Chapter 82 Mum Interrogation
Isabella POV
He wasn’t no one. She moved to a free spot on the wall and hooked the string on the nail
before she let it hang. “It’s different from all of your other pieces, much cooler and emotional. I can see it in the colors and I can see it in the way this man is standing. I love all of your work, but this one is particularly beautiful.”
“Thanks…”
“Lake Riva, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“What should the price be?” she asked. “Most of your pieces are three thousand euros. This one should be at least four.” She grabbed the blank business card and wrote the price on the back with her pretty handwriting. Then she placed it next to the picture. I should just get rid of it. I shouldn’t keep any memory of that man. He would become a memory I would try to forget but the idea of someone putting it up in their house, staring at one of my most emotional memories, didn’t sit right with me. I wanted it to myself. I wanted to hang it in my
bedroom. He had a painting to remember me.
I wanted one to remember him.
“It’s…it’s not for sale.” I took it off the wall and wrapped it in the papernagain, making sure my father wouldn’t see it. My father was just as intuitive as my mother, and it was difficult to hide things from him. I opened the closet and placed it inside so no one would take it by accident. I shut the door again then faced my mother.
Her eyes were filled with emotion, filled with that perceptive look I’d been getting all my life.
She knew, I was hiding something.
The next four days passed quickly. It was nice to spend time with my family. It’d been a while since it was just the three of us. When Varos moved out, it was the three of us for a long time. When it was my turn to leave the nest, it was difficult for my parents to let me go. Even though they put on a brave face. Now we spent all our time together, working at the winery during the day and having long dinners in the evening. There weren’t many wine tastings going on in the winter, but people still stopped by, mainly locals looking for something to do.
My mother never mentioned the painting but I knew it was only a matter of time. I didn’t contact Dante, and he didn’t contact me. He gave me the space I asked for, even though it killed him to do it. When he walked away from me, I knew it was difficult for him to turn his back. He probably stared at his phone every night wondering if I would call. He probably thought about calling me but changed his mind before his finger could hit the send button.
On the fifth day, it rained heavily, so my family and I stayed home. Father worked in his office on the third floor, and Mom and I made pancakes in the kitchen. We used to do it when I was little, and since Gabriel wasn’t in the
kitchen as much as he used to be, we didn’t have to fight him for the territory. “How’s Gabriel doing?” I asked as I placed the dry ingredients in a bowl. “Good.” Mom used the mixer to gently stir the sugar with the butter,
getting it combined evenly so the pancakes would be spectacular. Both of us hardly ate it, so when we made them, it was more for the busywork than the actual reward. “He’s been taking it easy. He relaxes a lot more than he
used to, which makes your father and me happy. We’ve urged him to retire and just relax, but he insists on working until the day he dies.”
“Talk about commitment”
Mom chuckled. “He just loves this job and this house but we told him he’s welcome to live here even if he stops working. A retirement package for him.”
“And he still said no?” I asked incredulously.
She shrugged. “Italian men are very stubborn. You know that.”
Dante immediately popped into my head, and I couldn’t agree more. He was more stubborn than I was and that was quite an accomplishment. “All too well.”
We continued preparing the dough before we started to scoop them onto the pan. We then divided them evenly before we set them in the pan. “It’s been really nice having you around the house again.” Mom turned off her cooker when they were ready. “Just like how it used to be before you left for school.” She grabbed an open bottle of wine from the fridge and poured two glasses. “Do you guys ever drink water?”
She drank from her glass before she set it down. “Do you?”
I grinned. “Touché, Mama.” I took a long drink, feeling the smooth flavor all the way down.
“I haven’t seen your father drink water since I first met him. He sticks to scotch. Wine is water to him.”
“If I have more than two glasses of wine, I’m already tipsy. Another glass and I would be drunk. No idea how he does it.”
“He has a very high tolerance, I guess.”
“Or maybe he’s drunk all the time,” I said with a laugh..“If that’s the case, I’m very impressed and I wonder what he’s like sober.”
“Can’t even imagine.”
She finished her wine and then refilled her glass. “So” When she paused after the word and I knew something was coming. She didn’t start sentences like that unless the subject matter was delicate. She was going to ask about the man in the painting. “Your father is really good friends with Philip, the owner of the restaurant you visited in Milan.”
Not at all what I was expecting. “Oh?” I grabbed another piece of pancakes and poured honey across the surface. “And he mentioned he saw you there the other night with a very handsome man.”
Shit. Why did he have to take me to that fancy place in Milan? Dinner at some random cafe would have been perfectly fine. I should have known I would be recognized. Any place that served Conti wine should have been off-limits. Now I felt my mother stare at me hard, her blue eyes calculating.