Mad About You

by Anna Premoli

  “Ok,” I say with a frown.

  It’s madness, I know. Total madness. I’ve got no illusions about it. But as I watch Ari’s face relax in a smile, I think maybe, all things considered, it’s sometimes okay to screw up for a noble purpose. Even if you know you’re screwing up.

  Chapter 13

  “Welcome to the humble country abode of my parents,” Ari says, turning off the car’s motor in front of a house that looks as though it dates back to the seventeen-hundreds, at least.

  Oh yes, very humble... It’s an imposing three-storey building composed of a large rectangular central part plus a series of minor appurtenances that stretch out to form almost a square. Impressive. Not that I’d had any illusions about it: Ariberto and his shirts have never made any secret of being the product of a certain kind of environment, that is maybe not especially showy, but certainly well-off.

  “Bertha, if you’re trying to antagonize me, you’re succeeding, “I warn him.

  He bursts out laughing, not at all upset by my obvious bad temper which has kept us company throughout the journey from Milan to the countryside just outside Vercelli. It seems that celebrating in the city was a bit too plebby for him, so here we are, at this miniature castle. Although the Castelli family simply calls it their ‘estate’. I don’t even want to know how much land there is.

  “It’s just a country house,” says Ari, trying to play it down as he climbs out of the car.

  I don’t want to pretend I’m not used to big houses and to ostentation. God knows, my mother is the queen of ostentation. But at home I’m not obliged to follow the rules, while here I am a guest and I am expected to behave properly and ingratiate myself. A whole life spent rebelling against conventions and then I find myself in the courtyard of a bloody ‘country house’. Where the hell was my brain when I agreed to this? Still spinning like a top from all the orgasms?

  “Let’s put it this way: with all this space, at least we won’t have to share a room,” I joke.

  Ari shoots me a look as he takes both our suitcases from the boot and leads the way.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  I try to take my suitcase off him, but as always don’t manage. At this point I’m not sure whether I hate gallant types more than I ever have or whether I’m slowly developing a dangerous predilection for them. Me, the girl who used to run around dressed in studs and spikes until she was forced to change both at work and in her emotional life. These days I get to wear them a lot less often because I don’t want to stab Ari.

  We’ve hardly had time to set foot inside the house before we are set upon by a large group of dogs and human beings. Did I mention that I’m also terrified of dogs?

  “Ari!” exclaims a woman who I suspect must be his mother. She is very tall and with the same perfect features as her son, and it looks like she’s a great lover of hugs too, because I watch as she throws her arms around him and crushes him the way he usually does with me. By her side is a man who must be Ari’s father, with whom he shares the same curly hair and broad shoulders. Of course, Ariberto would inherit only the best from both parents while I find myself with this mouse-coloured hair. I should have dyed it black again, I think to myself as I stand to one side watching the scene, trying not to let the two dogs eat me while they sniff and lick me from head to toe. God, even the pets are overly affectionate around here!

  “Jack, Jim, sit!” he instructs them, and they obey instantly, sitting at his feet and staring up at him. I hope with all of myself that my expression isn’t quite as adoration as theirs. That would be really embarrassing. “Mum, Dad – this is Giada,” he introduces me once the hugs are out of the way.

  Not ‘my friend Giada’ or ‘my colleague Giada’. Just Giada. Which, for some strange reason, sounds very loud in my ears.

  “Giada, what a pleasure!” says his mother, throwing her arms around me. Are they like this with everyone, strangers included?

  If Ari thinks his mother is stiff, he’s obviously never had to deal with anyone like mine. Fortunately for him.

  “Did you have a good trip?” Ari’s father asks.

  I must look like someone who is so embarrassed that they would quite happily jump out of the window, if it weren’t for the fear the dogs would probably end up chasing me. Now, more than ever, I regret not having fought harder against Ari and his unfair methods of persuasion: I should never have come here to visit his family.

  “Come, let’s sit down,” his mother gestures.

  “It was fine,” says Ari, taking my hand. Once we’ve sat on the couch, though, he shows not the slightest hint of wanting to loosen his grip, forcing me to jerk my hand away. The gesture doesn’t escape his parents, who immediately exchange a look. What game is he playing at, exactly?

  “So, you two met at university...” says his mother with a decidedly excessive smile. That means Ari has already talked to her about me? Floor, open and swallow me, I beg you.

  “Yes,” Ari says.

  “Well, not exactly. I’d say we met at work.”

  He gives me a meaningful look.

  “Actually, we’d already met ...” he insists.

  “Well, I didn’t know you,” I answer. What is this, some kind of competition?

  His parents burst out laughing as they watched us squabble. At that precise moment, what I presume must be Ari’s older brother enters the room, followed by his girlfriend. I’d been warned they’d be there. “Are you having a laugh without me?” he asks with a smile that is obviously a family trademark. Never mind Dolly the sheep, this lot ought to clone their DNA. They’d made a fortune.

  “Giada, this is my brother Edoardo and this is his girlfriend, Lisa. “ I shake hands with one and then the other. Edoardo isn’t quite as tall as Ari, but he’s still impressively tall. His hair is the same brown, but lacks the curls I have become so used to these weeks. Lisa, on the other hand, is spectacularly beautiful, there’s no other way to describe her slender figure and her smooth dark hair. Beautiful people choose beautiful people – no big surprises there.

  “Edo, Lisa - this is Giada.”

  A questioning look appears on Edoardo’s face. What he obviously wants to ask is, what the hell are you doing here?

  It’s a legitimate question, because here, in this family-only environment, I’m wondering exactly the same thing.

  I have a vague suspicion I’ve been set up big time. Ari and his taking things slow, his giving me time... I’m increasingly feeling like someone is trying to force my hand.

  Nice guys can be just as stubborn as nasty ones, apparently, if not more so. Especially Ari, who’s a bulldozer when he gets an idea in his head. For a minute there I’d been duped by his peaceful expression into forgetting that behind that relaxed appearance there’s an inflexible character. Ariberto is no less obstinate than me, he just has a different way of showing it.

  Feeling trapped, my anger starts to rise, but I know I’ll have to keep a lid on it somehow for the sake of this weekend. I might be a bit of a rebel, but the good manners my parents taught me are still inside there somewhere. The Castellis do seem to be genuinely nice people, and the fact that their younger son doesn’t understand the way things are between us is certainly not their fault.

  “So what were you laughing about?” asks Edo, sitting down in an armchair, with Lisa on his lap.

  Oh Christ, they’re all into public displays of affection round here...

  “Giada and your brother were just telling us how they met. Apparently, each of them has a different version of the story...” his father explains with a raised eyebrow.

  “You’re at the Bocconi too, aren’t you?” asks Edo.

  “And now we’re colleagues,” adds Ari.

  “Wow, small world,” jokes the older of the Castelli brothers. You can say that again. Way too small. “So you two are, what?... Together?” he asks, finally coming out with the question that in all probability they’ve all been asking themselves since we arrived. In all honesty, I would have done
the same in their place.

  “Edo!” cries Lisa. “That’s their business!”

  I am so uncomfortable that I just want to die, and although I’ve never been one of those girls who blush easily, my cheeks feel so red right now that I must look like Snow White. She’s certainly not my favourite fairytale heroine and the idea that I might look like her really pisses me off. At this point, I’m sure of only one thing: Ari is going to die. Slowly and in atrocious pain. He should never have dragged me here.

  “OK! I get it, it’s their business,” laughs Edo. But he’s unable to resist another impudent question. “So – separate rooms or not?”

  I cut in before Ariberto can answer. “Separate. Absolutely,” I reply grimly. Otherwise I might be tempted to stab him in my sleep.

  “Of course,” Signora Castelli reassures me.

  “Even because our folks are a bit old-fashioned,” Edoardo tells me. “Lisa and I are only allowed to share a bed because we’re getting married next spring. I’ve had to suffer the agonies of hell for years. Ari’s the favourite, though, so they might have made an exception for him. Ahhh, the hard life of the firstborn son...” he says theatrically.

  “Oh give it a rest...” says Ari.

  “But it’s the truth. You don’t even realise it: when have you ever been denied anything?” his brother asks him with a voice which now sounds much more serious.

  “I’ve fought my battles like everyone else.”

  “In case you hadn’t realised, Giada, my brother Ariberto only looks mild. In reality, behind that fawn-like face of his, there’s a very obstinate personality.”

  As if I hadn’t already noticed.

  “Believe me, I know.” After all, aren’t I here practically against my will?

  “Ari, show Giada the guest room and when you’ve got settled in, come down for lunch. We’ll be eating in an hour,” his mother intervenes. I’m almost grateful: I’ve had enough of being at the centre of attention.

  When we get up from the couch, Ari tries again to take my suitcase, but this time I beat him to it and grab it with determination. “I’ll carry my bags by myself, alright?” I growl in a low voice.

  My expression is so eloquent that he raises his hands in surrender, muttering “Okay, okay...” He then picks up his own and leads me upstairs.

  After struggling with our suitcases (me more than him, to tell the truth), we enter one of the rooms along the corridor. The room is large and very pretty, even though I’m not really into this kind of antique furniture. Though lately I’ve found myself re-evaluating a lot of things I never used to like.

  “Is everything okay?” Ari asks, peering at me.

  “It could be better, thanks,” I reply coldly, crossing my arms.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Ari...” I say in exasperation. “By bringing me here you’ve only confused your whole family. They think we’re a couple of steps away from getting engaged.”

  “Don’t worry about what my parents think or don’t think,” he says, coming closer. He grabs my hands and forces me to hug him instead. “They are my parents, not yours. You are free to do whatever you like.”

  “Even beat up the birthday boy for putting me slap bang in the middle of a very awkward situation?”

  “Even beat up the birthday boy, if that kind of thing turns you on,” he confirms with a chuckle.

  “Violence has never been much of a turn-on for me.”

  “What do you mean? What about the piercings and studs?” he laughs, bringing his lips close to my neck. When he touches me, I give a dreamy sigh in spite of myself. God, I’m pathetic!

  “In order not to shock your family too much, I left most of that at home,” I remind him.

  “Most of it?” he asks, continuing to kiss me.

  “I’ve still got my navel piercing in. The rest is waiting for me back in Milan. Avoiding causing embarrassing situations this weekend is my birthday present to you, Bertha.”

  Ari raises his head and scrutinizes me carefully. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t have felt you had to do that. What I’ve been trying to make you realise for a long time now is that I like you the way you are, the way you feel comfortable. I don’t care about piercings or clothes, and even less about hair colour. Yes, I like you better this way, with your natural hair colour, but that’s not what matters. As far as I’m concerned you can dye it fuchsia. I want you. I accept you, right?”

  He emphasises the concept as though trying to get it through the head of someone really stupid.

  Which I am starting to suspect I might actually be.

  My heart, which had already started pounding at the slightest touch, starts to gallop so hard that it feels like it might explode. I’m so used to not accepting myself and always doing my best to keep people at a distance that I really don’t know how to answer.

  “So, do we understand each other?” he asks me, sensing how I’m struggling.

  “We understand each other,” I somehow manage to reply after swallowing hard.

  “After all, you have much worse things to deal with...” he says with a smile.

  “Like what?”

  “Like my famous shirts,” he reminds me, raising his eyebrows.

  I burst out laughing.

  “God, yes! You and your bloody shirts...”

  “Not to mention that you have to sleep with a guy without tattoos,” he continues to tease me.

  “Thank God tonight I won’t have to.”

  “Well, that remains to be seen...”

  “Ari, no. I don’t want to get caught by your parents,” I warn him.

  “What do you mean, don’t you like a bit of breaking the rules?” he laughs. “You, my dear Giada, are all smoke and no fire!”

  “If you like living dangerously so much, why don’t you get a tattoo?”

  “I hate needles,” he says firmly.

  “Everybody hates needles! But getting a tattoo is a way of putting yourself to the test.”

  “And what the hell would I want to have permanently tattooed on my skin?”

  “How should I know? It’d be your tattoo, not mine!”

  “No tattoos for me, thanks,” he says with conviction.

  “OK, please yourself. Wimp.”

  “It’s just common sense.”

  “The same common sense that made you drag me here today?” I ask defiantly.

  Ari’s mouth relaxes in a smile. “Touché… But anyway, stop giving me a hard time and come and kiss the nearly-birthday boy.”

  And I, who don’t usually obey orders even under pain of death, decide to be magnanimous and stand up on tiptoes, raising my mouth to his.

  This country air must be having a weird effect on me.

  *

  “So do you want to see the rice field?” Ari asks me in the afternoon, after a family lunch where everyone was extremely friendly and no one asked any more uncomfortable questions. Not even a hint of one. I get the feeling Ari must have given them instructions on how to behave.

  “Do you really have a rice field?” I say in shock.

  “We do have a rice field,” he confirms with a laugh. “And we also have a farmhouse out there...” he confesses, lowering his voice sensually.

  Ah, now I get where he’s going with this.

  “Bertha!” I exclaim, punching him on the arm. “No sex at your parents’ house!”

  “It’s not my parents’ house, it’s my parents’ farmhouse in the middle of nowhere,” he corrects me. “I thought it would be fun to go out for a nice bike ride in the countryside.”

  “I still don’t really understand why you’re so convinced that long bike rides are fun...” I mutter. Sporty types are always inventing some athletic thing to do, wherever they happen to be. Even in a rice field, apparently.

  “Come on, live dangerously for once,” he laughs.

  “Since I met you, I’ve done nothing but live dangerously,” I reply. It’s meant to be a joke, but I’m honest enough with myself to see how much truth it co
ntains. Sometimes it feels like I’ve climbed into one of those funfair rides where you just go up and down without brakes all the time.

  And I hate that kind of ride. I always have.

  “Come on, you lazy thing. Come for a ride with me,” he insists with a smile so charming that it takes my breath away.

  “Only because it’s nearly your birthday,” I say eventually, giving in.

  He bursts out laughing because even though I love to make fun of his two neurones, he’s actually very smart. Next time, whatever it takes, I must remember to fall head over heels for a complete idiot. It’s so much easier with people who don’t know what you’re thinking.

  *

  The ride proves to be less demanding and much more fun than expected. The weather is lovely – warm without being torrid.

  “All this nature is probably really bad for me,” I joke as we lie sunbathing in a field full of flowers.

  “Have you turned into one of those Milanese who can’t breathe when there isn’t enough smog?” he asks indignantly.

  “God, no! But I do like Milan. I’m glad there are so many interesting job opportunities in the city and not being forced to go home...” I confide in an extraordinary moment of sincerity.

  “I’m sure you could find a job in an accountant’s office in Verona if you wanted to,” reflects Ari.

  “I could,” I agree. “But I don’t want to.”

  “Too close to your parents?”

  “Yes, definitely. I don’t want anyone hiring me just because they know my dad, or anyone judging me on the basis of my parents.”

  “That seems fair enough...”

  “I mean, I don’t want to be ungrateful: I’m well aware of everything my parents allowed me to have, especially the chance to study without having to worry about anything else. But now I want to make my own way under my own steam,” I conclude thoughtfully.

  Ari’s expression grows intense and I watch him as he weighs whether to tell me certain things or to keep quiet.

  “You know, me and my parents were in a similar situation to yours not too long ago...” he confesses.