17
Pia
It had been three weeks since I took an early flight back from London. For the first seven days straight, I received a flower delivery from Paolo. They only stopped when I finally agreed to see him, mainly because it meant he’d forgone the second leg of his sales trip to return to Italy.
Since I’d offered to never mention his behavior again if he apologized, for my own conscience, I had to honor it.
“Will you give me another chance?” he’d begged.
I told him I forgave him, but our friendship—not that friendship was the chance he was asking for—would never be the same.
He’d offered again to represent Valentini in his future sales meetings, but I declined. The order we’d received from Fellwood was more than I initially thought it might be, and I hoped their distribution of our wine would continue. Otherwise, feeling beholden to Paolo was a position I’d never put myself in again.
When he left, he vowed he wouldn’t give up. Someday, some way, he’d make it up to me, he’d promised. I didn’t bother to tell him there was nothing he could do. He already knew that.
I had no expectation that I’d hear from Mylos, and yet I was still disappointed. It was better this way. It would take time, but I’d get over him. It wasn’t as though he was a daily part of my life anyway. The idea that I’d never see him again was the part that was hardest to accept.
I saw my mother sitting on the terrazza and went outside to join her.
“Buongiorno, Mamma.” I kissed her cheek.
“Buongiorno, Pia.”
“How are you feeling this morning?”
“A bit better.”
It had been weeks, maybe months, that my mother was ill. I’d taken her to see the doctor several times, but they found no reason for her to be as sick as she was.
“No more flowers?” she asked.
I laughed. “I think Paolo has finally given up.”
From where we sat, we could see Georgio arriving at the winery. He was on the phone, and he didn’t look happy.
“Have you spoken with Nonna Bella?” I asked.
My mamma shook her head.
“Are you concerned?”
She looked over her shoulder toward the house. “I don’t understand why she’d stop communicating after all the years she’s been with us. I’ve asked Georgio, and he said she’s recovering.”
I’d done the same. I’d also asked Gabriella, whose mother was supposedly caring for Nonna Bella. She said the same thing Georgio had.
Even Lucia’s mother, who’d worked side by side our long-time cook, had nothing to report on her friend’s well-being.
“Good morning,” said Lucia, joining us a few minutes later on the terrazza.
“Buongiorno. I was just thinking about your mamma. How is she?”
“A bit better.” Lucia had taken over her mother’s duties the last couple of weeks, saying that, like my mother, Nonna Carina was feeling under the weather. She asked if she could bring us anything, and we both thanked her and declined.
“Mamma?” I began after Lucia went back inside. “What would happen with the estate if I never had a child?”
“I’ve never thought about it.” She reached over and took my hand. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and Paolo.”
I didn’t tell her I wasn’t thinking about him. The less I said about Mylos, the better.