How to Survive a Hot Italian Summer [Galatea]

Step 1 of surviving the summer: Hook up with hot Italian guys ;)

The text from my best friend, Ane, made me smile, right before my mom’s voice snapped me back to reality from the front seat of the taxi.

I turned the volume up and pretended to be asleep, with the hoodie pulled tight over my head and cheek pressed against the window.

"We’re here," Mom said.

I cracked one eye open, annoyed. "Yeah, whatever."

"Come on, sweetheart, hop out." Her voice was painfully cheerful. "I can’t wait for you to meet my friend."

I couldn’t fake it anymore. I was furious. Dad had been dead for six months, and she’d already dragged me to Sardinia to play happy with her new friend.

Stepping out of the car, the heat hit me hard, making my tracksuit stick to my skin. Next to me, Mom glowed in her new flowery summer dress, her brown hair falling in waves across her shoulders.

"Welcome!" a voice called from behind us.

Mom turned. "Such a gorgeous holiday home, Lorenzo. No wonder you love coming here."

He looked very Italian, his black hair slicked back. He spread his arms, hugged Mom, and kissed her on each cheek—for way too long. My stomach twisted at the sight.

Friend, right? I glared at them.

He walked over to me and held out his hand.

"And you must be Lisa?" he said in a heavy Italian accent.

"You must be Lorenzo," I said, my tone perhaps overly passive-aggressive. Mom immediately shot me that look.

"As beautiful as your mother," he said, unfazed. "I've been told you're quite the swimmer?"

"I haven't swum in six months, and I hate sunbathing, so I hope you have Wi-Fi," I said, staring him straight in the eye.

"Lisa!" Mom said, and eyed me.

"It's okay," Lorenzo said with a smile. "There’s plenty to do. My youngest son’s about your age; he can show you around. My boys practically grew up between here and Norway."

Unimpressed, I just grunted. Before I could stop him, he had already picked up my suitcase.

"Maybe you should change into something lighter?" My mom let her eyes drift down my tracksuit.

I rolled my eyes. My only desire was to lock myself in my room.

I glanced toward the big villa. Half-hidden behind twisted olive trees and overgrown bougainvillea, the walls were white and rough with age. Terracotta roof tiles stuck out from the branches. It felt modest and luxurious at once.

"Here he is," Lorenzo said as we stepped into the living room. "This is Milo, my youngest."

I took off my sunglasses. "Hey," I said.

He offered his hand and gave me a warm smile. "Nice to meet you."

His brown hair was sun-bleached at the tips, curling slightly around his temples like he’d spent most of the summer in the ocean. His skin was already golden from the sun, and his dark eyes were observant—like he was taking me in, not just looking.

He didn’t look awkward or unsure. He looked comfortable. And annoyingly, he was exactly my type.

"Mhm," I mumbled.

"I told Lisa you could show her around a bit tomorrow," Lorenzo said to Milo.

"But I have plans tomorrow; I'm meeting some friends."

"You can meet your friends later," he said with no room for negotiation.

I felt sorry for him. Poor guy didn't really have a choice. He was stuck dragging me around, a miserable piece of emotional baggage with a poor attitude and way too many feelings.

“Please don’t feel like you have to change your plans for me,” I said, trying not to sound like a burden. “But if it’s not too much trouble, could you show me to my room? I’m a bit tired,” I added, yawning.

"Understandable," Lorenzo said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Come on, I'll show you your room, sweetheart."

I had barely climbed a couple of steps when I heard footsteps overhead. I felt it before I looked up.

He came down the stairs in the opposite direction, barefoot and unhurried. There was an ease to him you couldn’t fake. His hair hung in loose waves, still rough with salt, grazing his shoulders.

Our eyes met for a moment—his were blue, not frosty blue, but alive, like waves rolling toward shore.

He was only wearing swim trunks, bare-chested, his skin tanned from the sun.

I forgot to keep walking. My legs stopped mid-step. Then the heat hit—not the good kind, but the embarrassing, sticky kind that crawls up your chest and settles in your cheeks. I knew I was staring too long, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I tried to pretend I was looking at the railing. Or a mark on the wall. Anything but him.

"Jacob, say hi to Lisa," Lorenzo said behind me.

My throat tightened. “H-hey,” I stammered. I could barely hold his gaze.

“Hey,” he said, with a teasing smile, like he’d seen right through me, like he knew exactly what effect he had. Or maybe he was just making fun; I couldn’t tell.

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just us.

He stepped past, close enough that the heat from his body brushed against me, carrying the scent of coconut sunscreen and sun-warmed skin and intoxicating in a way that made my knees go weak. My heart raced, and I realized I’d stopped breathing.

He stopped right beside me.

“That looks hot,” he said, his eyes dragging slowly over my body.

My pulse jumped.

Did he just—

“What?”

His mouth twitched. “Your outfit. You do realize it’s thirty degrees, right?”

Oh.

Heat flooded my face.

“That’s none of your business,” I snapped, hating that he’d caught me off guard.

He shook his head and muttered, "Kids these days…", before turning back to his dad. Didn’t apologize. Just brushed past me like I was something he had already decided not to want.

"I'm going to the beach," he said, not even looking my way, as if I didn't even exist.

Then he greeted my mom like they’d known each other for years and disappeared.

Lorenzo gave me a small, apologetic smile before helping me carry my luggage to my bedroom.

"Here it is," he said.

The room was big and the view stretched over the pool area with the beach in the background. It smelled like saltwater and washed sheets.

"Here's how you control the air conditioning," Lorenzo explained. "Is there anything I can get you? Something to drink? Food?"

"No, I'm good," I said, throwing myself onto the bed.

When he closed the door behind him, I grabbed my phone and called Ane.

"You're there already?" she asked, out of breath. "What's it like? Show me!"

I stood up, turned the camera, and recorded the room and the sea view.

“That looks amazing, Lisa! I wish I were there."

"You can take my place," I muttered.

"So... how are the new stepbrothers?"

That painfully awkward first encounter made my face burn up again. "I haven't really talked to them, but one of them came across as almost rude."

"Rude? Like, what did he say?"

"He’s just that… too-cool-for-school type, you know?"

"Are they my type, then?" she smirked.

“Both of them are,” I smirked. Then my smile faded. “Dad’s been gone for six months, Ane. And she’s already playing happy family.”

“If you want to piss her off, dig out the shortest dress you have, party like crazy, stay out late, and hook up with some much older guy.”

I laughed. “You’re crazy.”

But when we hung up, I didn’t laugh anymore.

Maybe Ane was right. If Mom wanted happy family, I’d give her a performance. I wanted to make my mom furious. And I suddenly knew exactly how to do it. Jacob had looked at me like I was invisible. Milo like I was a problem.

That was about to change.

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