He turned instantly. Our eyes met. Relief passed over his face like a breeze smoothing out creased fabric.
“And you love ancient Roman history,” he said. “We could go to Rome, Venice, Pompeii—”
“Pompeii,” I echoed, still holding the smile. “That sounds amazing.”
He came over and sat beside me. “Let’s do it,” he said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s leave cold Boston behind for a while. What do you say?”
I nodded. “I vote yes.”
He grinned and kissed me. “I’ll grab the laptop. Let’s check flights. We can leave tomorrow, this weekend, next week—whenever you feel ready.”
As he walked off, I thought about it. This felt awfully rushed, but there was nothing keeping me here. I wouldn’t be invited to Cynthia’s funeral. Not as her patient. And I couldn’t imagine stepping into the office again anytime soon. Mochiwould be fine at the bird luxury boarding facility. The lady who ran it loved him almost as much as I did, and he enjoyed spending time with her two parrots.
“We could leave next week,” I said, trying to sound excited.
“Next week,” Mochi echoed softly from beneath the blanket. He was awake. I walked over to open his cage while Daniel disappeared into the bedroom, rambling about wine tastings and how the Amalfi Coast was supposed to be heaven on Earth.
But I wasn’t thinking about Italy.
I was thinking about poor Cynthia. Her heartbreaking death. And the things she’d tried to tell me before she was killed.
She’d managed to give me the Breakers.
But what else had she been trying to tell me?
Chapter 7
We’d been traveling for weeks. Paris, London, Vienna, Munich, Berlin, Amsterdam, Rome, and now Venice.
We were staying at a five-star hotel tucked inside an old Venetian mansion. Ornate ceilings. Faded frescoes. Chandeliers made of gold. Everything about it felt like a dream.
Daniel spoiled me with the finest. Champagne breakfasts. Private boats. Jewelry and dresses. The whole trip was like a movie. Even the nightmares had drastically eased after Berlin.
Of course, I still thought about Cynthia. But if she was watching from wherever she was, I thought she’d be glad to see me doing better. Maybe even smiling.
Daniel and I were walking along the narrow street just outside the hotel. Afternoon light slid down the buildings in golden streaks. On the right, one of those postcard-perfect side alleys opened up. It was lined with flower-covered balconies. There was a souvenir shop.
That was where I saw them.
Little pig statues crowded on top of a table outside the shop. Each was frozen in the middle of doing something absurdly Italian. We walked over and took a closer look.
One of the pigs twirled spaghetti with a tiny fork. Another balanced a pizza box on its nose. A third sipped red wine.
I reached for that one, my lips twitching into a faint smile. Cynthia would have loved them. For her collection. I could almost hear her laugh.
“Oh, shoot,” Daniel said, patting his pockets. “I forgot my phone at the hotel. Be right back.”
I nodded. “I’ll wait here.”
I grabbed the one with the pizza on its nose, debating whether to buy it.
A sudden explosion cracked through the air.
My body jerked.
It was fireworks from a plaza down the alley.
But not to me. To me, it was a gunshot.
