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My breath caught. “Is she okay?”
I mean shit, I wouldn’t have wanted our last interaction to be a bad one if she had passed while I was gone. How much would that suck?
“Her leg is swollen,” she explained. I stared at her in confusion. “She is not being a good patient. Wearing her socks as she should.”
“Socks.” It took my brain a moment to catch up. “Oh socks. Is she diabetic?”
“Yes, for several years. She eats good for mostly but does too much with no socks.”
Stubborn old bitty. Guess hardheadedness was a Bonetti family trait as my father and I were both rockheads at times.
“I’ll talk to her. Can you bring us some coffee, please?”
“Sì, of course, Signor Arlo.” Off she went to round up something for us while I made my way to the salon.
There on a lounger of pale tan rested my great-aunt, her left leg up on a pillow, her glasses on the tip of her regal nose as she read a hardback book. The elevated leg had one of those ghastly compression socks on it. Lord they were tacky. She glanced my way, one slim brow crawling upward as I stepped around the damn leopard rug in front of the fireplace and took a seat on a spindly-legged chair. She laid the book aside.
“I just passed the doctor coming in,” I said, shooting a direct look at her elevated leg. “Did you kick some poor unsuspecting delivery man in the ass so hard you had to have the doctor come out to wrap it up?”
She dared a smile. “You know very well why that fool was here. I heard you speaking to Giada.” She sniffed as dry air rolled through the open doors. “He is a charlatan who takes my money and tells me nonsense.”
“Oh, like staying off your feet and wearing special socks is nonsense? Oh, and thanks for telling me that you have diabetes. Does my father know?”
“Of course he knows. As to your other point, I am an active woman. When you stop moving is when you die.”
Right, well, there was some truth in that. “Okay, yeah, but no one is asking you to just lay down on the floor and never move again. They’re just saying you need to rest for a bit each day. And wear the socks.” She mumbled something in Italian. “Could you say that in English? I’m only up to letters still.”
Her dark eyes found mine. “I said the socks are ugly.”
I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh. That got me a severely dark look. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I’m just amused by how similar we are. My first thought when I saw that sock was that it was ghastly.”
“Is it not?!” she exclaimed, rushing to pull a thin throw over her legs. “How can I be expected to wear something so repulsive with my designer suits? It’s ridiculous.”
I snickered at the bristly old bird as Giada arrived with coffee and tarts. I eyeballed the lemon tarts, then Giada.
“Baked with sweetener, no sugar,” Giada informed me. I nodded, placed a tart on a plate, then passed it to my aunt. She took it gingerly, her gaze resting on me even after Giada exited the salon.
“So, you came in to see if I were perhaps on the last leg?” Ginerva asked, breaking off a tiny bit of her tart and placing it into her mouth with a fork.
“Yep, totally the reason. I rushed in, kicking up my heels, hoping to find you spread out on the floor with coins on your eyes.”
She actually sniggered. “Stupid boy, that is no longer done.” I shrugged. “It is nice to have your company over coffee.”
“You could eat with me and the others any time you wanted. We’re just in the kitchen.”
She shook her tightly coiffed head. “Some rules are in place for a reason, Arlo.” I let it go. For now. She’d come around eventually. Or she wouldn’t. “I am glad you came in, for I have things to discuss with you.”
Right. Might as well get the slipper kissing over with now. “And I with you.” I took a bite of tart, chewed, and washed it down with coffee so strong Bianca could use it to take the rust off the bumper of my new car. “I bought a bus and a car today. The bus will be signed over to the business to be used to transport the workers to and from farm 20.”
“Oh, and that has been approved by whom?”
“My father.” She sat a little straighter. “He sent me the money.”
“Very well. And the car…is that also for the workers?”
“No, that’s for me. I need to have it registered and all that, but I can’t do it myself as I’m not a resident of this country. Would you please sign the papers? I’ll pay for all the filing fees or whatever.”
“Yes, I will sign.” Oh. That was easy. “If you do something for me.”
