driving over the mountain would be like. Apparently, all it took was a penis for me to overcome my fear of heights.
Who knew?
Eventually, we end up back at his parents’ house, a little later than we had promised. His mother is running around, talking about the reservation and how we won’t make it, while his father doesn’t seem to care and thinks the fish place down at the beach is good enough.
I decide to keep my dress on, changing into nicer sandals, and then we’re all cramming into his father’s classic Porsche 911. The interior is as flawless as Claudio’s is (or was until recently, ahem), but the backseats are tiny. I barely fit myself, while Claudio’s knees are rammed right up against his mother’s seat.
His father also drives like a maniac. I should be used to it by now, from the way that Claudio drives, and everyone else in this country, but his father seems to think he’s a rally driver. We go flying around the corners, Claudio and I rammed up against each other, his mother, praying in Italian and doing the sign of the cross.
The restaurant is about twenty minutes away from the house. We go down a gravel road for a while, rows and rows of olive trees passing us, their leaves twisting to silver in the wind. Finally, we stop in front of what looks like an old country house, albeit with half a dozen cars parked out front.
“Here we are,” his father says, slamming on the brakes so that Claudio and I nearly bonk our heads against the front seats. “Right on time.”
We wait for them to step out of the car, taking their time, and Claudio discreetly reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze.
There’s a lot more effort getting out of the car than getting into it, but soon we’re entering the restaurant, greeted by a dashing older man who seems to know the Romanos very well.
He leads us to a table in the back of the restaurant, my eyes taking it all in. The restaurant has red tiles, a low white ceiling with dark wood exposed beams. There are rustic touches everywhere, from the antique framed photos on the walls, to the lace curtains, to the hanging sausages near the kitchen.
It’s fairly small too, maybe seven tables, almost all of them occupied.
We sit down, and the waiter brings out a bowl of olives while we look through the menu.
“So, Grace,” his mother says to me after a bottle of red wine is ordered for the table. She folds her hands in front of her and gives me a sweet smile. “I know you are an artist like Claudio and my husband, because you don’t like to talk about your work. But please, what is the name of your series again?”
I finish my sip of wine. “The Sleuths of Stockbridge.”
“In Italian it is I Detective Scozzesi,” Claudio says to her. “I’ve read them all. They’re very good. You would like them.”
My heart does a little flip at that.
“I have not heard of them, but that doesn’t mean anything,” she says. “And if you write these books with another author, where is she?”
I have another sip of wine before I answer that one. “She’s dead.”
Her eyes widen, and she exchanges a look with her husband. “Oh. I am so sorry.”
I just nod. “She died over Christmas. Hit by a drunk driver. Suffice to say, I won’t be continuing the series anymore.”
The two of them lapse into silence, feeling sad. It’s inevitable whenever Robyn is brought up. The tragedy. The unfairness of it all.
“But she is writing a book on her own,” Claudio speaks up. “She won’t let me read it yet, but I believe it is a romance.”
“Oh?” his mother says, raising a single brow, that Romano talent. “I do like romance. Who doesn’t?”
“You’d be surprised,” I tell her.
She stares at me for me to go on.
I sigh. “As an author, you notice it. It’s always overlooked for literary fiction, whatever that means. People always thumb their nose at the genre, even though romance finds its way into every good story, every good movie or TV show.”
“Romance is art,” Claudio says. “No one knows that better than the Italians. Your book will do very well here, Grace.”
If I can finish it. I should be writing right now, instead of vacationing on Elba. But at least things are coming easier. I’m already at forty thousand words, which is a huge accomplishment. Now I’m just