"Is this it?"
Guillermo snapped out of his reverie and looked up at Ignacio. He held the blue folder out. "Eh. Grazie. This is a disaster. I have to go to the bank and talk to Senior Belloggi." He rolled down his sleeves and buttoned them, straightened his tie, grabbed his jacket and yanked it on. "Maybe while I'm gone you can sort this stuff out. It would make it easier on me if there was some order. Just leave a pile of stuff you can't figure out. You know what I'm doing."
"Bene. I'll try."
Guillermo quickly dialed Clio's number as he left the office. He'd been childish. He needed to know what she knew, and what had happened over the past week. And she needed to know that their application for heritage designation was threatened. They'd thought it was in the bag. But now the Ministry insisted their non-profit status be in place first, which was dependent upon the financials, which were not yet complete.
She didn't answer her office phone or her cellular. Diavolo!
Although he was pretty sure she didn't have the answers either, he wished they could talk it over. He'd have to do some quick thinking. Now they were caught between the bank and the government, each needing reassurance of the viability of their business plan. The government needed to know they could cover their operating expenses. The bank required confirmation of their non-profit status before approving a business loan. And he knew that all the tax advantages they were counting on required heritage designation. The bureaucracy was incredible, each entity passing responsibility on to another, round and round. Without Clio to stay on top of it all, and make sense of it, he wasn't sure what to do first.
He called the bank on his way there. They wanted to see more detailed financial figures, proof of solvency. He'd have to improvise. Or beg.
An hour later, he was on his way back to the office, his frustration and worry tripled. The damned loans officer, Belloggi, was immovable. If they couldn't flesh out the business plan with several different options, and demonstrate sufficient income to balance the expenses, the bank wouldn't confirm the final loans. The operating budget must align with the foundation trust's earnings and expenses, on the conservative side. Everything would fall apart without this approval. His head hurt.
Ah, Clio, where are you when I need you most?
He hunched his shoulders as he strode along the street, hands shoved in his pockets, mumbling to himself, though he knew he looked like a madman. He was sweating. He'd missed breakfast and lunch, but had no appetite.
What could he do about Clio? He knew what she wanted, but he was still resistant.
This latest problem could be fixed by sourcing and proving additional sources of revenue, which was always part of the plan, though a vague one. They were so close to making this work. He wanted to be rid of Richie and all that duplicity. He was tired of juggling so many balls. And he'd be willing to give up a lot. He was committed to giving up everything for the villa- except his freedom. That he couldn't do. And yet… without Clio, everything was coming apart in his mind. He couldn't do any of it alone.
What was he saying? He didn't know himself anymore. Was Clio so important to him that he could no longer function without her in his life? His pulse hammered at the question. A sudden awareness of emptiness, in his stomach, in his chest, fluttered through him. His body knew the answer.
He loved her. Really loved her. This woman was the one he'd been searching for, waiting for, though he didn't know it. But he couldn't surrender his soul, even for love. Papa was wildly, foolishly in love with Mama, but it didn't spare him.
Perhaps he could do it without Clio, but only with his family's full knowledge, approval and support. If he dared to confide in them. He felt terribly alone.
Before he made it back to his office, his phone dinged and vibrated in his pocket, and he stopped on a street corner and pulled it out, along with a handkerchief to mop his damp brow. Diavolo, it was hot today.
Huh. Speak of the devil. It was a text from Bibi.
Where r u? Need to talk. Pronto. Urgent. BB
He didn't have time for Bibi's histrionics. What the hell did she want now?
Chapter 26
Since Bibi wanted to meet him for lunch, and he knew he needed to eat before he fell down, he agreed to meet her at the Gucci Cafe in the Piazza della Signoria, across from the Fontana del Nettuno and Palazzo Vecchio, despite the crowds that perpetually loitered there. It was nearby, and on his way. She sounded distraught, and wanted to talk about the sale of the villa, she said. He prayed she wasn't going to have a crollo nervoso now. It was far too late for that, and he wasn't about to tell Bibi, of all his siblings, what he'd been doing behind the scenes. She was difficult to manage without adding chili to the sauce.
"Wow. You look like shit," she said when he approached. "So what the hell is going on? Why are you not talking to Clio?" she demanded, once they'd chosen a table under an umbrella on the edge of the open piazza.
"What?" Guillermo exclaimed, his hands on the back of her chair. He hadn't even sat down yet. What was she talking about? He was fairly certain nobody knew how involved he and Clio had become. "Why would you ask that?"
She stared at him, deadpanned.
Avoiding her gaze, he turned to survey the piazza. The sun was blistering today, and the volume of tourists was significant. It was past the lunch hour, and most of the foreigners had eaten. While some lingered over cold beverages at the cafe tables, many instead strolled listlessly by with their cameras and shopping bags, dawdled in the shade, clustered around the logia and squinting at the replica of David.
"I know you've been working together for weeks."
The rhythm of murmured foreign tongues carried to them, unintelligible, with the odd shout carrying on the air, filling the silence. He sat, pulling his tie loose, and mopping his brow and neck with his handkerchief. Working together? What had she heard?
"I don't know what you mean, Bibi." He kept his voice flat and soothing. As soon as he was able to calm her down, he had to head back to the office and get to work on the financials. Speaking of Clio, he would have to call her. Hopefully she would accept his call.
Bibi tutted. "Pia called me. I want to know why you haven't talked to me about any of this."
"There's nothing for you to know. I have to satisfy Mad Richie with a design for the renovations to the villa and then that's it. The deal closes, we pack up and we move on. What are you doing to move on, Bibi?" He thrummed his fingers on the table top.
"Don't jerk me around, Memmo."
He sighed and shook his head.
Her phone binged and she held a thin aggressive palm in his face while she read and responded to a text, her gold bangles jingling.
Gesu. "There's nothing for you to do. And no point dwelling on it. Why don't you look for a job?" There's an idea. "If you're done with school for now. Move on. Get a life."
She set her phone down and rolled her eyes. "You're such an asshole. You have no idea what I do."
He pursed his lips and waited. A waiter came to take their order. Bibi ordered a salad Caprese. He thought a moment, his hand on his queasy stomach. "Just bread, per favor. Olio. And some broth."
The waiter looked at him like he was insane. "Eh. On such a hot day you want Broda?"
"Si. Broda. Oh, and a Campari with ice." He waived him away. Nothing else would stay down.
"You really do look ill." She shook her head, narrowing her eyes at him. "I know something's going on, Memmo. I talked to Pia. And I want to be involved. You don't know what I can do."
He couldn't deal with her whining right now. And fortunately whatever she was talking about, it was fiction, since Pia knew nothing either. He sighed. Humour her. "What can you do, baby sister? Tell me."
"What do you need?"
He laughed. "A miracle."
"Memmo. Tell me exactly what you need."
"I need to get back to my office. I have a million things to deal with. I'm in the middle of a crisis and what I don't need is to waste time listening to your whining."
She sat back slowly, placing her hand against her chin. "Am I whining?"
He sat back, too, and looked at her. Her eyes, bright blue like his own, bore into his, clear and keen. She wasn't, actually. She was in a tetchy mood. That much was normal. But she seemed calmer and more focused than he'd seen her since Mama died. Suddenly a knot of fear formed in his already feeble gut. "Are you sick? Is Pia sick?"
Her phone pinged again, and again she paused their conversation to read and respond to a text.
He ground his teeth, glaring at her while she typed. "You know, that's a perfect example. You want to be included. You want to be treated like an adult, and then you behave like a sullen teenager. Can't you just be here and now? Do you always have to be chatting with your friends? How can you expect anyone to take you seriously?"
"You always assume the worst of me, Memmo. I had another appointment. I'm just dealing with it. Okay?"
He pulled back at her abrupt retort. "Si. Scusi."
"Listen to me." Bibi set her phone down and leaned in. "I know what you and Clio have been doing."
He almost missed it, his mind already back at the office, wringing out the possibilities for the business plan. Clio had outlined a number of support functions, many tied to the resident students and summer conference activities. But there was more. And he knew they hadn't had time to get cost estimates. He wondered who he could call… And Bibi's words hit him like a fist in the gut. She knew about their affair? "What?"
"Pia told me about the plan. And now you've got her involved managing and organizing food services and hospitality and event planning. Why can't I do my part, Memmo? We all must contribute to saving the villa."
"P-Pia's doing–" He coughed, clearing his throat. This wasn't what he expected to hear. "She's doing what? What did she tell you? When did you talk to her?"
Bianca smiled mysteriously. "You'll find out soon enough." He scowled at her, his mouth dropping open. What the hell was going on? She continued. "That's the amazing thing. Pia has been working on her new business for the past month, making all sorts of condiments and preserves, taking them around." Bibi waved a hand around the piazza, indicative of nothing that Guillermo could see. "I put together her package. Well first she just asked me to design a new logo for her company–
"Her company?"
She continued as though he hadn't interrupted. "–then one thing led to another, and I was designing packaging for her products, and the website, ads. That sort of thing. It's a great first gig for me. Who would have thought that–""
"What company? What do you know about all that?"
She shook her head. "Do you know what I studied?"
"Um. Digital… er…" He scratched his neck. "Something to do with computers. Online stuff. I thought maybe html or some web stuff. But I kind of thought you'd dropped out."
"Yeah. Some web stuff. Ma chi diavolo significa?" She rolled her eyes again. "Memmo, I have a dual certificate in web design and graphic design. I've been in school full time for two years. What do you think I've been doing?" She pushed her face close to his with a frustrated glare, her hands open, palms up, shaking. "You are so self-absorbed. I can't believe it!"
Guillermo sat back, frowning, and scraped a hand over his beard. This wasn't making any sense. And he didn't have time to deal with it now. But how had he missed the fact that Bibi actually had graduated? And had these skills? It seemed to him she was always partying with her friends, or whining about being bored or needing money. How did this happen?
He sighed. "Bene. Slow down and explain. I'm sorry I'm so out of touch. I've been very preoccupied, as you know, and I haven't really got time for this right now. Uh, why does Pia need all this? I don't understand. And how did she get involved in the villa business?" As if he couldn't figure out who was responsible for that. But how? His mind reeled with questions.
Bibi picked up her fork and dug into her salad, shoving a bocconcini slice topped with a basil leaf into her mouth and chewing while she talked. The sharp scent of basil met his nostrils, along with the tang of balsamic vinegar. "Well, I think Pia should tell you that herself. You're not the only one with secrets, you know."
"Bianca. Tell me."
Bibi glanced at her phone. "She'll be here any minute. Hold onto your panties."
He took a deep breath and released it, attempting to stay calm. Was this a trick? Had they planned this meeting together? "Okay, so tell me about yourself. What can you do besides logos and packages? What's this about a web site?"
Bianca chewed on and on, shrugging. When she'd swallowed, she said, "Whatever is needed. I design websites, advertising campaigns, corporate identities, any kind of graphic design." She shrugged again. "Why don't you tell me what you need and I'll tell you how I can help?"
"Huh." Guillermo could hardly gather his thoughts. He was so preoccupied with the question of Bibi's certificates, Pia's business and what Clio had done. And the fact that everyone seemed to know his plans, and were working together. "What I need right now are numbers. The short version is we're caught in a catch-22 between the government and the bank. The Heritage Ministry has decided there are too many old properties that have been designated only to be run into the ground, because the restrictions imposed limit the interest of new private owners." He ripped a hunk of bread and dipped it into his broth, sucking out the juices. It was already tepid, but it soothed the gnawing pain in his stomach. "So their new rules require that any person or organization proposing to preserve a property prove they have the financial viability."
Bianca nodded, her gaze on him intent and serious, but her eyes darted past his shoulder more than once, scanning the piazza, making him feel on-edge. He rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension, and the tickle of nerves that ran up and down his spine like melting ice.
"We require heritage designation before we can be granted non-profit status. And we need the non-profit status to qualify for the tax breaks to make our numbers work. And until the numbers work, the bank won't give us final approval on our development and business loans." He pursed his lips, thinking. "That pretty much sums it up. It's an endless loop, unless we add something."
"I can't do too much about any of that, but I think you'll be pleased with what Pia has to say."
"You insist on torturing me."
"It won't be long now." She placed a hand on his sleeve. "But once you hear what Pia's going to do, you'll see how I can help. Both this Instituto and the Foundation will need an image, right? They'll need a presence, customers, and ongoing publicity and fundraising for the trust. I can do that. And all the hospitality functions, like accommodations, will need websites and programs for bookings and such." She windmilled a hand.
Guillermo nodded. These were things that he hadn't even begun to think about. But Bibi was right. Getting the approvals and the funding to go forward were only the beginning. It was a huge responsibility, and an ongoing commitment. The bread and broth in his stomach curdled, cramping. Once there was an institute and foundation, all of this theory would have to be put into practice. Someone had to run it. Someone who knew what the hell they were doing. Someone other than him.
He was impressed. "You're actually making sense, Bibs. You're thinking about this like a business, and your ideas will help that business actually function and be successful. But do you really want to be involved in the long term?"
Bibi gaped at him. "Are you kidding me? Of course I do. This is our home. Why wouldn't I?" She made a quizzical face. "I thought you did, too. Don't you?"
Guillermo swallowed. His shirt suddenly felt impossibly tight in the stifling heat. He took another long draught of his Campari. Maybe he should broach the subject of the foundation directorship with his sisters, asking them if they thought Jacopo would accept the role. Perhaps with their help–
"Memmo? I thought–"
"Buon giorno, mio cari!" Pia's voice cut into their exchange, and in an instant she was there, all flowing skirts, flying scarves, her arms draped with multiple bags lik
e a vagabondo.
Guillermo shot out of his chair, feeling a disconcerting relief at the interruption. "Mio Dio, Pia. You startled me." He placed his hands on her shoulders and they exchanged kisses.
Pia took some time settling her bags on the ground at her side in a whirlwind of movement and chatter, and in a moment the waiter was there, and she was ordering a drink. At last she turned to him, taking his hand between hers, squeezing. A broad smile stretched her face. His stomach leapt and dipped and surged again like an ocean wave, and he offered a watery smile in return, waiting.
"Don't look so frightened, fratello." Pia laughed. "This is exciting!"
"What is this about a business, Pia?"
He perched on the edge of his chair, sipping on his Campari while she filled him in. Clio had approached her for the signature he had failed to provide, and mentally he kicked himself. Of course that's why she'd been calling. He was so busy feeling sorry for himself he'd compromised their timeline by neglecting his duties. Oh, Clio. What have we unleashed here?
Pia backtracked to explain how she and Paulo were struggling to make ends meet, and how she'd decided to take an active role, and realize a personal dream at the same time. He'd had no idea she wanted to make condiments for sale. Or at least, when she'd aired her wistful desires, he, along with everyone else, hadn't taken her seriously. He scowled. It seems he'd underestimated both of his sisters. And here they were, prepared to work, and offering to help save the villa. A job that he thought only he could do, and even then, reluctantly. Now it only remained for Jacopo to get involved, and it would be a family affair. As it should have been all along. Hmph. As if that were likely to happen. Isn't that what he'd complained to Jacopo about at the start?
Giddy laughter fizzed deep inside him, as though the hard brick of tension that had resided there this past week had suddenly melted into a churning miasma. Half joy, half terror.
The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1) Page 25
