Lake Como by Anita Hughes

the noon sun and the lake glittered like a sheet of new pennies. Hallie rolled her suitcase toward the ferry, passing cafés and gelato stands.
    The black and white boats sat in the harbor, waiting to take passengers to villages around the lake. Hallie was going to Bellagio, one of the most popular destinations. The line was full of families licking ice-cream cones, young lovers holding hands, nannies trying to round up their charges while the parents sipped a last aperitif in the bar next to the dock.
    A red speedboat pulled up to the dock and a man jumped out. He had curly black hair peppered with gray and a sharp, angular chin. His eyes were pale blue and his profile belonged on a Roman statue. He wore silk shorts and a navy shirt and a gold cross hung around his neck. He took off his sunglasses and searched the terminal, suddenly waving at Hallie.
    “Pliny?” Hallie squinted in the sun. She dragged her suitcase to the side to get a closer look. The speedboat was built like a bullet, sharp and snub-nosed, and it had the Tesoro crest painted on the side.
    “Sophia sent me to pick you up.” Pliny made a little bow. “No guest of the Tesoros arrives in Bellagio by passenger ferry.”
    “You didn’t have to.” Hallie slipped out of the line. “I like playing tourist.”
    “Sophia is pleased you are here.” Pliny grabbed Hallie’s suitcase. “She thinks you will talk some sense into Portia.”
    “Me?” Hallie let Pliny help her into the speedboat. Pliny started the motor and Hallie sat back against the soft leather upholstery.
    “Constance told Sophia you have a good head on your shoulders,” Pliny said in careful English. “I am glad you are here, too, you have grown into a beautiful woman.”
    “Thank you,” Hallie mumbled, letting her hair cover her cheeks so Pliny wouldn’t see her blush.
    She glanced at Pliny curiously, trying to imagine Pliny and Francesca together. There were fines lines around his eyes and mouth, but Hallie could imagine him as the young man on the ski slope. She pictured Francesca falling in fresh powder and looking up to see an Italian prince offering her his hand.
    “It is very difficult for Sophia,” Pliny explained over the roar of the engine. “They are about to erect a statue of my great-grandfather in the Piazza San Giacomo. Sophia has worked on this for many years; the bishop and the cardinal have given it their blessing.”
    “How wonderful!” Hallie exclaimed.
    “A scandal involving Portia and Riccardo could ruin everything.” Pliny’s eyebrows knotted together.
    “It’s not Portia’s fault Riccardo left her,” Hallie said doubtfully. She wasn’t used to talking to Pliny. At Portia’s wedding he had been busy toasting the bride, and on her previous visit she and Portia had been teenagers trying to stay beneath his radar.
    “Italy is different from America,” Pliny replied. “Men are never at fault.”
    “That’s Victorian!” Hallie bristled.
    “That is the way it is.” Pliny shrugged. “Sophia hopes you will convince Portia to take Riccardo back.”
    “Don’t you want Portia to be happy?” Hallie asked.
    “There are many ways to be happy.” Pliny guided the boat between two sailboats with bright billowing sails. “I was devastated when your mother left. But my children made me happy; my home, Bellagio, Italy.”
    “I’m sure Portia will make the right decision,” Hallie murmured.
    “It must be the right decision for the Tesoro name,” Pliny insisted, guiding the boat into a small harbor.
    Hallie shivered under the hot sun. She couldn’t understand how Sophia and Pliny cared more about the Tesoro name than the members of the family. She remembered how Sophia refused to allow Portia and Marcus to go with their mother. She pictured Marcus, a small boy with his father’s blue eyes and Portia practically a baby, forced to stay when Francesca returned to America.
    “I want you to enjoy your holiday,” Pliny said, smiling. “Lake Como in