kidding.”
“Can I ask you not to kid like that around Mr. De Maggio?”
“Why, is he the jealous type?”
“Not generally,” Ubert mutters.
Not generally. What does that mean?
“I’m going to pull weeds,” I announce when I spot a tangle of them creeping up the base of the fountain.
Ubert shrugs. “Whatever you like, miss.”
“How many times, Ubert? My name is Hazel.”
He just smiles and retreats.
I drop to my knees, liking the feel of the cool grass on my bare knees. It’s late in the afternoon. I guess the atmosphere would feel pretty good if I wasn’t replaying the conversation with Carlo over and over.
I lose myself in the work as best as I can. It’s simple; mundane. I focus on all the little intricacies. I make a pile of the weeds and think about how I would paint them. I’d probably exaggerate it a lot, like have the fountain being completely consumed by them, the rock bulging as it tried to break free. Maybe I’m just obsessed with things breaking free.
“We have staff for that.”
I spin, leaping to my feet, thrusting forward a handful of weeds as though it’s a weapon.
Carlo smiles, dressed in a vest and shorts, his arm and hand and leg freshly bandaged. His blue-green eyes flit to the walls, to Ubert. I watch for any hint of that jealousy I noticed when I first got here, but it seems Ubert has earned Carlo’s trust now.
“What are you planning on doing with those?” he asks.
I let them drop with a shrug. I want to throw myself at him, to hug him, to let him know how sorry I am for what happened to him. The distance between us isn’t as big as it usually is. I’m starting to think Carlo can’t stand to wear his jerk mask anymore.
“Why are you doing this?” he says when I don’t answer, too lost in thought.
“Why not?” I counter. “There’s nothing wrong with honest labor, Mr. De Maggio.”
“I suppose not,” he ponders. “But …”
“But what?” I ask. “I’m a delicate snowflake who shouldn’t debase herself by doing common peasant work? Is that it?”
“Debase?” he says, shaking his head.
“It means to degrade, to make less valuable—”
Suddenly, his hand is pressed into my lower back. He pulls me close to him. He smells of sweat, of Carlo. He smells like a place I just want to crawl inside and lose myself.
“I know what it means,” he whispers, brushing his lips along mine. He lowers his voice. “Do you want to know something, Hazel? I’ve been thinking about you all damn day. I can’t stop thinking about you. I think it’s time I just told you. I care about you. I care about you more than I understand.”
Then I smell something else: whiskey.
“You’ve been drinking,” I sigh.
He rolls his eyes, a cheeky smile playing at his lips. “Maybe a little.”
I place my hand on his chest. “What you just said, Carlo, it means a lot to me. But it will mean even more sober.”
He shrugs, placing a kiss on my forehead. I savor the feel of it, the warmth. Then he lets me go and drops down in the grass.
“What are you doing?” I laugh.
“What does it look like?” he says, pulling a weed. “Making myself useful. Come on, Hazel. L’ozio è il padre dei vizi.”
“I love when you speak Italian,” I confess, kneeling down beside him. My heart is still hammering from his words. Whiskey or no whiskey, I’m pretty sure he meant them. But things are really complicated now, after last night. I’m kind of glad I don’t have to say anything I can’t take back tonight. “What does it mean?”
“The devil will find work for idle hands,” he says. “Father used to say it all the time.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He was a criminal, like me,” Carlo says. “You know what I do, Hazel. You know who I am.”
I nod.
“And?”
“And what?” I ask.
“Does it bother you? Could you see yourself—”
He stops abruptly.
Could I see myself being with the leader of a crime family? Could I see myself violating the one rule I set up for myself when I ran from my monster of a dad?
“Are you a good man, Carlo? I mean, do you think of yourself as a good man?”
He sighs, picking at a particularly stubborn weed. He raises his eyebrow at me. I wordlessly reach across and dislodge it. Our fingers brush. Electricity sparks between us. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t take joy in hurting people, but I will