Page 153 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8

‘I don’t need that.’ He looked at Dante. ‘If you want to help, then pay a visit to the winery. I haven’t been able to get there...’ He frowned. ‘I know you don’t want anything to do with the place, and I’m sure you and your brother will sell it the second I’m gone, but while I am alive—’

‘Gio,’ Dante cut in. ‘I care about the place.’

‘How?’ Gio asked. ‘How can you care for it from Milan?’

‘Okay, I’ll go,’ Dante agreed, even though it was the last place he wanted to visit.

The helicopter had taken off from there, and it was there where everyone had gathered, waiting for news, or confirmation, watching the fire in the hills. Even the drive there was hell now, winding past churches where weddings and funerals had taken place.

‘What else can I do?’ he asked.

‘I have to sort out the jewels. They haven’t been cleaned and I—’

‘I’ll take them to someone in Milan,’ Dante cut in.

But Gio instantly declined. ‘No! I want them to be taken care of here, where I had them made.’

‘Fine.’ Dante nodded. ‘Gio, can I ask if Mimi is coming back?’

‘I don’t know,’ Gio said.

Dante watched as his grandfather fought with himself, perhaps wanting to talk, yet refusing to.

‘You said you would do the dishes,’ he said eventually.

‘Sure.’

Dante collected the two plates and took them through to the butler’s kitchen. Not completely useless, he went to put them in the dishwasher—but then he saw the sink filled with soapy water.

She’d filled the sink for Gio, he realised.

That was kind of her.

Shewaskind, he realised.

For the first time in ages...perhaps since university...he did the dishes, rinsed the glasses, then walked back to the dining room that had somehow turned into his grandfather’s bedsit.

‘Are you going?’ Gio asked.

‘I think so.’

‘I was going to watch a film...’

God help me, Dante thought as he sat on the sofa with a large brandy watching Sophia Loren, ever beautiful, in black and white.

‘Yournonnaloved this.’

‘I know.’

Because Gio had repeatedly told him.

His gaze drifted from the screen and he noticed the changes since Christmas: more photos had been moved here, as well as the television and his grandfather’s old gramophone. Most confusing, though, they were seated on the heavy couches that belonged in the formal lounge, and there were blankets folded on one.

‘How did the couches get in here?’ Dante asked.

‘Susie,’ Gio said.

‘How?’ Dante asked. ‘She’s tiny.’