Elisa peered over Luciano’s shoulder and appraised the drawing with eyes squinted in effort. “But it doesn’t look like a real olive grove, or a real bird, or even a real shadow. Shadows aren’t that big.”
“Exactly, Elisa. It is not a realist drawing, it’s surrealist. Do you know that what means?”
“No.”
“It’s a style of art that moves beyond the real to express the world in distorted and discordant ways.”
“I don’t understand.” But she did. Or at least, she was beginning to. She had considered this drawing garbage because it failed to accurately represent what she saw. But the drawing of it had pleased her. Every crosshatch calmed her as she filled the paper, because it captured the slightly askew way she saw the world.
“I think you do. Elisa, I don’t want to praise you, because I know that makes you uncomfortable. You have had far too little acknowledgment in your life, but I have to tell you—this drawing flirts with brilliance.”
Isotta was surprised by how much more comfortable she felt rounding up the mountain to Santa Lucia this time. Maybe because she knew what to expect. Also, the last time she made this trip, she didn’t know that Massimo was gearing up to introduce her to his daughter. She had very likely picked up on his secrecy. Or maybe her new increased comfort was due to the ring on her finger. A ring he’d given her in front of her family, who had been utterly charmed by him. Indeed her sisters had cast her sidelong glances and made remarks under their breath about how she must be a wildcat in bed to have landed a man like Massimo. The fact that he had been married before, that he had a daughter, paled next to his insistence on setting the table, his speaking knowledgeably on the euro crisis, and his asking protective questions about her sisters’ boyfriends. Charmed was probably not a strong enough word.
In any case, with all the secrets out, Isotta felt, for the first time, at ease. Not completely, she wouldn’t lie to herself. But truly, she couldn’t imagine ever being completely relaxed around Massimo. He set her insides fluttering in a way that didn’t feel entirely safe. In fact, it sometimes seemed almost dangerous. And thrilling. Her skin was constantly alert for the brush of his fingers. Her soul was ever hungering for a soft word. Wasn’t that titillating feeling the stuff of romance? Didn’t she want the opposite of her parent’s marriage, the way her mother bossed Isotta’s father around, nagging him incessantly about his ragged bedroom slippers? That wasn’t romance.
So no, she wasn’t completely relaxed, as she peeped over at Massimo’s eyes trained to the road. There was a slight trill of danger. But rather than be scared of that, now she relished it, as part of a relationship that she couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to have.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she said, breaking the silence. Massimo gave her a slight glance and raised his eyebrows above the rims of his sunglasses before turning his attention back to the hairpin turn ahead of him. Isotta gestured out to the undulating hills all around them, Santa Lucia sitting above like a crown. Or a like a queen. Indeed, the town pulsated with a rather human emotion. Maybe it was that afternoon light that seemed effervescent when tossed about in the arms of the olive branches, and heavy when bent under the evergreens.
Massimo said nothing.
The tires of the Fiat screeched as they turned into the parking lot, rending the quiet of a sleepy Saturday afternoon. Remembering her last visit, Isotta took her time gathering her sunglasses and purse, smiling in anticipation of Massimo’s opening her door and holding out his hand. But even after she gathered all of her belongings, the door remained closed. She peered out from lowered lashes, and realized he was standing outside the driver side door, his back to her. She gingerly opened her door and stepped out. He glanced over, “Ready?”
He began walking.
“Massimo?”
“Sì.”
“Is anything wrong? You’re not . . . you’re not saying much.”
“Why should anything be wrong?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t be ridiculous.”
“Okay. I . . . I’m sorry.”
Massimo said nothing, and Isotta jogged to keep up with his long stride.
Desperate to fill a silence that was rapidly passing awkward, she began chattering about her assistant at the bank.
He cut her off. “That won’t matter for much longer.”
“Oh! Wait. What? Why won’t it matter?”
“C’mon, it’s not like you’ll have that assistant a month from now.”
“Why? Is she moving branches? How could you know that and I wouldn’t know that?” Isotta frowned, her right eyebrow tilting downward. “Though come to think of it, that does explain why she’s so scattered in scheduling my December meetings. I suppose she doesn’t feel like she has a stake in them.”
Massimo snorted, “No, that’s not it. How would I know if your assistant is transferring, and indeed, why should I care?”
“Oh. I don’t know. Then what do you mean?”
“Please, Isotta. Don’t be dense. It’s not like you’ll be working there in two weeks.”
“I won’t? Why won’t I?”
Massimo stopped and faced her, drawing his sunglasses to rest on his head so that he could study her face. He gentled his voice as
