peering over the edge of the pool in concern. Guess he thought I wasn’t coming back up.
He takes a step back and then motions for his son, who is still staring at me mouth agape, to turn around. Who knows how much of me he can see?
“Wh-who are you?” I manage to say, hoping they understand English, hoping I don’t start stuttering.
“Who am I?” the man repeats incredulously, his brows raising. Somewhere in the back of my mind I recognize that he has perfect eyebrows, dark and shaped with a distinctive arch, a strong frame for his intense brown eyes. “You’re asking who I am?”
Okay, well at least the man with the perfect brows speaks perfect English.
I continue to tread water, hoping he can’t see my body clearly. To his credit, he’s not looking. He seems too shocked and borderline angry to do that.
“My name is Grace Harper,” I tell him, finding my voice. “I’m a guest of Jana Lee’s. This is her house.”
Isn’t it? Now I’m second guessing everything. I mean, that was Emilio at the airport, right? He had a sign with my name on it but he never actually said his name was Emilio. Oh lord.
The man watches me for a few moments, his brows drawn together, and I can’t figure out his game. Jana never said there would be any guests coming. Maybe he’s a friend of hers? Perhaps even a boyfriend, though he does seem a couple years younger. Then there’s the kid, who must be around ten years old, who is still facing the other way, though I catch him looking over his shoulder at me and frowning.
The kid rattles off something in Italian, and the only word I understand is “Papà,” so I guess this is the kid’s father.
“Non lo so,” the man says, and then glances at his son. He makes the gesture for the kid to turn around, which he does begrudgingly, huffing as he goes.
It’s while his focus isn’t on me that I’m able to get a better look at him. The man is tall, perhaps six feet, and with a slim but muscular physique, like an athlete. His skin is bronze in the sunshine, his hair black, shorter at the sides and longer on top so it sort of flops onto his forehead, and his face is strong and well-defined like a Roman sculpture.
He’s wearing dark jeans, a navy t-shirt and slip-on sneakers, with no socks. There’s a large gold watch on his wrist. He seems like the epitome of Italian fashion, like he should be advertising Armani cologne or something. He’s incredibly handsome, even though I push that realization to the back of my head because that’s the least important thing right now.
“So, who are you?” I ask. “Unless I’m in the wrong house.”
“Jana invited you?” the man asks, rubbing his jaw in frustration as he ignores my question again.
I nod. “Aye. Obviously. Or I wouldn’t be here. She said to come down for a month so I can finish my book. She’s my agent.”
He nods slowly, realization coming over his eyes, though he still looks pretty pissed off. “I see.”
I blink at him. “What do you see? You haven’t even told me who you are.”
“I’m Claudio Romano,” he says to me with a sigh. “This is my son Vanni.”
Vanni looks over his shoulder at me and says in perfect English, “And you are in our swimming pool.”
Three
Grace
I can’t help but stare, totally confused.
I shake my head and then swim to the edge of the pool, resting my arms on the grass. At least they can’t see my body this way. “I’m sorry, your what?”
“Our swimming pool,” Vanni says, louder this time, as if I couldn’t hear him. “You’re in our pool. This is our house. You’re a … a … intrusa.”
I don’t have to speak Italian to know he sees me as an intruder.
“Enough, Vanni,” Claudio says. He gestures at the house. “Why don’t you take your bag to your room? I’ll handle this.”
I don’t like the way he says handle this. What, he’s going to throw me out of the pool? Naked? I press my body even closer to the edge.
Vanni hesitates for a moment, then with sunken shoulders, walks off down the gravel path, throwing one more frowny glance at me.
“So Jana invited you,” Claudio says, sounding tired. “Funny, she never told me about it. Then again, I’m not surprised.”