The plight of being a ghost.
With a sigh, I explained to Tennyson all that had happened, starting with my burgeoning ability to make myself corporeal and moving through to thepaparazzo.
In the middle of my conversation with Tennyson, I heard Chiara come down the stairs and clank around in the kitchen. She was talking to someone on the phone, too. Probably Nonna on her cruise. But possibly another brother or maybe her mother who might be up late in Portland, Oregon.
I had lots of uncomfortable conversations lining up for my future.
To his credit, Tennyson simply listened to my explanations and offered the occasional comment.
“Going totally corporeal is good news,” he said once I was done.
“It is. Now I just have to learn how to do it intentionally, not as a side effect of pushing into the shadow world.”
“Agreed. So given that the whole world knows generally where you live, what are you going to do?” he asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Like I’ve said, this internet thing isn’t going to magically go away. And you’ve effectively just dumped gasoline on the fire. I don’t know how we’re going to keep you secret without resorting to confining you in a cellar somewhere. You certainly can’t stay in your villa for the time being.”
I grunted in reply. We chatted about a few options. Chiara finished her phone call in the other room.
“Hey, Tenn.” She walked in and slumped into the couch next to me. “We got larger crisis than just ol’ Jack here looking hot in photos.”
I suppressed a smile.
Chiara noted my smile and determined that it was smug.
It was.
She returned with a death-stare.
“What’s up?” Tennyson asked.
“I just got off the phone with the police. Given that my face is now plastered on every media site between here and Antarctica, we have bigger problems.”
“Namely . . .”
“I’ve just made myself significantly more identifiable. Which means I am now more likely to be targeted by the mafia regarding this ongoing police investigation.”
Ah.
“To say Inspector Paola is annoyed with me would be a massive understatement. The good inspector strongly suggested that I go deeper to ground, and as she eloquently put it, ‘Avoid being a media whore.’ Got any suggestions?”
FOURTEEN
Chiara
I’m glad we tested that ‘true love’s first kiss’ thing. It’s nice to be able to cross it off our list.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded loud and unconvincing.
I glanced at Jack in the rearview mirror. He stared at the rain lashing his window, his expression some mix of pensive and amused. After days of relentless sun, Mother Nature had let loose with buckets of warm rain. My poor little windshield wipers struggled to keep up.
“You do realize that’s the fifth time you’ve brought up our kiss in the past three hours, right?”
Trust Jack to throw that back at me.
But . . . I couldn’t help it.
The images of Jack and I kissing wouldn’t leave my fevered brain. They played in a constant loop.
