Page 45 of In Italy for Love

‘About half an hour’s drive.’ He hesitated, wondering just how much she didn’t want to be in the car with him. ‘Maddalena’s friend Gabriella is hosting a special lunch to celebrate the fresh oil tomorrow. She runs a small restaurant near a historic chestnut tree.’

‘A historic chestnut tree?’

‘It’s a coincidence,’ he hurried to assure her.

‘I didn’t think you’d told Maddalena what you said about my eyes while we were in bed,’ she replied drily.

He swallowed a reluctant laugh. ‘To be honest, I think Berengario set us up and I fell into his trap.’ He snapped his mouth shut, not sure he’d intended to admit that – or admit to himself that he hadn’t resisted the trap at all.

‘What are you talking about?’ was all she said in response.

He clenched his jaw as heat crept up his neck. He hadn’t expected he could feel even more embarrassed and out-of-place next to her. ‘He’s matchmaking,’ he muttered quietly.

Feeling her eyes on him, he gazed resolutely forward. ‘But… why?’ she asked.

‘Damned if I know,’ he answered tightly. ‘I’ve told him over and over again that we’re not together and that you’re leaving.’

‘No, I mean he’s your wife’s grandfather. Isn’t he still grieving? Like you?’

He responded before he’d thought it through. ‘Maybe he should be.’ He gripped the wheel tightly.

She obviously picked up on his guilt and confusion, because she said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’

But he wanted to explain. The urge was unexpected. ‘Her death was… hard.’ Ah, that flicker of pain was why he never talked about it. ‘It’s complicated,’ he finished instead.

‘Seriously, you don’t have to explain.’ Was she relieved? He certainly couldn’t be considered the life of the party these days. But the dynamic between them felt wrong and he wanted to right it, as much as that would be a pointless exercise in the long run. She continued. ‘I should have guessed. I just felt a bit stupid. That’s all. You don’t have to confide in me. It’s fine.’ It didn’t sound fine.

‘I am sorry you felt stupid. It wasn’t my intention.’

‘I know,’ she said softly.

He took a sharp turn-off and the road narrowed between the hills, the towns little more than small clusters of houses with polished wood shutters, crumbling stonework and rustyfarm equipment under corrugated-iron shelters. The signs announcing the names of the settlements were in both Italian and Slovene: Crostù/Hrastovlje; Cosizza di Sotto/Dolenja Kozica.

Jules peered out of the window, taking in what details she could in the fading light. ‘We’re really in the middle of nowhere.’

‘There was a hard border not far from here for decades. Some of the most popular hiking routes now were used by smugglers – or partigiani, the resistance during the Second World War. There was a lot of fighting around here, occasionally even among the different resistance groups, against one another.’

‘Is that where this Friulian appreciation for bitterness started?’

‘No, that was much, much earlier. When you’re invaded as many times as this area has been, you start to be stoic about it.’

‘Becauseyou’veexperienced invasion so many times,’ she said drily.

‘I do remember when the border opened. I was at secondary school. But memories are long around here. The Slovene minority remembers when they weren’t allowed to use their language for official purposes and everyone still shudders when you mention Yugoslavia. There was a lot of emigration from this region – to Australia too. Maybe that’s why Berengario keeps insisting you might be a Furlan Volpe.’

The sky ahead was turning rapidly navy as the hills grew steeper, with glimpses of mountain pastures in the distance.

‘Berengario isn’t… He wasn’t really…’ Jules began, scrunching her eyes closed as she searched for the words. ‘He’s not really matchmaking, is he? I thought for a moment today that he was giving me nudges and winks about Davide. He’s protective of you.’

With a grumble, Alex explained. ‘He was trying to make me jealous.’

‘He was not! What makes you even think that?’

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he thought back to his conversation with Berengario on Thursday on the way to rehearsal.You’re waking up again. His friend had hinted that he wasn’t above using his own grandson to make Alex see what was right in front of him.

But Alex saw her. That was the problem. She made him want to laugh and think of sweet things instead of bitter ones and discover every little detail about her, touch her just for the joy of it. She made him want to be the man he’d been their first evening together.

Except, he wasn’t that man. Life had given him a different set of circumstances. And wanting only made him feel guilty – and bitter – and that’s why he was in this stupid state, avoiding a person he got on well with, arguing and silences when he should have been a polite host, constantly denying what was obvious every time he looked at her. He was exhausted – even more exhausted than usual, and for once not only from lack of sleep.

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