CHAPTER ONE
✧
-: villa misapinoa :-

── IN WHICH THE OWNERS 
ARRIVE AT LONG LAST

. . .

MELINA HAD BEEN WAITING for this day. She couldn't lie about it. Not to herself, not to her mother or father, and not to the variety of townsfolk she bumped into as she rode into town, swinging her leg over the brown leather seat, leaning her bicycle against the wobbling newspaper stand outside of the grocers, picking up the bag in her basket and making her way in.

They had been waiting just over a day. She had collected the mail as usual the previous morning, opening what was perhaps the most interesting envelope she had ever seen - black and glossy and sealed with green wax, which had a crest pushed into it with the words 'toujours pur' below it, French for 'always pure' - as she made her way back up the driveway. It was written in French as well and addressed to her mother. It appeared to be from a woman named Walburga Black, and as much as she tried to rack her brains to find where exactly she knew the name from, there wouldn't be answers until she reached the faded seafoam-coloured kitchen, placing the envelope in front of Odette.

She had been opening the apricot jam for her husband's cornetti, peering at the opened embossment muttering something useless about Melina not opening the mail, before opening it herself. Considering the abysmal lack of knowledge the young girl held on the owners of the villa they looked after, she hadn't recognised the name, yet Odette, who had instinctly held on to every single drop of information about the owners, knew instantly.

And as it turned out, it was a notice of arrival. The woman named Walburga Black was the inheritor of the villa and she and her son were expecting to make a long-awaited appearance the very next day. Well... the letter had been sent three days before and their arrival was dated for the day following them recieving it. Post had been a little tricky since the postman had retired and passed his business onto his grandson, and poor, poor Alberto wasn't having the easiest time, despite being well-versed on knowledge of the area and a particularly good driver - Melina would know.

The announcement that the owner of the villa they had been looking after for a year and a half was finally making their presence known. If it wasn't for the contract signed and the job position, then perhaps they would have doubted their existence at all. However now, with the letter confirming at least one of their existences and promising another, there was a new urgency to elevate the first-rate lifestyle that the family had been living since moving there.

Melina's plans the previous day had been cancelled in favour of helping her mother with the cleaning whilst Leonardo primped and preened the gardens surrounding it. And seeing as their day had been spent cooped up in the villa, it was midway through the next morning, a couple hours before the usual time deemed acceptable for arriving after travelling, the Solaras daughter had been sent out to get fresh food for the lunch after their entrance and also for dinner that evening. The journey would be copied earlier in the morning if there weren't enough remaining supplies for breakfast - although she thought that Odette would easily be able to bake.

And all that had led Melina to the only grocery shop in the small village near to their home. It was owned by Edgardo Carlevaro, and much like each and every other store in Verica, it was family-run and a staple in the community, complete by hardware tools kept behind a case from the kids, and wooden furniture carved and hand-crafted by Edgardo himself. As well as their weekly deliveries, it homed some of the produce from the families surrounding, and it was really the only store with something outside that she could lean her bike on.

The brass bell above the door rung merrily to announce her presence, fingers clutching the faded teal door, nails stained the light purple of the last few blackberries of the year. Behind it, the flower-patterned ruffle of a small curtain shone through and Melina stepped inside, hand twisting to find the doorknob on the otherside.

"Leave it open." A voice from the corner instructed and the girl nodded, foot reaching out and pushing the slanted chunk of wood into the small gap beneath it. It was Camillo, son of Edgardo, leaning over the side of the countertop made much weaker by the lack of counter below it and the hinges that allowed it to flip upwards and allow him through. It sagged under his weight ever so slightly, chin balanced on his elbow. "Morning." He grinned.

Melina gave the wedge one last kick and turned her attention to the small hook attached to the back, pulling it over onto the metal loop on the wall behind it. "Hi." She replied and adjusted the strap on the bag over her shoulder. "I can just use this like usual, right?"

"Yeah, 'course." Camillo replied, already turning his attention back to the colourfully-covered fumetti neri that had been discarded upon her entrance. A glance at the cover told the Solara it was 'Diabolik'. Despite the fact she knew that he enjoyed reading them much more than any of the other books they were assigned during their literature class, his attention was no longer on his comic.

Instead, they stayed on the only customer within the shop at that time on a sunny day. He had already served the older folk of the village when they came by for their fruit and dug out several ice cream cones and a bucket of fresh strawberries for when the kids came by looking for supplies before they ventured down to the river for yet another day of their summer holidays, and now it was pretty quiet, save for the newest girl wandering the couple of aisles and his younger sister somewhere in the back.

"Hey, Mel, I heard you're having some visitors." He called out, too distracted now to even think of returning to the drawn pages.

"Hm?" She looked up from the scribbled list in her hand, opening one of the cartons of eggs as it scrunched between her fingers and checking through them. "Oh yeah - we got a letter yesterday." Melina placed the cardboard carton carefully into her bag, knowing she would need to re-arrange before she cycled back to avoid any breakages. "They're coming later today, I believe."

"The mysterious owners at last. I don't think anyone here knows them." Camillo followed her as she moved to retrieve milk from the small cooler section. "My dad doesn't, at least."

Melina paused at that, selecting several glass bottles. Usually, they got the delivery in the mornings but, like the post, things weren't running so smoothly. "Your dad?" She repeated. Camillo shook his head. "What about the Reverend?" She moved on towards the bread, taking several loaves.

He shook his head again. "I asked him when he came by for his breakfast fruit. Hadn't heard of a Walburga Black, and I doubt anyone else will have. Sounds like a ghastly name." Melina hummed her agreement as she picked out some of the fruit that he was talking of and scanned them for any major injuries to their soft outsides. Something simple, like small discolouration or uneven skin, could easily be discounted as the fruit being suitable for eating. Others could be too damaged or too old to be consumed.

Her fingers curled around an apple, pressing down on the skin. It was soft, and she threw it to Camillo, who caught it with inches to spare. "It's gone bad. Yesterday. Its insides are like mush." She informed him, ignoring the way his eyebrows darted upwards at her words. "Don't start complaining about it, if you're running a grocery store you should learn how to tell yourself."

"Unfortunately for me, I didn't have the opporunity to spend every moment possible in the vineyards, groves and orchards when harvest season comes." Camillo replied, the slightest hint of snark escaping into his tone. Melina damn near threw yet another apple at him, before continuing her choice in fruit, holding a paper bag in her hands and placing them within it. "I'm guessing you can't go out tonight then."

"Oh." Melina's hands fell to her side, disappointment wavering over her. She hadn't quite realised that and had forgotten completely about her plans for that evening in the process of the hubbub and mess of the announcement of the newcomers. "I suppose not." She turned and placed her bag on the counter. "Ring me up, please?"

"You got it." Camillo looked equally disheartened by the fact. "Antonio'll be disappointed, Lucia too. She'll be left all alone in the presence of several boys."

Melina diverted her attention into finding her purse in her bag. "There's nothing you can do to convince me." There was a crash, a door banging and their attention was turned to the arrival of a certain younger sister and the added volume of her music. "Call Adriane, see if she can spare the evening - take the money out of my purse.. Diana!"

In a quick flurry of words, Melina's attention had been completely turned away from her and Camillo's conversation and delved into a new one with Diana, who was nine and currently dancing beside the aisle ending in cleaning products, sweets and the baking ingredients. From the small storage room in the back, the sound of rhythmic, classical guitar-infused music playing in the background.

"Dance with me, Mel!" Dina announced, before holding her arms up stiffly.

"What are we dancing? I may be able to teach you, you know." Melina replied. "I know many forms. Ballet, waltz, quickstep, foxtrot, the cha cha, the jive, salsa, I believe I know even a little jazz." She had been a quick learner when it came to that - that being the more classical styles of dancing. Rhythm had constantly infused her veins, and she believed that was what allowed her to become so popular on their ever-frequented venues on nights out in the town. "Camillo, aren't I a good dancer?"

There was a pause "The very best." He followed, calling down the aisle before returning to his counting of prices.

Dina frowned "I want to dance at the wedding." She said, speaking quickly. "But I don't know what dance Javier and Elena would choose. Is it going to be a Spanish dance? Like Flamenco? Or will it be like the way my Papa dances with the old ladies in the square?"

"Your Papa dances like nobody else in Verica, or in Lombardy. I suppose Javi would like to dance the way he knows how. He will have to learn how Elena dances, just like she will have to too." It made sense that Dina's worries remained solely in the wedding destined to happen towards the end of the summer, between a man who once roamed the countries freely, travelling from Spain to the borders of Russia and back again before coming to stop in Verica, where he met Elena Gallo, and they fell head-over-heels for each other, Javi managing to convince the Gallos - the farmers in the area who owned what must be hundreds of chickens and supplied everyone with their eggs and goats milk - to allow them to wed.

And their wedding was to go ahead, Elena planning and planning and as the summer came, it all became more serious. She was yet to pick her bridesmaids, yet to see her finished dress, yet to choose the specific flower that would feature across her big day. It was the event everyone was waiting for, and that everyone was hoping to partake in, which seemed to include even the young of the town.

"Will you teach me to dance, Mel?" Dina smiled up at her, solely using the nickname she had heard her brother use. "Please? Any type - really."

"I can, I can." She promised in return. "But first, we must prepare ourselves to dance. It's all about the rhythm, Dina, and if you do not have any, then you need to learn to feel the music." She reached forward, a smile on her face as she took Diana's hands and began moving them back and forth to the beat, slowly adding more and more until the young girl was beaming and squealing as she was flung about and spun and dipped by the Solara.

But alas, the fun should not last, a ringing breaking through music but quickly ignored as Camillo picked it up. That was not all, because next came his call. "Ay, Mel." He shouted over the music, a dizzy Dina being held against Melina's stomach to stop her from falling as the pink-cheeked blonde turned her attention to her friend. "It's your mum." Camillo added, leaning over the counter with a phone in his hand, spiral cord attached to the wall behind him.

"Sorry, Dina." Melina dropped her hands instantly. "But keep practising that and next time, you'll be ready for your first lesson." She strode towards the register, accepting the phone and holding the reciever to her ear. "Maman?"

There was a quick wittering of quickly-paced, furious French. It easily translated in her mind, but it was not the pace at which Odette spoke that worried Melina. No - it was the message which she had been relayed; the Black mother and son were already here, hours before expected.

"Ah, shit." Melina swore, eyes sweeping down to the counter where Camillo's hands swiftly placed the items she had chosen out back in her bag, having taken the coins necessary from her purse. "I'll be in again tomorrow morning probably - but I have to go. They're here."

"They're here?"

"The owners of the villa." Melina replied, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "Here - I'll grab a couple of bouquets from the bins out the front. Wish me luck, ciao Dina."

"Good luck, Mel." Camillo called over her shoulder. "Say ciao, Dina."

"Ciao, Ciao." Diana replied, and Mel smiled before slipping out the door, placing her bag into the bottom of the rather deep white basket attached to the front of her bike as well as two rather pretty bunches of flowers. In moments she had swung her leg over the brown leather seat and set off, her journey no doubt to be interrupted by the familiar faces of Verica.

✧

Melina perhaps hadn't been as hasty as she needed to be. She didn't quite care to admit that her mind had easily forgotten the necessity of getting home quickly, and she found herself pausing to pick the pretty flowers growing on the side of the pretty much empty road, her journey slowed significantly by the fact her book was produced from the front basket and held in one hand as she made her way further.

By the time she managed to get back, she had been able to snap back into it and with her white tennis shoes covered in dust from the track and the wind, she abandoned her bicycle in the gravel by the front door and clutched the bag, flowers and book in her arms and made her way inside.

"Papá! I have the milk - I assume that is what Maman was needing?" She called into the terracota-tiled hallways. The house was cooler than the world outside and she was grateful for it, pausing by the mirror to drag her hair back out of her eyes and continued on, a spring in her step as she made her way towards the kitchen, beneath the brick arch and down the concrete steps. "I have milk for tea, and I got flowers as well as everything for lunch." She repeated, the sight of a figure in her peripheral vision confirming that there was someone in there. "I agreed to teach Dina to dance for Elena and Javi's... wedding."

She paused, the bag in her hands slipping oh-so slightly as she turned towards the large oak table. Her father was not alone at the table. Her mother was hovering near his shoulder, and they were facing a pale, stony-faced pair that must be Walburga and Regulus Black.

Walburga was... scary, for lack of a better word. High cheekbones, pointed nose, inky-black eyes. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun and placed above the slick parting was a small black hat, finished with netting and velvet ribbon. Her dress finished around her knees and was also in black, with long sleeves and a high neck, the only thing not dark about her person being the string of pearls hanging around her neck. They were the same colour as her skin, which constrasted so differently to the tan of the Solaras.

Her son, Regulus, looked similar to her mother, in the sense that it was easy to figure that they were related without having to look deeply into which features matched. He was handsome, and he too had high, visible cheekbones, a sharp heart-shaped face and brown hair that was beginning to grow out into curled curtains. There was a shadow over his nose that was no doubt a spattering of freckles and dark, sleepy eyes stared over at her.

Unlike his mother, he wasn't appealing to his name in his dress. A pair of black trousers, linen and clean pressed, with a white shirt tucked in above it. Attached to his collar was a small pin of dark green and bore the same crest as what was pressed into the letter, and on his finger,  a signet ring sat.

They were both staring at her, as were her own mother and father, Odette using rapid eye movements to put down the bags and come greet them properly. Melina swallowed before placing the food and flowers on the counter, apologising and hurriedly filling vases from the cupboards with water and placing the bouquets within. Then, she jumped past the counters and came to stop on the other side of her father.

She folded her palms in front of her shorts, wishing she had time to change. Walburga was staring at her whilst her son had averted his gaze towards the wooden table in front of him again. "Hi - er - hello." Melina decided it best to greet them in Italian instead of attempting English - the letter had been written fluently after all. "Apologies for my, er, late arrival and... appearance. My name is Melina Solara, it's a pleasure to finally meet the owners of this wonderful home."

"As most say, better late than never." Walburga stood up, replying in Italian as well. It wasn't obvious if she was speaking of Melina's lack of quick appearance or the fact they had never met the family they worked for. "Stand aside from your parents, girl, let me have a look at you."

The daughter oddly felt as though she was in one of the novels she read set in England several eras before, where the daughters would be judged and presented by society. Walburga approached her, using a fan to lift her chin from side to side before scanning her figure and stepping back. She offered a gloved hand. "Walburga Black. Regulus."

From the sound of his name, the boy looked up. His eyes landed on Melina and he found himself sitting up a little straighter. Walburga waved her arm and he stood up, approaching his mother's side. She said something in English before Regulus too extended his gloved hand.

"I... Hello, my name is Regulus Black." He informed Melina, in what appeared to be quickly practised Italian. She accepted his handshake quickly, noting how firm it was before dropping it and returning her hands to her thighs.

Melina frowned before racking her brain back to her lessons at school. "You don't.. speak Italian." She managed in English, watching as it registered in his mind, and Regulus shook his head. "Do you speak... French?"

He nodded, looking grateful as she asked it. "Ah, good. I shall speak to you in French then." She said, watching as he clearly understood her. "I can teach you Italian if you would like. It's not that hard, I found. Up until a year and a half ago, I lived in Paris, you see, and managed to learn a lot more since then. My father is from here."

"I see." Regulus nodded. "I may take you up on that offer, depending on other circumstances." His gaze flickered down to the grouund and to the coating on her shoes before taking a step back, looking towards his mother.

"Good." Walburga clasped her hands in front of her. A walking stick seeming appeared out of nowhere and she leaned on it. "Now that introductions are complete, you may show us to our rooms."

"Of course, Madam." Melina didn't think she had ever heard her mother speaking in such careful tones and followed meekly behind her as she lead the pair out of the kitchen. She cut off from the group just prior to them exiting, slipping back behind the counters as she finished her preparation of the bouquets and putting away the rest of the food.

She had put everything but the milk away when she looked back to the oak dining table, where Leonardo still sat, a cup of coffee beside his recently delivered newspaper. It was dated the day before. "Papá, are you going to make tea?" Melina asked, clutching the bottles. "Or should I put it away?"

"I think it's best I wait for your Maman." Mr Solara replied, looking up at her. "I've never needed to receive guests, I was merely taught to be polite. Your mother knows all the tricks of this trade and so I shall leave these decisions to her for now. Do you know, Ragazza, I had the greatest shock of my life when accosting Alberto about my newspaper. I turned around and they were simply there! As though they had appeared from nowhere."

"How strange." Melina opened the fridge and placed the bottles within. "Though I suppose they seem the type to just... be there when you turn around. They quite remind me of vampires - have you ever read Dracula, Papá?"

"Of course."

"Then you shall understand if I say that I half expect them to flutter their clothes around them and turn into bats." Melina hummed to herself as she topped up the vases. She would be placing them in each of their guests' rooms, and they had to have enough in especially when placed in a somewhat sunlit area. "The Blacks seem to be the epitome of Gothic literature characters."

"Now, now, that is a little harsh." Leonardo placed down his newspaper. "Fetch me the fette biscottate. You seemed to get on well with the boy - what was his name... Reginald?"

"Regulus." Melina corrected as she took the box from the cupboard and placed it on the table. "It's too soon to lunch to have more the one." She advised. "And I was merely trying to find him means to communicate. I'll let him know that we're all fluent in French in case of anything."

"Good girl. And dust those shoes off in the courtyard before you drag all your mess inside with you." Leonardo's attention was back on his paper, dipping a rusk into his coffee and dripping it all over the print.

Melina carefully carried the vases up the stairs, taking the slightly grander display into the room they had cleaned up for Walburga, who was being doted on by her mother. Then, she slipped in through another heavy door into the one assigned to Regulus.

He was leaning over a case on the bed and Melina paused, using her body to steady the vase as she knocked and watched him jump. "Sorry - sorry, I just needed to bring these through." She excused herself. "...If that's okay with you, of course?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Regulus replied in fluent, pretty French. "I don't expect you to act like a maid, you know."

"Good, because I'm not one." Melina said, entering the room with the vase and scanning it to find the appropriate place. "This is simply good housekeeping on our behalf. Something to liven up the place."

"Were you not prepared for our arrival?"

"We were under the impression you would arrive later. If we bought flowers yesterday they would have already begun to wilt." Melina knew from experience. "Isn't it odd, I have known of this house longer than you, yet it does not belong to me."

"I didn't know it existed and was completely unaware we would be visiting." Regulus said. "I don't mind wilted flowers. They're often symbolic. How hard do you believe it to teach me Italian?"

"Do you not speak any Italian?"

"Some, but poorly." Regulus watched as she finally decided that the top of a side dresser received the perfect amount of sunlight and shade to allow the plants to survive more days than usually expected of picked flowers. "I can understand it fine, but I cannot speak in it."

"That doesn't matter too much. Everyone here speaks a little English or French and are very expressive and understanding of frantic hand signalling." Melina said with humour to her tone as her gaze travelled around the room, sidling over to a sideboard and slipping one of the books from the pile. "My Maman and Papá speak French, too, and my father was a diplomat so he may speak more English than I realise." She repeated the action of taking books several times until she realised he had stopped unpacking completely and was instead watching her.

"I don't misunderstand in thinking the books are yours?" Regulus asked, instead of taking a more accusatory stance.

"Most of them are. Some are from previous owners and are worth an absolute fortune because they're first editions. Not that I'd ever get rid of them. But.. this used to be my reading room and I'd forgotten to get a few. I can leave them if you want, I have plenty more in my room and the library."

"So you're an avid, well-read reader." Regulus was never too sure that sentence made much sense, but she just nodded. "A well-read woman is said to be dangerous."

Melina stared at him before her eyes darted to the side to break the gaze and instead caught a glance of several stacks of books in his almost endless trunk. "I believe a well-read man is much more of a hazard."

"How so?"

"For a woman, reading is expanding her horizons," Melina replied, as though she knew exactly what she was talking about, and people didn't doubt that she did. "For a man, it develops whole new worlds."

Regulus slowly took a seat on his bed. "And you would argue these worlds ensure danger for a man?" He asked, head tilted.

"Men act upon their thoughts more often. It may end in tragedy."

"I don't believe I shall become violent if you take your eyes off of me, Melina."

Her eyes flickered over to him and found him staring for far more than a moment, yet again. She didn't say anything, instead letting her gaze drop on the bookshelf behind him and slipped over to the otherside of the room, pulling yet more books off of the shelf. "Sorry." She added as she placed them on her pile. "I don't want to come in here more than necessary now that you're here, and-" 

"Regulus?" Walburga pushed open the door without so much of a knock coming to a stop in front of it. Her gaze landed on Melina, who dropped her arms to her side and stepped in the way of her books. "Melina?" 

"I was just bringing some flowers in." She replied, switching cleanly to Italian as she talked to soomeone other than him. "Sorry - I can help you unpack if you would like, or Maman said something about making tea-"

Walburga held up a hand, silencing her. For a moment no words were spoken and instead she appeared lost in thought. Then, "don't apologise," Mrs Black said. "I believe it quite an appropriate idea for you and my dear boy to become friends," Regulus said something in English and she waved him away. "Don't mind him." She addressed Melina yet again. "I believe your mother would like some help."

The Solara simply nodded and exited the room quickly, but not before slipping a key into the lock beneath the door handle. Even if he seemed quite against the idea of having her as a friend - which she understood, considering the fact she was a stranger in a strange country who had been looking after his property for over a year with no contact - he deserved privacy. 

She supposed they would get to know each other despite the fact. And she had forgotten to mention dinner that night, so conversation would approach them for the opportunity later in the day.

Until then, she had work to do.

. . .

── SAY CIAO, DINA