Italian Lover
Part 2
The problem now was how he got to that place. “Taxi?” tanyakanya. “Bus?”
The mechanic shook his head. “Car mat.”
“How can I—?” Gina started to nag, and stopped abruptly as soon as she saw the direction the mechanic pointed at. The body of the car was almost full of rust rather than paint and the tires were almost bald, the heyday of the small Fiat car must have long passed. But after all, a tight-knit person like himself could not choose. It was the only vehicle he could take.
“How much?” ask Gina.
The mechanic just shrugged and smiled broadly. “Pay later only.”
With cash, not in return, Gina thought regretfully, because she understood very well the mechanic's intention. His suitcase was stored in the trunk of his car. After hesitating for a moment he decided he would let go of his suitcase
stay there for a while. He must solve his problem while feeling
the anger was still burning and burning in his heart. The problem of lodging can be
wait around.
Despite her pathetic appearance, the Fiat car instantly lit up as soon as Gina turned on her engine. He drove the car through the route where he had entered the city, and then cornered as the mechanic described it through the beautiful stretch of the city's outer streets.
Rows of olive trees were now replaced by wineries, which were being treated by a horde of workers. It was only then that Gina remembered the label of the Chianti wine bottle she had seen in England. This family is indeed rich, he thought, and certainly able to finance the cost of his car repair.
A double gate of wrought iron opened wide in front of an entrance that swirled among the trees and came before a magnificent stone-walled villa with magnificent architecture
marvellously. Gina stopped her car in the gravel driveway that encircled the front of the villa, trying not to stop the luxury of the building so as not to shake her goal of coming there. One of the residents of this villa had harmed him; they had to compensate him.
The bell of the house is modelled on a bell, mounted next to a sturdy and large double door. It sounds deep and repetitive, very
it was clearly heard from where he stood. The person who opened the door turned out to be a middle-aged man and wore black trousers with a black belt as well as a brilliant white shirt. This person must be one of the servants and not a member of the family, Gina thought. The man rated it quickly, from his cotton blouse to his cotton skirt. The disdainful look grew as he glanced towards behind Gina, at the wrecked Fiat car
it was parked on a gravel road.
“I came here to meet the owner of this villa,” said Gina before the person had a chance to speak, inwardly sorry for forgetting
asked the name of the owner of this villa to his mechanic friend. “Padrone,” said
again, while trying to remember his Italian vocabulary
skimpy.
The person shook his head firmly, uttered a sentence that sounded firm as well, and began to close the door again. Gina immediately stopped the movement by sticking her hand on the door leaf
pushed it.
“Padrone!” his insistence.
From the servant, Gina knew she would not be allowed in. And that means he only has one way. He sneaked in before the man could act any further, then walked towards one of the doors
it was in the marble-floored hallway with no other purpose than to hinder the man's efforts to drive him out of this place.
he leaned his forehead against the door to calm his breath and
his mind. This action was completely insane, he realized inwardly. And definitely not going to impress the owner of the villa, whoever that person is.
Then there was a knock on the door followed by the sound of people asking. Gina stood glued to her place as a male voice sounded
answer that question, this time from behind. He immediately turned around, and realized that the room was a vast reading room, along its walls filled with bookshelves, and, and there was a man sitting behind a large writing table at the end of the room.
The sunlight shining behind the window behind the man shone on his thick black hair, eyes
the dark-colored under those raised black eyebrows observed Gina full of probes. But the face that intersected firmly did not appear angry or disturbed, and it gave Gina peace of mind.
“Buon pomeriggeo,” says the man.
“Parla inglese?” asked Gina expectantly.
“Of course,” says the man is in fluent English. “Pardon my mistake. A moment of your black hair made me think you were my countryman, but I've never met an Italian woman who
have eyes as blue as your eye color and skin so white!”
White skin that currently feels more like a curse than an excess, Gina thought in her heart. He felt angry because he felt
his cheeks were warm and flushed under the sharp observation of the man. It doesn't
accustomed to hearing men speak so flowery like that. But how many Latino men did he meet before?
“It should be me who apologizes for having entered here without permission,” said Gina, while trying to control myself, “but this
the only way I can get past the doorman.”
A smile seemed to adorn that firm mouth. “And since Guido can only speak a little English, and it seems clear your Italian is even less, there is definitely a misunderstanding. Maybe you can explain to me what brought you here?”
Gina slowly let go of her back attached to the door leaf, and suddenly felt her spine flutter as soon as the man got up from his seat. The man's age was in his early thirties, and
has a slim and athletic body behind a cream silk shirt and old cream trousers that he wears. His shirt arm
the rolled up one showed a pair of muscular arms, while the collar of his shirt which was open showed his neck strong and tanned in color.
“I want to meet the owner of this villa,” said Gina did not ignore the unexpected reaction of her body.
The man shakes his head. “My name is Lucius Carandente.”
Gina was really surprised to hear it and for a moment she was speechless and clear-minded. He looked at the man
with eyes wide open. There must be more than one family called Carandente, he said in a bewildered heart. This one can't be the family he's looking for!
Seriate…
