Sunday morning was a little bit better. I was allowed to sleep in again, even though last week Felisa had insisted I accompany them to church. When I woke up they were all just coming back, and though Alfonso and Annabella were relieved to be free from church in that overly dramatic way that involved flinging themselves over couches and moaning from the residual boredom, the tension was high between Felisa and Derio.
They were both snapping at each other in Italian, and at some point I had to say, “Hey, let’s all remember what we learned in church today,” which I assumed was something nice, of course. But the two of them just glared at me and went back to their bickering.
After another espresso, which had Felisa shaking her head at the noise (let’s be honest, I was trying to drown them out with the machine), the two of them disappeared into his office. I had my drink and sat down on the couch with the kids as they babbled to me in Italian about something or other while I sat there saying, “Non capisco” over and over again, trying to get them to speak in English.
Then someone from the office yelled, a door slammed, and Derio walked hurriedly out to the living room, paused before the three of us, and then asked how I was feeling.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, rather suspicious, considering all the mayhem and bad vibes.
“No concussion?”
“No,” I say slowly. “The cuts are healing up, and although it was nice to sleep in this morning, I feel pretty good.”
“Good,” he says and gives me a smile. It’s the first smile I’ve seen of his in over twenty-four hours, so it startles me a bit. Sometimes I remember how damn handsome he is, and it almost makes up for the fact that he’s been a dick lately. Almost.
I squint at him. “What do you want?”
He looks at Alfonso and Annabella. “Would you like to go to Ischia today with Amber?” he asks slowly in English.
Iss-sky-what?
The twins’ faces break out into wide, shit-eating grins. “Si! Yes!” they cry out and start jumping up and down on the couch.
“What’s Ischia?” I ask, worried.
“It’s another island, just north of here,” he explains. I can hear the impatience in his voice. “Felisa has taken them once before and they loved it. There’s an old castle up on a fortified hill, like an island attached to the island by a long road.”
I don’t know how I feel about this. “How far is it?”
“Ferries leave all the time,” he says. “If you go now, you can be there for a few hours and come back on the last boat.”
“But what do I do with them there?”
“I just said. There is the castle—Castello Aragonese, that is. It is just a short taxi ride from the ferry. It should occupy you all day.”
I frown at him. I know he’s trying to get me out of the house with the kids but the idea of going so far away with just me and them is a little nerve-racking. Hell, taking them into Capri town is nerve-racking.
“You’ll be fine,” he says. Then he adds, “The children will love you for it.”
I eye the twins. They are both staring at me with big, eager eyes. I sigh inwardly. I can’t really say no to those faces. And I can’t really say no to Derio since he’s my boss.
I raise my chin and nod at him. “Fine. Not a problem.”
He grins, though there is something uneasy about it. “Great, good. The next ferry leaves in an hour. Pack a bag and get down to the funicular. You can buy tickets at the marina.”
An hour doesn’t really leave us much time. I pack my tote bag in a hurry full of things we might need for the day and the kids put on more sturdy shoes and comfortable clothes at the speed of light. We leave the villa behind us, Alfonso and Annabella tugging on my hands as we jog up Via Tragara toward the square and funicular.
Because of the accident and because they’re just so damn excited, they’re actually easy to take care of. They’re loud—especially Alfonso—and they have a bad habit of kicking ferry seats and I have to keep telling them to keep their voices down. But they listen to what I say for the most part, and there’s zero animosity on their end, unlike usual.
Surprisingly, the children don’t seem at all affected by the ferry crossing. There are some waves, particularly as we hit the open stretch between the islands, that bounce the hydrofoil back and forth, but they only cry out with glee as it happens. Even though I know the twins have their own demons, it’s good that they aren’t as crippled in some ways as Derio is.
Derio. When I’m not thinking about the twins, I’m thinking about him. I want to know what he’s doing in his office. Why the secrecy? What was he doing with all of his mother’s books in the attic and why was he so angry about them? I want to know if he’s ever going to trust me completely because I feel that he doesn’t. Not that he should—he doesn’t really know me—but I am tutoring his siblings. He’s so hot and cold that it drives me nuts.