More Twisted

the mill . . . . He lived up the road. Nobody knows exactly what happened but it seems he was playing with a soccer ball and it rolled into the water. He fell in trying to get it. The water’s very fast—you can see. He was sucked into the sluice there and was wedged upside down.”
    Marissa was claustrophobic. This thought terrified her.
    “It took him a half hour to die. Now his relatives come to leave the memorial. They claim they don’t. They say the crosses and flowers just appear out of nowhere. But of course they’re lying.”
    Her eyes were riveted on the dark, narrow intake, where the child had died. What a terrible way to end your life.
    Antonio’s loud voice startled her again. But this time he was laughing. “Now, enough morbid stories. Let’s eat!”
    Gratefully, Marissa followed him inside. She was relieved to see that the interior was very comfortable, actually cozy. It was nicely painted and on the wall hungexpensive paintings and tapestries. Antonio lit candles and opened prosecco. They toasted their first long weekend together and began to prepare dinner. Marissa whipped up an antipasto platter of marinated vegetables and ham but Antonio did most of the cooking. He made linguine with butter and the white truffles for the first course and trout with herbs for the main. She was impressed, watching his assured hands cut and mix and whisk and assemble. Enjoying his skill, yes, but she was saddened slightly too, regretting that her long hours at the shop prevented her from spending as much time as she would have liked in her own kitchen, making meals for friends.
    Marissa set the table while he went downstairs to the wine cellar and returned with a 1990 Chianti from a famous local vineyard. A lover of wine, Marissa lifted an eyebrow and remarked that it was a wonderful vintage, hard to find; even the labels were collectors’ items. “You must have a wonderful wine cellar. Can I see it?”
    But as she stepped toward the door he pulled it shut, wincing slightly. “Oh, it’s a mess down there. I’m embarrassed. I didn’t get a chance to straighten it. Perhaps later.”
    “Of course,” she agreed.
    He set the food out and, in candlelight, they ate a leisurely dinner, talking the entire time. He told her about the crazy neighbors, a bad-tempered tomcat that thought he owned the property, the difficulty he and his father had had in finding period accessories to restore the mill.
    Afterwards, they carried the dishes into the kitchen and Antonio suggested they have grappa in the parlor. Hepointed it out to her. She walked into the small, intimate room and sat on the couch, then heard the squeal of the wine cellar door and his footsteps descending the stairs. He returned five minutes later with two filled glasses. They sat together, sipping the liquor. It seemed more bitter than most of the grappas she’d had but she was sure that, given Antonio’s good taste, it was an expensive distillation.
    She was feeling warm, feeling comfortable, feeling giddy.
    Leaning back against his strong shoulder, she lifted her face and kissed him. Antonio kissed back, hard. Then whispered, “There’s a present for you in there.” He pointed to a nearby bathroom.
    “A present?”
    “Go see.”
    She rose and, in the room, found an antique silk robe on a hanger. The garment was golden, with tiny flowers on it and lace at the edging.
    “It’s beautiful,” she called. She debated. Should she put it on? That would be a clear message to him . . . . Did she want to send it or not?
    Yes, she decided, she did.
    She stripped her clothes off, slipped the thin robe on then returned to the parlor. He smiled and took her hand, stared into her eyes. “You’re so beautiful. You look just like . . . an angel.”
    His words echoed the line he’d used when they met. But there was something slightly off about his tone, as if he’d intended to say that she looked like something else and caught himself just in time.
    Then she laughed to herself. You’re used to your father—parsing everything he says, looking for double meanings and subtle criticisms. Relax.
    Marissa sat down beside Antonio once more. They kissed passionately. He pulled the clip out of her hair and let it tumble to her shoulders then took her face in both hands and stared into her eyes for a long moment. He kissed her again. She was very light-headed from his touch and the liquor. When he whispered, “Let’s go into the bedroom,” she