prepared to take that risk. We can always escape to the local restaurant if the household challenge proves to be too much to handle.”
I had no idea what his motives were, but was certain some kind of hidden agenda was behind his proposal to play house during this trip. Nevertheless, I wasn't about to probe for reasons. Instead, I decided to play along and figure it out by myself. “It's only ten days,” I said, trying to sound pleasant. “I'm sure we'll survive.”
Alessandro smiled warmly and we ate our sandwiches in silence. He demonstrated he was serious about this whole household thing when he collected the plates and cleared the table after breakfast. I could hardly believe what I witnessed, but refrained myself from making any comments.
Then, he escorted me outside and convinced me to take off my shoes in order to feel the warm sand on my bare feet. I took his advice, and the feeling was amazing. Alessandro held my hand and we walked right next to the sea.
Every now and then, I stopped to collect the small shells scattered all over the beach. After a while, Alessandro involved himself with my new-found activity, and we competed on who would collect the most undamaged shells. During the entire walk, we didn't talk or engage in any discussions. We just fought about those seashells with the playfulness of little children. Alessandro had an appealing boyish mannerism about him I had never witnessed before. Once again, I itched to let him closer. It wasn't a smart thing to do around Alessandro, but I relaxed and enjoyed his presence on that particular occasion. When we grew tired of the game, we sat down on the sand and compared the collected shells.
“You know, cara, this brings back memories,” Alessandro revealed, tossing one of the shells in the air before capturing it in his palm. “I used to roam the beach all the time when I was a child, collecting shells just like these.”
“Did you live near the sea?” I asked softly.
“Yes. It's hard to be away from it when you're in Italy.”
I gave him an arrested glance. “I didn't know you grew up in Italy.”
“I never told you?” Alessandro asked with a hint of surprise, and then sudden recognition swept over his eyes.
“No,” I admitted. “I always assumed you were born in the US.”
“Blame it on my immaculate English.” He was being sarcastic since he still spoke with that drawling accent. I just thought it was the consequence of growing up among Italians.
“How old were you when you left Italy?”
His eyes turned distant. “I think I was about eight.”
“You were quite young. It must have been a terrifying experience to leave everything behind and go to a whole new country. Did you speak English back then?”
He smiled thoughtfully. “Not a single word. But my family was understanding of my shortcomings at the time.”
I thought it was strange he would talk about his family in such a strange, official way. “What are they like?”
His eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Your family...” I clarified.
Suddenly, he paled and grimaced as though hurt, but quickly replaced the expression with a soft smile. He brushed a lock of hair from my face. “I'll tell you soon, cara, but not today,” he whispered. “I don't want to ruin our trip before it even begins.”
Had something bad happened with his family? Perhaps he was in a fight with them over something. “Do you still have relatives here in Italy?” I probed further even though I sensed he wanted to change the subject.
“I do, but every contact between us has been severed.” This time he separated a bad shell from his bunch and tossed it into the water. “They have probably already forgotten about me.”
Severed by whom? “Did you ever try to look for them?” I wondered.
He smiled with that same trace of torture. “No, and I don't have any intention to do so in the future. Some things are better left undisturbed.”
“It sounds very mysterious,” I muttered, slowly tracing patterns in the sand with my finger.
“How so, cara?” he inquired lightly. “There are lots of people out there with damaged family relationships. I don't quite see the mystery in that.”
“I just thought it was unusual,” I explained with a half shrug. “Isn't family supposed to be the most important thing to an Italian man?”
“That is a very cliché thing to say, but to answer your question, Olivia...” he murmured and leaned closer. “Family is by far the most important thing to