“Yeah. You've never been here then."
She laughs. "Yeah. You could say that. You have to understand the Montavio and Rossi women would rather die than live in a place like this. Anything five miles away from the nearest shopping plaza is rustic. Three bars of a cell phone signal instead of five is practically roughing it. I heard vague references to cabins, and camping, and I knew my brothers came here from time to time, but I always assumed that it was like a Boy Scout adventure thing. None of us asked questions because we didn't care."
We have two sisters in the Rossi family, Rosa and Marialena, and now that many of the brothers have married, there are more women in the Rossi family than the Montavia family. Only one of Vivia's brothers is married, which gives her one sister-in-law.
“You didn't have any sisters growing up,” I say to her. "Did you?"
"No. Did you?"
I shake my head and reach for the split logs lined up outside the cabin. We’ll need to start a fire soon. I make preparations for a fire and keep an eye on her the whole time. "I was an only child. And I think I was enough for my grandmother to handle." I can’t help but smirk to myself thinking about all the antics I got into. My poor grandmother was gray way too young. If I could go back in time, I’d kick my own ass for being a little punk.
She reaches for the logs, to help me. I don’t think so. I shake my head at her.
"No. You focus on the small twigs and kindling; I'll take the heavier things."
She gives me a curious look. “I’m fully capable of helping you with this."
"Didn't say you weren't, but do you really think it's wise to test me right now?” I reach for one of the slim, supple branches from the pile of kindling and flick it against her ass.
"No.” She turns away from me, but I don’t miss her cheeks flushing pink. "Kindling it is.”
She continues to gather the small branches, and I continue to stack logs. "I'm glad I had no sisters,” she says. "I wouldn't wish for anyone to be treated the way I was growing up."
I'm no fool. I'm well aware of the fact that she wasn't treated well, and she doesn't like the restrictions she's had, or will continue to have. It’s no secret that the expectations for Montavio and Rossi women are practically medieval and fly in the face of modern feminism so starkly, it's almost shocking.
Still, I see my chance. I want to needle her a little. I want to see how she'll react, see if I can learn a bit more about her.
"Oh, stop it. You act as if you're enslaved, and not as if you haven't lived in the lap of luxury your entire life. You've had everything you wanted handed to you. Tell me the truth. Did you have a nanny?"
"Of course," she says, unable to hide her terse tone. I'm getting under her skin.
"Didn’t you go away to school?" The pile of wood is more than we need tonight, but I want to keep her working and talking so we continue.
"Yes.” She won't look at me.
“Did you ever have to make your own bed, cook your own meal, or mop a floor?"
"No, but I…"
"If you were to ask your father or your mother or your brother for money, what would they say?"
"They would give it to me, but that's not the —”
"Did you have bodyguards?"
She clenches her jaw. "Of course.”
I don't miss the way she starts flinging the wood at the pile, or the way her breathing becomes noisier as her nostrils flare. She picks up kindling and whips it at the pile with a sweeping gesture, and when she looks at me her chin is high in the air, defying me to paint her childhood as idyllic.
But still, she doesn’t speak, only curls her lip while she reaches for more kindling.
"Did you vacation in Italy?"
"You know I did." Her eyes snap at me. How far do I need to go to make her break?
It's a dick move, intentionally baiting her. But we're here for a reason.
"What were your vacations like? I spent my school vacations raking leaves in the fall, shoveling driveways in the winter, eating Top Ramen for lunch while my grandmother worked two jobs. So tell me, Vivia. What were your summers like?"