She responded with a simple ‘uh-huh,’ and I led her through the house.
I quickly showed her around the villa, and found myself delighted by each of her reactions. Boredom was the expected reaction from women like Daisy Parker. I knew they preferred modern, minimalist things that smelled like anything but dust. But there she was, that cheeky little thing, fascinated even by the most decadent spaces in our home.
When we reached the dining room, I swallowed hard as we stood before the painting of Giuseppe and Rosa. After my parents' death, that was the place in the house I hated most, because now, instead of a full and noisy table, I was greeted by empty seats, but also by the memory of the biggest mistake I ever made.
I could still see her there. Valentina. Proud, confident, her chin lifted as if the world should bow in her presence. The simple memory of how I used to love that treacherous woman turned my stomach. It was on that exact dining room I went down on one knee and asked her to marry me, with a diamond ring worth a fortune and that broke a century old tradition, right in front of the painting. Right in front of my ancestors’ eyes. Of my famiglia.
And for what?
With bile and pain mixing and twisting my insides, I tried to guide Daisy Parker out of the room, however, the cheeky thingslipped out of my hands and in a few steps approached the painting.
“It's oil...” she murmured, standing on tiptoe, but wasn't talking to me.
“You like painting, Signorina Parker?”
She simply shrugged. “I guess you could say that. My Papa used to repaint my room every year, and I’d help him. After he passed, I painted and draw every time I got the chance. Sometimes it was just a sheet of paper, others some objects, like vases, sometimes even my own hair.” There was something distant in her voice that made me double my attention. As if she was somewhere else. Maybe the past. If that was the case, I could understand it very well. Revisiting old memories was something I did often. “Nowadays, I paint a mural in my room every year. To remember the good old times.”
“Are you good at it?” That was not what I truly wanted to say. If I could, I would ask how much she missed her dad. But there was a line between us that couldn’t be crossed.
She was the hostage, I was her captor and, one day, her executor.
She sighed. “I try to be. I mean, since I discovered Bob Ross’ old as hell tutorials on YouTube I have improved, but wouldn’t say I’m good at it.”
My eyes wandered over her body. The way her curves painted a delicate frame. How her legs graciously stretched as she stood on her tiptoe, analyzing the painting, back turned to me. Icouldn’t help but compare her to a mischievous fairy, small, feisty, curious, always with an answer ready.
Her fingers lightly touched the canvas. “Has it been restored?” she asked, then turned to me.
I cleared my throat. “Yes. Several times.”
“Who are these people?”
I sighed, letting my shoulders slump, and walked towards her. "Giuseppe and Rosa Vicari. The founders of the famiglia. One day I'll tell you their story, but for today, we have other matters to attend to. Sì?"
She stared at me, narrowed eyes, knitted brows. “You’re weird.”
“Am I?”
“No, I don’t mean it like that. Well, yes, you’re weird. You’re a cold-blooded killer, can’t exactly call you normal, can we?” I rolled my eyes at that comment. She really had no sense of self preservation, did she? “What I mean is you’re a little bit weird since the moment we stepped into this room.”
“Oh, now you’re analyzing me, Signorina Parker?”
“What can I say? Maybe I have a hidden talent for psychology.”
I nodded. “Let’s just say your intuition is right. I don’t use this room. I don’t like this room. And when you start your work as housekeeper, I hope you keep that in mind.”
“Why do you hate it?”
Cazzo. Did she really have to be so nosy?
“Because, Signorina, it reminds me of the people I lost. Now, if there are no more questions, can we move on?”
Even though there was still some reluctancy in her expression, she nodded, and I took her to the other rooms in the house.
The line that divided us couldn’t be crossed.
The villa was old and, as such, had undergone several modifications over the years that divided it into four distinct parts. The ground floor was the common area, where the famiglia spent time together and received guests. The first floor was the space usually inhabited by the Capobastone famiglia and was part of the oldest structure of the villa, along with the ground floor. The east wing was built during my grandfather Patrizio's childhood and had been inhabited by my uncle Ricardo and his famiglia. The west wing was built shortly after my parents got married and had been our famiglia home. The structure itself was one, but those adjacent areas allowed several generations to cohabit the same space without suffocation or unnecessary quarrels.
However, I didn’t show Daisy the adjacent wings. I kept them closed, frozen in time for when my brother and cousin returned. They were pieces of our lives where the memory of my parents and uncles still lingered, and I wanted them to stay that way.