Tangled In Strings

Chapter Five

As we drive along the two-lane road in a sweet red convertible, I let go of any reservations as the dry wind cuts through the car. My hair flows freely around my face, creating an insane mess. In true Tuscan style, Giovanni's relatives are surrounded by color. The rolling hills of vibrant green, dozens of flora scattered along the sides of the road, stalks of harvesting corn, houses, and villas that blend in with the blue sky or the endless towering olive trees.

I've never seen anything like it, other than in movies. I always imagined they'd played up the splendor, trying to attract tourism with big, showy movies. However, it's all true to life.

I'm unable to conceal my disbelief, my wonder, as we pass by the wide countryside, having already made it out of the crowded town. I listen eagerly as Giovanni's cousins fill me in on the history of their neighbors, constantly corrected by Giovanni, who seems to know more about the history than either of them.

"You have to make a trip to one of the beaches before you leave," Marco says, only one hand on the wheel as he takes a curve, his head turned towards us. I can't help but eye the road worriedly– and I live in New York, so that's saying something.

"There are no beaches near. That would be an overnight trip," Giovanni says, comfortably easing his slender fingers between my own. "Scar, what do you think? You up for a trip, or do you want to stay?"

"I'm down for anything, whatever you want to show me."

With a sudden sharp turn, we're suddenly on a paved road, blocked by a high gate, crazed with gorgeous overgrown vines and flower weeds. I smile, realizing it's the same one in Giovanni's photo. We're here.

Luca jumps over the car door without opening it, running to the gate to pull them open. When we drive through, dropping a few inches onto a dirt road, we're shaded by perfect columns of trees on either side of us. The branches, packed full of leaves, extend strangely over the driveway.

I'm positive my face is splitting stupidly in awe. I don't even try to conceal it when Giovanni helps me from the car. My gaze is on the large olive green villa overlooking an angelic landscape. The second floor has a panoramic terrace, and that is where a woman stands, waving down at us.

"Giovanni!"

Giovanni grins, squinting up at the woman's flailing arms. She immediately disappears from sight. "Zia!"

When she emerges from the wide double door entrance, I smile wider, shocked to discover that I pictured her perfectly. She's younger than Giovanni's mother and dressed head to toe in pastel tie-dye. Her pants flow against her small frame as she jumps down the steps and into Giovanni's arms. Marco and Luca grab our bags, taking them around the villa to where I'm guessing the apartment Giovanni spoke of is.

Her long, black hair hangs down to her waist, so black it's nearly blue. The straw hat she was wearing is now on the ground. She pulls back, pressing kisses to Giovanni's cheeks, and I marvel at how many features they have in common.

"Zia, Zia, this is Scarlett."

She lets go of his cheeks, twisting to me. She smiles brightly, her eyes crinkling, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"The famous girl," she says, with a thick accent. "I hoped I'd get to meet you one day. It's a rare thing you did, getting my nephew to land that steamy kiss in front of everyone."

"I take no credit for that. That was his idea," I reply, shocked when she leans in, embracing me tightly. Giovanni chuckles, gazing at us fondly when we ease back.

"Well, you are something then. He is rarely so open, my nephew."

Giovanni flicks his head to me. "She's even less so, so don't expect to give her a rundown."