“Are you sure you’re ready for all this?” I asked.
He smiled. “As certain as I am that the pasta we had last night was the worst I’ve ever eaten.”
The shift in topic was so abrupt that I blinked, then burst into laughter. “Oh, God, the pasta. Why the hell did he put banana in it?”
“I don’t know, but the police should be called,” Daniel said.
I laughed even harder.
“And the song he played on the cassette recorder.” Daniel shook his head. “Celine Dion?”
I gasped between giggles. “Yes. FromTitanic.”
“I mean, I like that song. But good God. When he started singing along, totally out of tune.”
I laughed so hard, it took a moment to pull myself together. “I have to tell you something,” I confessed. “I didn’t actually have an upset stomach.”
“No!” Daniel gasped, eyes wide with mock betrayal. “You lied about diarrhea to abandon me with that man?”
I nodded, laughing again.
“Jesus, Emily. He sang it again. Twice. Hoping you’d come back and finish the duet.”
“I know.” I chuckled. “I was in the bathroom listening. It was too embarrassing to come back out. Everyone was staring when he made us hold hands.”
“You’re terrible,” he said, but he was laughing too.
“To be fair, it was also here in Italy that we had the best pasta we’ve ever had,” I said, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
“Yes, we did. The people. The wine.” He leaned in and kissed me gently behind my ear, right where the scar was. “Your moans at night.”
I gave him a playful shove, grinning despite myself.
He smirked, unapologetic, and pulled out his mini travel guide. “There’s a great ice cream place a few streets from here. What do you say? Think your upset stomach can handle it?”
I smiled. “As long as they don’t make us sing.”
He stood and stretched. “God, I hope not. That was so cheesy.”
I watched him. His brown hair shimmered in the Italian sunlight. His eyes were soft and kind. He wore the handsome smile that made me feel like the luckiest woman in the world. He looked so elegant—the only man under sixty walking around with a paper travel guide instead of using his phone.
It had been a rough few months. Horrible, honestly. What happened to Cynthia still haunted me, and I still didn’t know who I really was. But pulling back the curtain on Daniel, letting go of the doubt buried deep inside me, felt like a big step. For us. For me.
Maybe the Breakers could bring us some peace.
And it felt good to do something for him for a change.
As I stood and reached for his arm, Daniel looked at me. “Do you want to record my voice? To make sure this is real?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t need to.”
I really meant it.
It felt huge.
Maybe the Breakers wasn’t just a place where life ended. Maybe it was where something new could begin.
Chapter 8
