“Is something wrong with Alexa? Why did Dante summon you so early in the morning?” Waving her crochet hook, Nonna set down on her lap the afghan she’d started two years ago. Usually, the three-foot piece remained in the closet for months at a time unless the old lady needed a soothing therapy. The cup of herbal tea on the cocktail table indicated that Nonna’s nervousness had upset her stomach.
“Nothing wrong with Alexa other than her regular morning sickness.”
“Why did Dante want to see you?”
“Huh…” Her brother had specified she shouldn’t blabber about Mario Benino. “Oh, Dante? He…he wanted to talk to me about my application to law school.”
“What application? You haven’t applied yet.”
“Precisely, he advised me not to procrastinate. Places are limited and—”
“Isabella Cantari.” Nonna shook her finger. “Stop lying to your grandmother. Did he find out something about the man who attacked you?”
“Huh…I don’t know.”
“So he did. And he asked you to keep quiet. That monkey thinks I’m too old to keep my mouth shut. I don’t have dementia yet.” Nonna huffed and gulped her tea.
“Nonna, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. It turned out that the Sicilian man is a decent guy, or at least he can become one with some coaching.”
“Ah good. So Dante bought him into his camp.”
Wow, Nonna knew all the ropes. Maybe she could help.
“I’m going to change.”
“By the way, Emma called you. That poor girl always sounds so sad.”
“I’ll talk to her. Would you like to go to the pool with me?”
“Sure. I’ll put on my bathing suit.”
Half an hour later, Isabella placed her beach bag on a stone table by the pool and sprayed herself with jasmine-scented sun block while Nonna relaxed on a lounge chair. Beyond the patio extending high above the beach, a breeze ruffled the ocean with turbulent whitecaps. “It’s windy today.” Nonna re-adjusted her hat and tied its ribbon close to her neck. “I hope we don’t get a hurricane.”
“No hurricane in the forecast. Only a tropical storm. Let’s enjoy the few hours of sunshine before it rains.” Isabella peeled off her wrap, placed a cap on her head, and grabbed her phone.
Before Nonna tried to stop her with more comments, she tapped Emma’s number and ambled to the rail overlooking the beach where no one could hear her.
“When is Dante coming?” A mix of worry and anger underlined Emma’s voice.
How could she tell her Dante wouldn’t leave Alexa at the moment?
“Isabella, answer. Is he coming?” The scream pierced her ear.
“He’ll come, but not right away.”
“You are a bunch of selfish people,” her friend yelled in her ear. “I can’t live without Lorenzo. I’d rather die.”
Oh dear, her friend was being melodramatic, but with Emma’s Sicilian temper and her hyper-emotional state anything could happen—and would happen if Isabella didn’t interfere right away.
“Emma, I’m flying to Palermo tomorrow.”
A gasp reached her. “You? Oh Isabella, I love you, my friend, but you’re not your omnipotent grandfather who almost ruled our city or even your powerful brother who can convince a jury of whatever he wants with his smooth speech.”
“Don’t worry. I have a plan. I’ll email you my arrival time. Can you pick me up at the airport?”
“Seriously? Oh my God, Isabella. Of course I’ll be at the airport. I want you to stay at our villa. My parents will be delighted to see you and I’d feel better if you’re not on your own in your grandparents’ empty house or in a hotel.”
Not on her own? Jeez, how she wished Jonathan would accompany her and visit her beautiful island. Wistful wish. If she breathed a word about her plan, he and Dante would manacle her and lock her in one of their offices. She stifled a chuckle. Locked in Jonathan’s office wouldn’t be too bad.
“I’m not telling Dante or Nonna. Don’t tell Marco or anyone, please.”
“Of course not. Isabella, thank you. You don’t know how it feels to be in love and wanting the man you love next to you.”
“Hmm, I think I know.” She bit her lip the instant she blurted her feelings. Too late.
“You do? What are you hiding? You met a charming man. Tell me.”
“Not much to say. He’s a lawyer, friend of my brother. And—”
“Good-looking?”
“You bet.”
“Send me a picture.”
“I’ll show you one as soon as I come. Bye. I have a lot to do.” At least she’d managed to calm Emma.
Isabella went to sit next to Nonna. “Did Emma sound better?” Her grandmother had the knack for guessing too many things.
“Yes, much better after I talked to her.” Isabella opened her phone and started typing.
Her appeal letter should be direct and clear, emotional but professional, the way attorney Dante Cantari taught her to write during the three months she’d worked as his secretary last year.
A fat drop of water landed on her forehead, followed by several more. Isabella raised her head and frowned at the dark clouds threatening to ruin their afternoon.
“Nonna, it’s raining. We’d better go upstairs.” Isabella collected their towels and bag, held her grandmother’s arm, and rushed to the nearest door of the building as the downpour started.
Back home, she read carefully her four paragraphs, translated them from English to Italian and printed both pages. And finally she said a prayer for Nonna to sign her granddaughter’s document without reading it or asking too many questions.