly in English, hoping the woman wouldn’t think she was trying to steal her grocery basket.
The elderly woman smiled at her sheepishly. “Grazie. It is not so easy anymore.” She looked at Honora’s belly. “But you should not be lifting things...”
“I’m fine.” She tilted her head, looking up at the large, decrepit villa above them on the cliff. “Do you work up there?”
She gave a low laugh. “It is worse than that. It is mine.” She paused as a sad expression crossed her face. “For now...”
“Are you moving? That’s a pity. Trevello is so lovely.”
“I wouldn’t leave by choice.” The elderly woman looked down at her wrinkled hands. “Someone is trying to force me from my home.”
“That’s horrible!” Honora was indignant. “There ought to be a law!”
She helped the woman pull the heavy groceries past the gate and up the long, winding steps toward her faded house. It was not an easy journey. Even Figaro looked tired by the time they made it all the way up the many steep steps.
As Honora bid the elderly woman farewell, it crossed her mind that she’d ask their housekeeper if something could be done for her. Perhaps to have her groceries delivered?