Gianluca stands behind me as my sketchbook falls open to my design of the Bergdorf’s shoe.
“This is yours?” he asks.
I nod that it is.
“Bellissima.” His eyes narrow as he looks at it more closely. “Ambitious, no?”
“Well, it is complicated,” I say, “but-”
“Si, si,” he interrupts with a smile. “It’s for you to figure out. You imagined it and now you will bring it to life.”
I return my attention to one of the sheets of leather on the table in front of us. Gianluca watches me as I examine the leather under the lights, checking for patina, finish, and suppleness. I roll the corner of the sheet, as Gram taught me, checking for splits or creases in the leather, but the material is as smooth and luxurious in my hands as dough.
Sometimes tanners will add elements to the finishing solution to cover flaws in the leather. Since our shoes are handcrafted, you can’t hide inconsistencies in the materials, as you might with machine-made shoes. We often resew seams as we custom-fit the shoes, so it takes strong, uncompromised leather to sew and resew. I run my hands over the expanse of the buttery suede. No wonder my family has used this company for years. These are first-class goods. I look up at Gianluca and smile in approval.
He smiles back at me.
I lift several sheets of leather off the stack and put them to the side. I return the bulk of them to the shelf behind me.
Gianluca stays in the doorway for what seems like a long time. What’s he looking at? I look up at him. He looks amused, which is odd, because I’m not saying anything. Is there something about me that’s funny, even when I’m not trying to be? Funnyone translates, I guess. That’s good to know, but enough already. “That’s okay, I got it.” I wave the braid at him so he is free to go.
“Va bene.” He grins and goes. But I think he’d rather stay.
11. Lago Argento
I WAKE TO THE SOUND of a soft rain tapping against the tile roof. The clock says it’s five o’clock in the morning. I don’t want to move from underneath these warm blankets, but I left all the windows open and I can see where the floor is damp from the rain. I get up and close the windows that look out over the pond, then go to close the ones that look out over the town square.
There’s a low, thick mist hovering over the village, like tufts of pink cotton candy. Through the fog, I see a woman walking toward the inn. I’m curious to see who might be out and about this early in the morning.
The woman moves slowly, but as she comes closer, I see her tie the ends of her scarf underneath her chin. It’s Gram. What is she doing out at this hour? Her trench coat is unbuttoned below the belt, and underneath the coat I can see the moss green skirt she wore yesterday. Dear God. She didn’t sleep in her room last night.
I begged off from a late supper at the Vechiarellis’ last night knowing I needed to take care of a few e-mails and check my list for the fabric shopping today. But I could also tell that I was a third wheel and that Gram wanted to be alone with Dominic.
I hear the door to her room close softly. When I hear her running water in the bathroom, I seize my moment and tiptoe back to my bed. I pull the covers up around me and close my eyes.
I wake up again at seven. I bolt out of bed, take a bath, do my hair, and get dressed. Then I rap on her side of the bathroom door. She doesn’t answer. I pull the door open and peer into her room. Her bed is made. Of course it is! She didn’t sleep in it. I grab my tote bag, notebooks, and phone and go downstairs.
Gram is sitting in the dining room reading the paper. She wears a navy blue skirt and a matching cashmere sweater. Her hair is brushed out softly, and she’s applied her pink lipstick.
“Sorry, I slept late.”
“It’s only seven.” She looks up from her paper.
“But we have so much to do today. That drive to Prato is two hours, right?”
“Yes. I wanted to talk to you about that.” She puts the newspaper down and looks at me. “Could you go without me?”
“Well, sure, Gram, if you’re sure you trust me to pick the fabrics-”
“I do. You did a marvelous job, great, with the leather yesterday. Gianluca will drive you to Prato.”
“What are you doing today?”
“Dominic is taking me on a picnic.”
Signora Guarasci places the hot coffee, steamed milk, and sugar on the table. She brings a basket of rolls, with a tin of sweet butter and blackberry jam. “Did you sleep well?” the signora asks.
“Yes,” Gram and I answer together.
“I don’t know how you can say you had a good night’s sleep, Gram. The thunder was so loud.”
“Oh, it was,” she agrees.
“I am surprised you could sleep at all.”
“It wasn’t easy,” she says, not taking her eyes off the newspaper.
“All that crashing, and banging and thunder and lightning…”
She continues to read. “It was something.”
“Gram, you’re busted.”
“Valentine. What are you getting at?” Gram puts down the paper and looks around. Lucky for her, we’re still the only patrons at the Spolti Inn.
“When I woke up this morning around five, it was raining and I went to close the windows and I saw you out walking.”
“Oh,” she says. She picks up her paper again and pretends to scan it. “I was jet-lagged and I went out for an early stroll.”
“In yesterday’s skirt?”
She puts down the paper. “Now…” She blushes. “That’s enough.”
“I think it’s wonderful.”
“You do?”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s just a little odd…,” she begins.
“For me to learn about this side of you?”
“Well, yes.” She clears her throat. “And it’s not a side of me, it is me.”
“I approve. In fact, I more than approve. I’m happy for you. I think it’s difficult to find love at all in this world, and for you to have a…” I can’t find the strength to say the word lover, so I say, “…friend is a gift. So why pretend it isn’t happening? There’s no need for you to come traipsing down the mountain in the morning acting like you stayed here. Pack up your stuff and go over there and stay with him. What happens in Arezzo stays in Arezzo.”
Gram laughs. “Thank you.” She sips her coffee. “And that goes for you, too.”
“Hey, I’m taken.” I look out the window and it feels like New York and all our problems are a million miles away. For a moment, I forget the Bergdorf’s contest, our mounting debt, and the agony of dealing with Alfred. I even decide to put Roman on the shelf until we get to Capri, because I’m weary of analyzing us. All I see for now is spring unfolding in Italy, with the tiniest buds of green breaking through the gray branches. “But before you go, I need to know one thing.” I pull out my notebook.
“Yes?”
“How much double-sided duchess satin do you think we need in the shop?”
I wait for Gianluca to pick me up on the sidewalk in front of the Spolti Inn. The morning fog has lifted, leaving the cobblestones clean and wet, and the air brisk.
Arezzo is famous for its windy mountaintop climate, and it does not disappoint. I’m wearing a sleeveless pink wool shift with a matching bolero my mother found for 75 percent off at Loehmann’s. Giving credit where credit is due, my mother insists you can find great stuff at Loehmann’s if you search. The bolero was one of her greatest triumphs as it’s a gorgeous, tightly woven cashmere the color of sand.
Gianluca pulls up and gets out of his car. He comes around and opens the door for me.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Good morning.” I get a whoosh of the scent of his skin as I climb in; it’s crisp and lemony. He closes the car door behind me, bracing the outside handle like it’s a lock on a bank vault. I’m sure Dominic warned him that if I accidentally fell out of the car while in his care, he’d have to kill him on behalf of my grandmother.