The Weekend Wife by Beth Ciotta

Author:Beth Ciotta
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2017-10-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

NICK’S GRANDMOTHER, SYLVIA Manachetti, is a whimsical force of nature. Her home is as colorful and unique as its owner. She talks rather fast, sometimes lapsing into Italian, as she gives us a whirlwind tour.

Although each component of the house is only two stories high, due to the unique construction, there are actually four levels.

The ground floor features an entrance hall and two spacious living rooms with jewel-toned walls and exposed ceiling beams. One room boasts a massive fireplace, comfy sofas, and an outdated television. The other doubles as a library and overlooks a charming pergola.

Climbing a few steps to a slightly higher level, we breeze through an adorable, eclectic kitchen, then a dining room offering breathtaking views. Everywhere we go we’re greeted with pleasant scents—bouquets of flowers, perfumed wax, citrus and berries, fresh herbs and baked bread. Scents that scream happy and cozy and home.

Additional levels include a basement/laundry room, a wine cellar, and a garage. All in all, there are three bathrooms and four bedrooms—three of which offer balconies and fabulous views of the property’s gardens and the surrounding vineyards.

Nick’s quietly soaking it all in and I’m too enraptured to interrupt Sylvia’s animated rambling. Each room spurs a special story and she’s cramming twenty years’ worth into a few frenetic minutes.

I marvel at her zeal and can easily imagine Sylvia at the height of her “hostess” days. Even though our guide’s narration is somewhat scattered, it’s clear to me that at one time Casa di Gioia was a frequent stopover for friends. But not so much anymore. And now with her husband gone…

It’s just so much house for one person.

Every space is charmingly furnished and lovingly accented with quirky collectibles. Every room is perfectly neat—much like Nick’s place. Once I hopped over to borrow a screwdriver and he invited me inside. I was stunned by the pristine nature of his apartment, especially since it’s easily twice the size of mine. Clearly the neat-freak thing runs in the family.

My rental has one and a half rooms and, even though I’m a minimalist, there’s always clutter and there’s always dust. “How do you do it?” I ask when Sylvia pauses for more than five seconds. “This place is immaculate.”

“A few years ago, we hired a local woman, Adriana, and her daughter, Jemma, to handle the deep cleaning,” Sylvia says. “Otherwise I keep up on a day-to-day basis. In the past, caring for this house was my passion. Since Frank passed…” She sighs and shrugs. “Cleaning distracts me.”

Before I can comment on the personal loss that so obviously pains her, Sylvia springs back into action.

I glance up at Nick, wishing I could read his thoughts. From what he’s told me about his childhood, Casa di Gioia far and away exceeds any home he ever lived in. While his mom and stepdad dragged him from town to town, bouncing from one generic rental to another, Sylvia created a cozy, longtime home within this spacious Tuscan farmhouse.

Is he bitter? Envious? In awe

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