Page 48

“Ciao,” Angelo says, keeping his hands in his pockets.

I awkwardly pull my rejected hand away and clutch the strap on my shoulder bag.

Angelo is tall like Conor. He has dark brown hair (cropped short from the recent haircut), a strong nose, and a nice mouth. No idea about the teeth because his lips are pressed into a straight line like a zipper that’s stuck. He wears a crisp white button-down shirt and jeans rolled at the hem. Timberland boots. The national shoe of Italian men. I know this for sure because there was a time when Googs and Uncle Louie shipped a supply to Milan for a hefty profit.

“You rented the apartment from my mother.” His English is excellent; it would be nice if his attitude were too.

“Your mother left me the key, and I was baptized in the tub, so yes. I think we have a deal.”

“Va bene,” Angelo says, studying me.

Angelo’s gaze unsettles me, so I attempt to fill the awkward silence. “You look like your mother.”

“Unless you met mypapà.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll see him around.” I smile.

“He died seven weeks ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

Angelo nods and walks away.

“Sorry,” Conor apologizes. “I didn’t think to tell you about his father. I didn’t know you’d love the first apartment you looked at.”

“That guy just ruined my birthday.”

“Happy birthday.” Conor takes my hand. “I wish you would’ve told me sooner. We’ll have to turn this evening around. I think I can. There’s a wonderful restaurant on Via Mafalda Spolti.”

I look back over my shoulder. “I hope I didn’t offend Signora Strazza and her son.”

“You were fine. Angelo didn’t want his mother to rent the apartment.”

My heart sinks. I knew apartment 7 was too good to be true. Nobody is this lucky. “Does he want it for himself?”

“No, he doesn’t live in the building. Signora Strazza and her husband converted the house into apartments a couple of years ago. He handled the rentals, and they’ve had problems with previous tenants. But I assured them you are a solid citizen. And I just paid the first three months of your rent to prove it. In the meantime, we’ll wait for your long-term work visa to go through. If you decide to go home sooner, no problem.”

“What if I fall in love with Italy?” I ask, thinking about what awaits me at home.

“Then you stay and apply for your dual citizenship or fall in love and marry somebody from around here and live a perfect life.”

“Let’s not count on that. I will need work to pay for my room with a view. I’ll Venmo you.”

“E. M. Forster. Great novel.” Conor grins. “Better movie. You up for your first gig in Carrara?”

“Yes, please.”

“I have a client in Bergamo who wants a drawing of the piazza. Your terrace has the best view.”

“I accept the job. Thank you.”

“It’s not a very good birthday gift.”

“Are you kidding? It’s the best. I’m hitting the ground running.” I take Conor’s arm. “What does Angelo Strazza do for a living?”

“He’s a gilder. He specializes in gold on marble.”

That’s the attraction, I think to myself. He works with his hands. He’s an artist.