Roman Crazy
Page 63

I beamed, rocking back and forth on my heels. “Thank you, that means a lot. But I can’t take all the credit. Baglioni created it. I just adopted it to get rid of that awful polymer that someone in the sixties slapped over it.”
She laughed, making a final check before moving on to speak with the supervisor about the other aspects of my working there.
While she was preoccupied with his conversation, I took one more admiring lap around the home. There were still a few laborers on the premises, but most had filed out to make room for the interior designers and the landscapers.
Fabrics were draped over the ornately carved wooden banisters, rugs were piled high on the slate floor, in an effort to find the perfect shade of basil to highlight the owner’s office color.
Maria found me admiring the tumbled tile bathroom. “I must say, Avery. Finding you couldn’t have come at a better time.”
My cheeks pinked from the praise. “Thank you. This was a tremendous leap of faith on your part, and I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity.”
“Tell me something,” she began, sifting through her satchel. “How long do you plan on staying in Italy?”
“It’s open-ended; I haven’t set any date.”
“What if I told you I had another job for you?” She held up a sheet of paper. “It’s strictly volunteer again, but the experience would be above and beyond any salary we could give you. I’ll leave this plan with you and you can let me know on Monday. Does that sound all right?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, quickly reading over the project info.
“Great, I’ll talk to you then,” she said.
“I mean yes, I’ll take it! I don’t need time to think.”
“Wonderful! Stop by Monday and we’ll figure out the paperwork.”
We shook hands and after she left, I couldn’t turn off the smile or figure out how to make my legs move. I sat at the edge of the tub, staring out into the city, and sighed the happiest sigh I could.
I called Marcello, but it went straight to voice mail. Same with Daisy. Leaving the villa, I said good-bye to those I wouldn’t likely see on the next project and headed home, floating on air.
* * *
WHEN I ARRIVED AT HOME, the postman was just dropping off the mail. With a smile, he handed me a stack of tiny white envelopes that were dwarfed by the giant manila one on the bottom. Without even checking the return address label, I knew what it was.
Since his visit to Rome, Daniel had been surprisingly as anxious as I was to get the divorce handled quickly. Which I appreciated. But while I wanted it done, I wasn’t going to rush through the division of assets.
I was conflicted. I had barely worked outside the home since we’d been married, but I’d worked my ass off to support his career. I didn’t want tons, but I wanted my due. Enough to not have to worry for a while, and to continue taking volunteer jobs to pad my newly resurrected résumé. Enough to make sure that I could make smart choices about the way I wanted to live my life . . . and where I wanted to live it. His way of life could be greatly attributed to my ensuring the smooth veneer of the happiest of couples, where dinner parties went swimmingly, the wallpaper was interesting but not intrusive, and my nether regions never sported more than a half-inch-wide landing strip, all other hair banished from the kingdom.
Things had certainly changed in that area, too; Marcello liked things a bit more . . . au naturel. I couldn’t help laughing out loud.
Daisy’s bedroom door swung open, and there she was. “You’re cackling to yourself? What the hell happened to you while I was in Amsterdam?”
“I finally lost it,” I shouted.
“You lost it in college, I remember. Daniel walked around campus with an enormous grin for a week,” she shot back.
“I remember. I couldn’t knock that smile off his face.”
“So you sat on it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Heavens no, he never liked that.”
Placing her hand upon her chest, she mimed a cardiac episode. “Thank God you’re divorcing him.”
“You just said a mouthful.”
“Speaking of a mouthful, I assume Marcello is the kind of guy who likes to—”
“Can I welcome you home before you start asking me about whether or not he likes to anything?” I laughed. “If you’d shut up for thirty seconds, I could hug you.”
She held open her arms. “Jesus, it’s like a Disney movie. Can you feel the love?”
“Oh shush, welcome home! When did you get in?” I asked, setting my tote down and heading into the kitchen. She followed along.
“An hour or so ago. The place looks really great, though suspiciously clean.” She raised her eyebrow when I turned back to smile.
“You said Clorox. I obeyed. Tell me about Amsterdam.”
“Later, tell me everything that’s been going on here—and don’t you dare leave out a detail.”
She’s very bossy, my best friend. But I told her about Lake Como, Daniel’s visit, how I reacted afterward—everything.
“And now there’s an envelope,” she said, motioning to it. “Is it bad?”
“It’s just the papers from the lawyers to get the ball rolling. I won’t know for a little bit yet.”
And she was supportive, as always. “You’re doing the right thing. You’re getting a second chance here; how many people would kill for a second chance? Don’t waste it.”
Sound advice.
* * *
MARCELLO CALLED BACK while I was explaining to Daisy which surfaces in her home we defiled. She would never look at her kitchen island the same way again.