“That’s fine, too. I even have a dryer.” She reclaims her place on the lounge, and Reggie jumps up to curl up next to her, the traitor.
I frown. “Is that unusual?”
“Italians generally hang their clothes outside to dry.” She pushes herself up a bit in her chair. Her hair is piled high on her head, a bright blond messy bun wrapped in a sheer red scarf. “But over the past few years, the humidity has gotten so bad, the clothes don’t dry, they just hang there. So, they’ve started selling way more dryers than they used to.”
“And you have one.”
“Listen, I can’t be hanging my fine washables outside foreverybody to see. Gotta leave some things to the imagination.” Then she laughs, and it’s very nearly a cackle, which makesmelaugh. “So? How did things go with your tour guide?”
I narrow my eyes at her, because how did she know I took Marina up on her offer? Then it occurs to me that I need to stop questioning what seem to be the magic powers of Serena DuBois and just answer her questions. “It was fantastic. She took me to a cooking class where we made pasta. I had a blast.”
“And?” Serena says before sipping her wine. “Did it help?”
“A little bit. Yeah.” It feels weird to get into the whole idea of my passion for my work and how much it’s been ebbing and flowing lately. But I nod. “A little bit.” I don’t mention that after I wrote the dough kneading scene today, the creativity was done. I’m trying not to dwell on that, because one scene does not a screenplay make. I decide a subject change is in order. Well, a partial subject change. I don’t want to talk about my work anymore. I do want to talk about Marina. “So, what’s the deal with Marina and her family?” I relay what I saw between her and Marco.
“Oh, that.” Serena sighs, and then Ria arrives with some charcuterie and tells us dinner will be ready in about half an hour. “Marina comes from a somewhat traditional family, and the hotel has been part of it for four generations now. Simply put, her father expects her to work there for the rest of her life.”
“I see.” I sip my wine, which is rich and peppery.
“And Marina, bless her, wants something different for herself. Something more.” She sips and watches me over the rim of her glass, as if she’s contemplating her next words. “She must really be fond of you if she picked you up at the hotel. She avoids that place like the plague for exactly the reason you described: Her brother is always giving her hell about not helping out with the family business.”
“It was pretty heated,” I agree.
“Marco’s a nice boy,” Serena says. “But a bit of a chauvinist. Thinks because he’s the male in the family, he gets to boss his sisters around.”
I grin. “I don’t get the impression Marina takes kindly to being bossed around.”
Serena laughs. “Oh, no. She does not. She is her own woman, that’s for sure.”
“I did meet her mom, though. She seemed nice.”
“Oh, Roseanna? She’s lovely. I’ve had her over for drinks once or twice with Marina, but she’s quiet. Kind of shy.” Serena smiles off into the distance, like she’s remembering. “She did exactly what her husband and son expect Marina to do now: played her role. Helped her parents run the hotel.” She sits up and holds out a hand, palm facing me. “And don’t get me wrong. It’s a gorgeous hotel. Very successful. Elegant. It doesverywell. But I think Roseanna would have liked something different for herself, so she doesn’t push Marina the way the rest of the family does. She’s…” She taps a finger against her lips as she searches for the right words. “Quietly defiant. I think that’s a good way to describe her.”
I think about the woman I met the other day, how she was cleaning and quiet and how much she looked like Marina. And also how happy she seemed simply to be in Marina’s presence. “So…the hotel is hers? Her side of the family?” At Serena’s nod, I say, “I’ve seen her cleaning, and I know she helps set up breakfast. I’m surprised she wasn’t behind the desk.”
“Oh, she hates the front desk,” Serena says with a chuckle. “Plus, the kids speak better English. And Marco can be a bit of an egomaniac, so he likes to be the point person for guests. Makes him feel important, I guess.”
Ria appears to let us know dinner is ready, and we trek inside to sit. Reggie trots in behind us and hops up on Serena’s couch in the living room where he can see us but also be comfortable.He must realize he doesn’t need to beg, as both Ria and Serena make sure he gets scraps. My dog is no dummy.
“I think I’m going to text Marina again,” I say once we start eating, unaware that I’m going to say it until the words are actually out and floating in the air over the table.
“Oh, yeah?” Serena asks, her brows raising up to the edge of the scarf.
“She knows so much, about the city, the people, the buildings…” I look up and meet Serena’s knowing gaze, and I shrug one shoulder. “And I like spending time with her.”
Serena’s smile isn’t exactly smug, but it seems to say that she knows something.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head and tears a piece of bread to dip in the small saucer of olive oil between us. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just happy to hear you’ve hit it off.”
Hit it off.
Okay, I suppose that’s accurate. Right? We enjoy each other’s company, or so it seems. “Yeah, we have,” I say. “I mean, I’m kind of a client to her, though, so…” I don’t mention that she wouldn’t take my money for the cooking class.
Serena lifts a shoulder. “Maybe. Maybe not.” She pops a cherry tomato from the salad into her mouth and gives me that knowing smile again.
“Why do you always look like you know something the rest of us don’t?” I ask her. I laugh, but it’s also a serious question.
