Chapter Text
Although she did not believe in love-at-first-sight, it was difficult to think that their connection was gradual.
The conversation grew slowly, sure. Looks lasting more than a few short seconds were weeks in the making. Touching, even at the fingertips, had to brew under the surface for an acheingly long time.
Yet, her infatuation was ignited in an instant.
It was almost laughable. Just a moment prior she was sprawled out on her twin bed with Leonardo, getting as close to cuddling as you could with it still being tolerable in the Italy heat. Even in his red swim trunks, the boy's skin was covered in sweat, so when the sound of a car engine grew louder, Tina needed to peel herself off of him.
He propped himself up on his elbows, watching the blonde lean out the window.
"Who is it?" He asked in a humid haze.
Tina felt the breeze through her hair and watched the cab halt in front of the villa. Her father stepped out first, saying something to the driver and laughing.
"Our graduate student," She replied.
Leonardo stood up and walked up behind her, twiddling with the string of her bathing suit as he looked over her shoulder. "Finally, someone else to hear your father go on for hours about art." He huffed. "I pity him."
The blonde shook her head at the pronoun, watching as her dad circled around the cab and opened the door for the student: bursting with baritone laughs and golden skin everywhere.
"It's a woman." Tina said. Their heads followed the two loading luggage out of the cab.
Shutting the trunk, the student waved goodbye to the driver. "Later!" She said. They brought in her bags into the villa, the sound of the front doors echoing upstairs. Tina and Leonardo rushed down to meet the new houseguest.
Mr. Kennard practically shoved the woman towards them. "This is my daughter, Cristina. Cristina, this is our prized possession for the next six weeks."
Tina smiled and decided not to tell the graduate student that he makes that joke about every guest. "Nice to meet you,"
"Bette," She nodded firmly before directing her gaze at Leonardo. "And you?" Great. A flirt.
"Leonardo," He shook her hand then turned to the blonde. "I'll be going now, it's getting dark." He kissed both women on the cheek and slid away with a wave from Tina's father.
The cook, Angelina, introduced to Bette herself alongside Mrs. Kennard. After a few quick words, Mr. Kennard told Tina to show their guest to her bedroom.
Tina lugged her bags behind her on the stairs as Bette went on about the trip to Crema, none of which was asked for. She was egged on by a simple "really?" or "is that so?" even though they were completely monotone. Wonderful. The nineteen-year-old thought. A talker. A flirt. An art snob, too, I bet. What a bore. She missed Leonardo's presence already.
They opened the door to the tiny bedroom. Tina set the bags down and watched the woman collapse onto the twin bed she was laying in just moments before. It felt uncomfortable for her to leave abruptly, but there was finally a lull of silence to escape. She shut the door gently and walked back downstairs.
* * *
"Cristina," Angelina called. When it yielded no response, she went into the dining room and saw the blonde reading quietly at the table with headphones on. She tapped her shoulder. "I'm setting up dinner, can you wake Elizabeth?"
She set her headphones down on the opened page and trotted up the stairs. Not even the stomping of her worn tennis shoes on old wooden steps were enough to wake the student. She creaked the door open and saw the brunette in the same position, limbs stretched and hugging a pillow.
After clearing her throat obnoxiously, Tina quietly hushed, "Elizabeth." She walked up closer. "Elizabeth." A book was hanging off the end of the bedside table and so she dropped it, causing a slam! on their tile floor. Bette shot up groggily.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Tina tried not to laugh, placing the book back on the nightstand.
"Mm, it's fine." She buried her face in her arms again.
"We're being called down for dinner," she explained as if it was by casual happening.
"I'm gonna pass, will you let them know?"
No guest had done that before, no matter how jet-lagged or lethargic they were. She agreed as the woman turned on her side, thanking her.
"Later." The brunette called out. The word bounced between the four walls and splashed in Tina's face just for her to shut the door on it.
Tina sat with her parents at the table in the garden. She explained that Bette wouldn't be joining them and despite her attempt to make it sound crude, the Kennards were understanding.
She watched the water from Angelina's pitcher trickle into her glass. "What do you think she means when she says later?"
"It's a goodbye," Her mother said. "She's from America, they're very passive in their language."
"Just watch," Tina sat up and locked her fingers together. "When the time comes in six weeks, that's how she'll leave us. With her...later."
"You've got all summer to warm up to Elizabeth." Her father commented, picking up on his daughter's tone.
Tina was notoriously cold to the summer graduate students in the first week or so. She'd confide in her parents all of the things she disliked about their guests: they were boring. They spoke too much, or not enough. They were pretentious about art. They parted their hair weird.
Every time with no avail, however, a bond would form between the young girl and her father's mentees. They would discover a shared interest or find enjoyment in racing at the pool. One of them, Sofía, taught Tina all about boyfriends and girlfriends and dating and birth control half a decade ago. Another, Jeremy, would paint with her silently in their garden. If those moments of solitude were not enough, the slew of cards and gifts she received during the holidays made up for it.
That night, Tina was changing into her pajamas in the adjoining bedroom to Bette's. She heard a rustle or two but when she peeked in, the woman would be fast asleep. She shook her head and laid in bed, reading for a bit before growing sleepy and turning on her side.
Even with the sour taste in her mouth, the obsession had begun. Nobody, even herself, would peg it as such. It was not the explosive lust she felt for Leonardo. It was the echo of attraction.
She had been "attracted" to every graduate student. They were often irritating but they still intrigued her. Contrary to belief, she did actually get tired of reading and learning music. The graduate students occupied her father with their manuscripts, getting him off her back for hours at a time. She came to appreciate them, and thus the flicker ignited in Tina was uniform. Tina preferred thing to be uniform.
She doesn't know the first time it became unusual.
Maybe it was the breakfast after Bette's arrival when they sat beside each other. She noticed how the morning sun laid on her bronze skin, so golden that Tina feared it would blind her. Bette spoke (more) about the journey to Crema and her plans for the summer. She wanted to open a bank account, which was also something a guest had never done. She was explaining her reasoning but the glimpses of skin beneath her billowy shirt were too hypnotizing.
Perhaps it was later the next day, when the Kennards were hosting a party and Bette was making her rounds charming everyone, from the relatives to colleagues to Angelina's helpers. All of them were strangers and yet she had actively avoided Tina, the person gracious enough to lend over their bedroom to her.
It could have been the evening that Leonardo dropped Tina off at home and she walked past Bette lounging in the pool. She was going in rather aggressive circles but her body had seemingly neutralized the water, becoming one with the ripples. The teenager tried to say hello but was met with a silent nod.
Or maybe it started when the two of them were walking to get Bette's manuscript from the translator. They made small talk and Tina casually mentioned that down the block, there was a wonderful café. "Oh really?" She asked. It was dirt cheap and worlds better than the expensive coffee at restaurants And it was best black, it didn't need any cream or milk or sugar and would you like to grab some? "Another time, maybe. Later." And she left her standing there.
She reminded herself what her mother had said about passive language. It was polite indifference, not carelessness.
Looking back, the infatuation had to have started before then, because the two syllables stung already.