While I traipsed along the rows and rows of grapevines, I’d stopped short of knocking on the door of the villa and asking for her. This morning, though, I woke determined to talk to her.
I walked up the hillside, certain I felt the eyes of the vineyard workers settle on me as I trudged by. Was it my imagination that they were snickering?
“Tu chi sei?” I heard a voice ask when I reached the terrazza that led to the villa’s front door.
“I’m Miles. My parents and I…”
“I know who you are. What do you want?”
If he knew who I was, why had he asked?
“Um…is Pia home? I’d like to speak with her.”
“No.” He waved his hand as though he was dismissing me.
As I crept away, I knew it hadn’t been my imagination earlier when I wondered if the workers were snickering. They definitely had been, only not quite as loudly as they were now.
I was partway down the hill when I thought I heard someone calling my name. I turned around, and Pia was running toward me.
“Mylos, wait! I’m sorry about my father,” she said, out of breath from trying to catch me. “He can be uno stronzo arogante.”
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have intruded.”
“It isn’t you…He’s just protective.” She put her arm through mine, and we continued down the hillside. “How are you, Mylos?”
“I’m fine, but I was worried about you.”
Pia stopped walking and studied me. “Why?”
“Your breakup with Paolo. I thought maybe you—”
“Paolo and I didn’t break up. What are you talking about?”
“You know. The argument. And then I saw him a couple of days ago.”
She cocked her head. “A couple of days ago? That’s impossible. Paolo is in Veneto.”
“Unless he has a twin brother, he wasn’t in Veneto three days ago. I saw him.”
Pia’s eyes scrunched. “Where did you see him?”
“I took my mum to the market, and he was there
with…someone.”
Her hands went to her hips. “Someone? What does that mean…someone?”
I kept walking. “Never mind.”
“No. You said you saw Paolo with someone. Tell me what you meant. You saw him with a woman?”
I shook my head and continued walking. “My mistake. Like you said, Paolo is in Veneto. It was just someone who looked like him.”
“Mylos!” she shouted after me, but I didn’t stop. This was the first and last time I’d ever get between a woman and another man in my life. Who was it that said not to shoot the messenger? Shakespeare, most likely.
“You cannot say you saw him and then say you didn’t. Either you did or you didn’t.”
“I didn’t.” I walked up to the front door of the farmhouse and stopped. “Goodbye, Pia.”