Emilio up the stairs to the second floor which is a gorgeous living area with couches and the biggest wood coffee table I’ve ever seen. It takes up most of the floor. The room is bright, and scattered throughout are sculptures, marble, clay, some abstract, some of half-clothed women. It all looks very refined.
A row of framed photographs along a polished mantle catches my eye next. The photos are mostly in black and white which make me think they’re of the villa back when it was a lodge. I’m itching to take a look and get inspired by the history, but Emilio continues up the staircase to the third floor, despite the fact that there are more unexplored rooms on the second.
He guides me down a narrow hallway to a door at the end labeled “C,” and opens it.
My bedroom is delightful. Bigger than I thought it would be, with pale blue walls that contrast with the exposed dark wood beams above, and regal red bedding on the queen-size bed. It even has one of those gauzy curtains that hang above the bed, the ones you can pull around like a mosquito net.
Emilio throws my bags on the bed. He’s sweating now from hauling them all over the house. He gestures to the loo, and I poke my head in. It’s small but there’s a shower, so I’m happy.
“I come back,” he says to me, heading for the door. “Saturday.”
Which makes it the day after tomorrow.
For a moment a tremor of worry goes through me.
I’m going to be by myself.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Thank you so much for everything. Ciao.”
He just nods, wiggles his nose, and leaves down the hallway.
I stick my head out the door and watch him disappear, then finally hear the front door close and then the grumbling engine of his truck.
He’s gone.
I’m alone.
Time to settle in.
I open the shutters and the windows and lean out, taking in a deep breath. The bedroom is at the back of the house, overlooking a glass-encased veranda or atrium below, then a wide lawn with a few fruit trees and a crumbling old wall lining the back. Beyond that is a thicket of trees, and in the distance a distinctive looking hill that overlooks the valley.
It’s growing hotter by the minute, even with the window open, so I peel off my cardigan and unzip my boots, taking out a pair of flip flops from my carry-on. My feet need a pedicure, having been encased in socks and boots for months on end, and I make a note to do my nails later. I know no one but Emilio will see them, but even so, I already feel like this is a good opportunity to dress up more. There’s a reason I brought a million sundresses that Edinburgh only lets me wear two months out of the year.
I quickly use the loo, admiring the blue floral wallpaper and jasmine-scented hand soap, then I grab my plotting notebook and pen from my purse, sliding my phone in the back pocket of my skinny jeans, and head out to explore.
All the doors in the upper hallway are closed. I assume one of them belongs to Jana and the rest are for guests. I don’t want to be nosy, so I leave the doors closed and head down the stairs to the living room, making a beeline for the mantel.
There are several framed photographs. The black and white ones show a family posing outside the villa, looking exactly the same as it does today, save for the 1940’s style car in the forefront. Then there’s a photo of a beautiful dark-haired woman posing amid roses, a mysterious smile on her face. There’s another of two men holding up a dead deer, each hand on an antler and smiling proudly.
There’s only one picture in color, a little boy, maybe two years old, sitting in a basket of lemons. He looks extremely serious, which makes the picture even cuter.
I step back from the mantel and look around the room. One of the things I need to do is find the perfect writing spot. This room is airy and bright but it won’t do.
I go down the short hall, but there’s only one door open. It’s a small library with a desk in the middle. I figure if the door is open, then I’m probably allowed to be in here. I sit down at the desk, trying to see if the height of the chair is to