La Rosa Gialla

Chapter 14

February 2024

You know that feeling when someone is trying so hard that you feel like it's too much? And that he's only trying because you told him to? That's how it felt with Charles now. Not a day went by since he left Maranello that he didn't send me a voicemail, or a message, or at least an Instagram reel that he thought was funny. He was annoying at times, but thanks to the sudden intense contact, I put aside all fears of him disappearing again. However, he texted about everything. Sometimes about things that I didn't need to know and didn't really care about, and sometimes about things that I definitely shouldn't know about. Like, for example, the new specifications of this year's car a week before the official launch.

I felt 17 again. I felt like the world was all rainbows and unicorns again and I didn't have to worry about anything. And since life has made me a pessimist, I found it very, very suspicious. Moreover, the end of my leave was approaching and I had to slowly but surely start packing back to London. I didn't want to go back more than ever and I had a big decision to make about whether or not to move back to Italy permanently. I've been thinking about what keeps me in England and I haven't really come up with anything except my job. And I could find a job in Italy too.

"Well, don't go back there," Charles cut off my monologue and shrugged his shoulders on the screen during the video call. "It doesn't work like that," I laughed.

"And why?"

I furrowed my eyebrows and gave him a look that said: "Are you stupid or what?"

"Then go there, resign and then come back. I could easily try to arrange a place for you in Maranello," he said as if nothing had happened and after a while he looked sternly into the camera and added: "Well, if you're any good."

"The best," I laughed and he smirked. "Wait, are you serious?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yeah sure," he shrugged again. "I'm not promising you a place with the top team, but a good physiotherapist always comes in handy."

"Oh, not with the top team, huh? I'll have to think about it."

"Are you so eager to massage my sweaty back?" he smirked and looked away from the camera for a moment. I just swallowed loudly and I definitely did not imagine his muscular back, narrow waist, and smooth skin at that moment. And how it would feel to touch him. "No, thanks. Yack," I pointed out after a while and he grinned.

Long after our call ended, I tried to get that thought out of my head. "Mental balance, Adri. Mental balance. You're not 17, you're 25. And Charles is just being Charles, and he was making fun of you. Just like always," I kept repeating to myself until I was able to think rationally again.

"Dad?" I called in the kitchen, where the noise was coming from. There were very few guests in February, but a couple did show up. It was lunchtime, and dad was preparing food for two elderly couples from Sweden, probably with the cook and waitress in one, Antonella. They probably came from Scandinavia to warm up or something. "Yes Adri?" he smiled at me when he noticed me walk in the door.

"What if I came back home?"

"You're at home."

"I mean permanently. What if I came home from London permanently?"

The ladle fell from Dad's hand and fell into the sink with a loud clatter. "Adri, I haven't wanted anything else for almost 5 years now." He walked over to me with a smile and hugged me like only dads can.

In the evening I wrote a message to Charles: "I will do it. I will return to Italy." The answer came to me in less than 2 minutes: "It's the right decision. I will cast my nets and look for the job 😊." I smiled at the message, texting back a quick "Thanks." and fell asleep like a log.

The day before my departure, the doorbell rang and after opening, a messenger appeared with a bouquet of red roses. "A shipment for Miss Adriana Rossi," he informed me. Through the huge lump in my throat, I blurted out, "It's me." He thrust the flowers into my hand and disappeared again. I went into the living room nervously and found a note among the flowers: "Sorry, they ran out of yellow roses. But red suits you better anyway. Good luck in London - C.L."