Elsa is leaning against the doorjamb, reading a letter aloud. “‘Due to your segment featuring our estate, The Emerald Vineyard, bookings for accommodations have increased by 110%. We thank you for your lovely report, and we send you a gift of gratitude.’” Her smile is as big as this day’s been long. “There are six more letters like this.”

I sigh and sit back in my chair, resting my head on the top of the seat. “What was the gift?”

Elsa raises a finger. “One moment.” She steps out of the doorway, then reappears holding a gift basket. “Ta da!”

“Oh nice,” I say without much enthusiasm.

Elsa tilts her head to examine me. “Are you here, on earth?”

“Sort of,” I say.

She walks into my office, sets the gift basket on my desk, then sits in the chair across from me. “Is everything okay?”

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. “Everything is fabulous.”

“Then why do you look so dreary?”

“Because I’m falling for another man, and I can’t trust my judgment.”

“Ah…” she says as if she finally understands. “Liza?”

“Yes.”

“Open your eyes.”

I do as she says.

“Is it Gianfranco, the artist?”

My lips press together in a slight grimace as I nod.

She grunts thoughtfully and resettles in her seat. “He is certainly a good catch.”

“I know… we went to the beach yesterday. He played with Aiden so well. He’s like no one I’ve ever met.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “That could be a plus.”

I sigh again. “He’s so careful and considerate. He listens to me.”

“He’s handsome,” Elsa adds.

“He’s funny and adventurous.”

“He lives in a castle.”

I snicker and roll my eyes. “Actually, that’s a great thing. He has his own money, so he won’t come looking for mine. Well, not my money but my father’s. He was the wealthy one.”

My lips curl in anger as I think about how I brought into my dad’s life a man who could’ve possibly killed him for his fortune. Bill Sharpe wasn’t always wealthy. Our family had a history of working in coal mines and dying from black lung disease. My dad worked the mines for two years after high school. As soon as he started to develop a nagging cough, he quit and applied to college. All he knew was that he wanted to be a successful businessman.

My father used the money from his family trust, which consisted of settlements and death insurance benefits, to purchase his first motel. He was still in college, learning how to grow his investment, but he was captivated by the idea of real estate investment trusts. By the time he graduated from college, he, along with other investors, owned his first four-star hotel. One by one, he began training his male cousins so that no one in his family ever had to work the mines again.

“Well, you can’t guard your heart forever,” Elsa says.

I blow out my cheeks. “I guess not.”

“And if you miss him, then you’ll miss him.” She winks.

I pinch my bottom lip anxiously. She’s so right. “We’re going on our first official date this weekend.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “Sounds like it could be serious.”

“It’s just a date.”

“From what I remember, Gianfranco Guardi doesn’t go on dates. He barely leaves the castle. However…” She presses her finger against the side of her mouth. “Yesterday he went down to the sea.”

I chuckle at her suggestive tone. “Indeed he did.”

She shrugs cutesy-like. “Apparently, you are worth it.”

We have a good laugh, then we share the wine and fresh bread from the gift basket.

This is the last week before my show goes on hiatus for four months. I planned to use the time off to fly back to Minnesota and congratulate Abby, my former executive assistant, and Nolan on their engagement. After I left the Minneapolis office I ran to become a full-time mother, Nolan took over. He became her new boss, and now they’re engaged.

Also, it’s just time to go home, at least for a little while. I have to figure out what to do with my house there. Should I sell it? Rent it? Live in it? Will I ever return to Minneapolis for good? Pretty soon Aiden will be two, and I have to start thinking about putting him in preschool. Should he go to school in America or here in Italy? I just don’t know. I can always find a good nursery school here where both English and Italian are taught. Regardless, I don’t have to think about any of that right now.

I spend the rest of the week wrapping up interviews. Gianfranco calls me every night, and we talk for hours about art, the best views in the world, the quietest places, the best beaches, how he dealt with his parents’ deaths, how I dealt with my father’s death. How he’s dealing with his uncle’s request that he paints the portrait of a man he believes to be a corrupt politician.

It’s Friday night—the night before our big date. Gianfranco’s on the phone, and he has just finished telling me about how I’ve been inspiring his painting, and it makes me feel insecure.

“Is that why you like me—because I’m your American muse?” I snap.

I immediately want to take the words back, but then I don’t. It’s not like me to challenge a man, but I’m sick of discovering that I’m being used when it’s far too late to stave off a broken heart.

“No way. Not at all,” he says as though I’ve offended him.

“Are you sure? Because I’ve been hurt far too many times to go through that yet again.”

“If you become hurt, it will not be because of what I do. I can never hurt you, Liza. It will kill me.”

I breathe in his words. I so want to believe them, but I’ve come to learn that words are merely words and actions speak a thousand of them.

We fall silent. I think we’re both ready to change the subject.

“How was your time with Aiden tonight?” he asks.

I smile, remembering my afternoon after I got home from the station. “My good friend Elsa’s sister-in-law, Rosa, brought her son over to play with Aiden. Rosa plays the guitar, so she churned out songs and we danced.”

“That sounds fun.”

“It was.”

“Your son has a remarkable mother.”

My smile grows bigger. “I work at it. I don’t want to be anything like my own mother. She’s extremely selfish.” I sigh. “Although she can’t help it.”

“Indeed. Sometimes the body ages but the mind does not.”

“Exactamente,” I say.

“I cherish your drops of Italian. Don’t ever change it.”

I laugh. Gosh, I want to kiss him right now.

“Allora. Devi riposare,” he says.

“Altrettanto, likewise,” I say.

I feel him smiling during the silence. I imagine him peeling off my bra and panties, remembering how his fingers caressed my skin last Saturday when he spray-painted my thigh.

“Well,” I say breathlessly, “buonanotte.”

“Notte,” he says. “Ti vedo domani?”

“Yes, see you tomorrow.”

I hang up and squeeze my thighs together. I’m tingling down there. He turns me on so much. I have never been this sexually attracted to a man because I wouldn’t let myself go that far. But I will now. I’m throwing caution to the wind, and I’m going to let my body feel the pleasure it seeks. If it doesn’t work out between us, then at least I let myself have fun for once.