Free Turn Towards the Sun by Jennifer Domenico

had to tell her I wasn’t interested, and I don’t fraternize. She’s been aloof but professional since. I would assume she is simply jealous of you Ava.”
    “Why doesn’t she quit? I would be embarrassed to face you after that.”
    “I pay very well Ava. I make it worth it to work for me. Besides, she’s a very good manager.” Oh, she’s the manager.
    “Don’t let it bother you.”
    “It doesn’t. I just noticed.” He touches my hand again lightly. I really like that.
    We are on the 101 freeway heading north. Enzo pulls out his phone and presses a speed dial button. He launches into Italian, and I can tell he intentionally doesn’t want me to know what he’s saying. I can’t pull my eyes off of him as he speaks. What a sensual language. We exit and continue driving up a narrow road with nothing but desert ahead of us. We round a corner and suddenly the barren landscape is dotted with expansive homes.
    “Where are we going?”
    He ignores me, grinning lik e the cat that ate the canary. We approach a large wrought-iron gate, and he punches in a code. We drive up a long driveway and stop in front of what I would describe as a mansion. It looks like a beautiful Tuscan farmhouse, with stacked stone and a terra cotta tiled roof. On the left of the rounded driveway is a four-car garage with huge wood doors that resemble antique barn doors. The driveway is paved with cream colored cobbled stones in a circular pattern. There is no landscaping yet, and I can tell it’s still very unfinished. He stops the car in front of the steps that lead up to the large front door.
    “Stay.” He tells me as he jumps out of the car and around to my side.
    He opens his arms towards the structure. “This is my house. We’re having dinner here tonight.”
    “It’s beautiful Enzo. It looks like Tuscany.”
    “Wait until I’m done with it. I’ve had most of the materials imported from Italy. Those doors, for the garage, came off of a 15th century farmhouse that fell into ruin.”
    Oh, they really are antiques. “But the house is empty isn’t it?”
    “Not for long.” He smiles, leaning against a column on the front porch. A van roars up the driveway and pulls up behind us. Grayson jumps out with two other men.
    “Hi boss.” Grayson nods at me.
    They open the van and pull out a small table, two chairs, three huge pillows, and a large basket . A woma n steps out from the back seat and smiles. She is very short and very thin with long straight jet-black hair and blue eyes. Her resemblance to Enzo is striking. She’s wearing a bright pink strapless dress and black wedge sandals. She says something I can’t hear to Grayson, who nods and grabs a rug from the truck. Then she walks towards Enzo and me .
    “Ciao Enzo!” She kisses him on both cheeks, and then she turns towards me and smiles.
    “Ava, this is my little sister Francesca. Also known as my interior designer.” Francesca hugs me and kisses both cheeks.
    “Yes, pleased to meet you.” Her throaty voice drips with Italian accent.
    “Yes, Enzo I know it’s hot, but wait ten minutes for me. Okay? ” Francesca clearly has a plan.
    “Let’s wait in the car Ava.” Enzo opens my door . We wait outside in the coolness of the air-conditioned car. I’m all twitterpated with excitement wondering what is happening in the house. Moments later , Francesca steps outside and waves us in. I feel tiny as I walk through a massive wood door that must be twenty feet tall. The grand foyer culminates in a dramatic mosaic design in the center surrounded by pale yellow tiles. My breath catches as I step into the main room. Francesca set up an incredibly romantic scene in this unfinished, unfurnished home.
    “Casa mia. My house Ava.” Enzo leads me by the arm into the living room. Francesca put the vast throw rug on the floor surrounding it with the pillows. Soft music plays in the background. The table is set with candles and dishware and Grayson is setting out our Chinese