The relying on local expertise part – not the day drinking. But when in Rome, right?
That doesn’t even make sense, Delaney – this isn’t Rome.
I’m getting tipsy – drinking on a near-empty stomach may not have been the best idea. Especially since I’m a total lightweight when it comes to hard liquor. I put my half-drunk martini on the coffee table and go into the bedroom, coming back with the gift basket.
‘Hungry?’ I ask, holding it up with both hands. It’s enormous.
‘Ish,’ he says, checking his watch. ‘It’s only been a couple of hours since lunch.’
‘I didn’t evenhavelunch.’ I set the basket down and pick through it. ‘Wanna put on another record while I check out what we’ve got?’
‘Why not.’
I take out a packet oftaralli napoletani– some kind of cracker – and tear it open, the aroma of pepper and toasted almonds shouting,I am delicious. I take a bite and itisdelicious.
‘Oh my god,’ I say with my mouth full. I swallow and hold out the packet to Nick. ‘Here – try one.’
He fishes one out of the packet. ‘Thanks. So, how about Dean Martin?’ he asks, showing me an album.
‘Sure,’ I reply. I grab my martini – might as well finish it – and sit back on the floor with thetaralli. Dean Martin starts crooning ‘Volare’ and I sway to the music, munching happily.
Nick returns to the sofa and leans forward to help himself to some grapes. He makes a face. ‘Not a good pairing with a Negroni,’ he says.
‘Hah!’ I laugh and we share a smile. The moment lingers, then out of nowhere, a sobering thought cuts through my buzz.
I wouldn’t want Nicholas and Pippa spending the afternoon getting tipsy and swapping stories. It’d be unlikely – Nicholas hates small talk – but maybe I should be doing more to fix this. More than sitting around listening to old records and havingmomentswith Nick.
A sharp knock startles us both and I leap up, taking the out.
‘That’s gotta be Vittorio,’ I say, stating the obvious. But sometimes, when everything gets cloudy, the obvious becomes a tether to reality.
Nick turns down the music and I go open the door. It is Vittorio, but my smile vanishes the second I clock the look on his face.
‘Signorina, may I?’
I step aside and he enters, stopping right inside the door.
‘Have you got something for us?’ Nick asks, standing. He runs his palms along his thighs, seeming anxious. Who can blame him?
‘Yes,’ says Vittorio with a grimace, ‘but it’s not good news, I’m afraid.’
‘You didn’t find someplace for Nick to stay?’ I ask.
‘Sorry, no – not for tonight.’
‘Oh,’ Nick and I say together. Our eyes meet, but I can’t tell what’s going through his head.
‘But my nephew, he owns a small hotel on the other side of the island,’ Vittorio continues. ‘He’s fully booked tonight, buthecan give you a room.’
‘From tomorrow?’ Nick asks.
‘Sì.’
‘Well, that’s notterriblenews,’ Nick says with a shrug. ‘I suppose I could make do with a sun lounger or something – just for the night.’ He looks at me. ‘If that’s all right with you?’
‘Sure – of course. I mean, technically, this is your suite too. We’ll figure something out.’
‘We have, uh…’ Vittorio mimes closing a book. ‘The bed… on wheels.’