Danny nods at me politely. He’s not exactly the guy I expected Shay to be with it. He’s kind of goofy-looking and meek but I’m just making assumptions again. One of my bad habits.
“Nice to meet you,” I tell him and I hold my hand out for him to shake. He does so and it’s like shaking hands with a jellyfish.
“So where the hell you been?” she asks me while she signals for the waiter. “You were supposed to come back to the bar.” She talks to me like we’ve known each other for years and I’m totally okay with that. It reminds me of my friend Angela back in Cali, which then reminds me that I owe her a really long e-mail and not just the occasional comment on her Facebook and Instagram photos.
“Busy,” I tell her. “Really busy.”
She orders her coffee from the waiter like a pro. “Is that so? Busy with the children or with the mystery man?”
I manage a smile. “Both. And their full-time nanny, who they’ve had for like a million years, quit. Just yesterday. You don’t want to be a nanny, do you?”
She wrinkles up her nose. “Oh, hell no. I’m not a fan of kids.”
I watch a bunch of pigeons in the square take flight, their wings flapping noisily. “Yeah, well I thought I wasn’t a fan of them either but these kids . . . well, they aren’t as bad as I thought. Not anymore, anyway. I feel sorry for them. They’ve been through so much and I just don’t see how it’s going to get any better. I mean, how do you just get over losing your parents? I don’t even like my parents and I couldn’t imagine it. There’s just so much pain and suffering in that house but it’s all hush-hush and no one talks about it, especially not Derio, who’s becoming more of an enigma the more I get to know him. Now, with Felisa gone, I know I’m going to have to step up and become the nanny until they find someone. I had to take the kids to school this morning, which is why I’m up here at this hour. Lord knows what I’m going to have to do when I get back to the house. Cook? Clean? I don’t do that shit and I have no idea how I’m going to get through to Derio, especially when I need him the most.” I pause, taking in a deep breath. “Fuuuuck.”
Shay and Danny both stare at me for a moment before Shay puts her hand over mine. “Hun, how many cups of coffee have you had this morning?”
“Not enough,” I tell her as I ask the now-overworked waiter for another.
I stay with Shay and Danny for an hour, talking about Capri and traveling and this and that before I realize I should probably head back to the sad lemon house to check on Derio. I make a promise to come to the bar sooner rather than later, and Shay says she’ll put her feelers out for anyone who might make a good nanny for the children.
When I get back to the house there’s this strange feeling of quiet. And calm. I like it. I walk down the hall and see Derio sitting outside underneath the pergola, drinking from a bottle of water. For once he isn’t dressed immaculately—just black pajama pants and a plain white shirt. I like that look on him, too. I know I’m probably the last person he wants to see right now but I want to make sure he’s okay. Besides, I still need to give him a piece of my mind. He said some pretty uncalled-for things last night, whether he remembers them or not.
I head outside and when he sees me he raises his hand in a small wave. I could be an asshole and not return the gesture, kind of like he did when I first came here for the job interview, but I decide to suck it up. Someone has to be the bigger person and it might as well be the person without the hangover.
I wave then walk over to the pergola and stop at the front of the table, underneath the bright blooms. A few bees buzz about. It’s going to be a hot day.
“Buongiorno,” I tell him.
He’s wearing sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes but I know they must be red as hell.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice low and ragged, like his throat has been scraped raw. “Did you take the twins to school?”
I nod. “Someone had to. You know, since you were sleeping and Felisa is gone.”
He looks away and breathes out deeply. “Yes. I checked my e-mails this morning. She is gone.”
I cross my arms. “You didn’t do a very good job of explaining last night what had happened.”
“I know,” he says quietly, looking down. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” I ask. “Because you were being a tyrant. A stupid, drunken tyrant.”
He jerks his head up to look at me. “What did I say?”
“You said mean stuff.”
“None of it was true.”