I smiled. “Me too.”
After she showed me to my room and said goodnight, I thought about how long it had been since I met anyone I felt such an immediate connection with. It wasn’t since I was very young and met Pen, Ava, Aine, and Quinn.
After using the lavatory and changing into the nightshirt Pia had loaned me, I checked the burner phone one more time and snuggled into the most comfortable bed I’d slept in since I left America.
I woke the next morning to the sound of a knock at the door. It took me a minute to remember where I was. “Coming,” I murmured.
When the door opened, I pulled the sheet up to my chin.
“Perdonami,” said the young woman. “Didn’t you say ‘come in’?”
“It’s fine. Um…can I help you?”
“I’m Lucia. Pia asked me to let you know breakfast is being served on the terrazza. She is there now.”
“Grazie. Can you please tell her I’ll be right down?”
Lucia backed out of the room and closed the door behind her. I got out of bed and looked out the window. From there, the vineyards that covered the hillsides were breathtaking. Every view I’d seen since arriving at Valentini was. It was so perfect, it looked like a film location.
My fingers itched to paint some of the Tuscan landscapes. How long had it been since I thought about painting? Maybe while I was in Sienna, picking up my things from the pensione, I’d look for a place where I could buy some art supplies.
Remembering Lucia had said Pia was waiting for me, I checked my phone and then quickly washed up and went downstairs where I found her having breakfast with the man we’d spent time talking to most of last evening.
“Good morning,” he said, noticing me before Pia did.
“Buongiorno, Mr. Knox. Pia.”
“Please, call me Ben.” He stood to pull out a chair for me.
“Did you sleep well, Catarina?” Pia asked.
“Very well, thank you. Again, I appreciate your hospitality.”
“You might not say that when you see how hard I’ll make you work.” Pia grasped my hand with hers and winked. “I’m just kidding.”
Actually, the idea of work sounded so good to me. Admittedly, it was a feeling I’d rarely experienced before, and it shamed me.
“No! You are at Valentini. No more sad thoughts.”
As much as her exclamation stunned me, her words did more. How was this woman I’d only met yesterday able to read me so easily? Was I really that transparent?
“Ben, what do you have planned today?” Pia asked.
“I have a meeting in Florence, and then I intend to visit Chianti.”
I noticed he was drinking tea rather than coffee like Pia was.
“Are you British?” I asked, remembering that before he spoke yesterday, I’d been sure by his coloring and the way he carried himself, that he was Italian.
“I’m more of a citizen of the world,” he answered. “My father is American and my mother is Venezuelan. We traveled around a lot when I was a kid, but spent much of my childhood in England.”
“Is that where you live now?”
He shook his head. “We moved back to America when I was in high school.”
That explained the difficulty I was having placing his accent. The fact that his mother was Venezuelan also explained why, initially, I believed him to be Italian. “What part?”
“Boston.”