“I didn’t pick it up until the day before we flew,” I say quickly. I’m frustrated with myself. And now, perhaps unfairly, with Leo. I feel the heat rising in my neck all the way up to my cheeks.
“I see,” he says, as though the only thing he’sseenis that I’m ridiculous. “How can you not have read the book we’re here to finish? Your father’s book?” he says, dropping his fork down with a clatter. “It feels like you don’t want to be here.”
“I don’t,” I say, then I slump. “I mean Ido. Of course I do. It’s just...” My voice trails off as the waiter chooses this moment to clear away our meal. I barely notice him, my humiliation turning to frustration and then to anger as we sit in tense silence until the waiter scuttles away.
I turn to Leo. “It’s hard for me, okay?” My voice is loud enough that the other diners turn to look at us. “Don’t you get that?”
“Of course it’s fucking hard,” he says, throwing his hands up in frustration.
“You willneverunderstand my relationship with my father,” I say, feeling tears start to well. I swallow hard, forcing them back down. “I’m doing my fucking best.” My voice cracks and I can’t look at him. I can’t look at him sitting there judging me. “When I open that book, it’s the last of him.”
That silences Leo.
The waiter returns, fussing with the plates and looking anxiously between the two of us. “Do either of you want gelato?” he asks, as though he were offering an aspirin.
“No,” Leo and I say in unison.
I stare out at the postcard-perfect view as the waiter leaves.
“I just want to do a good job,” Leo says finally. More gently. “If you need me to lead, I can. I have ideas...”
I look up at him. “No,” I say. “You’ll just turn the caponata into a jelly ball.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out flat.
“I’ll bring you my copy of the manuscript,” he says as the waiter presents him with the bill and the card reader.
“It’s okay. I already emailed the publisher for a digital copy.”
“Take mine,” he insists. “Why don’t you take the day tomorrow, read the book. Find your feet. Then we can meet in the afternoon.”
I nod gratefully. Then I fish in my purse and pull out a twenty-euro note, which I slide under my untouched drink, thinking of the special treatment I eye-rolled and the waiter’s anxious gaze.
“I already left a tip,” says Leo.
“It won’t be enough,” I say, and then I pick up my phone and start typing furiously.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving my first-ever five-star review,” I say sheepishly.
7
THE NEXT MORNING, I exit my room frantically messaging
Kate and Ginny on yesterday’s Leo shitstorm. With my head down, completely engrossed in my phone, I turn the corner toward the stairs and run straight into him. Chest to chest, our bodies smack together and I fly toward the floor, but Leo moves with lightning speed, grabbing a flailing hand and sliding his other hand behind my back along the bare skin at my waist, catching me just before I hit the floor. Then we are frozen as though he’s dipped me in a tango.
I look into Leo’s eyes, which are searching mine from above. “Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod frantically. I’m acutely aware of his warm hand on my bare lower back, and the fizzing feeling spreading through my body as he slowly pulls me up, his touch crackling against my skin like popping candy.
As soon as I’m on my feet, I pull away as quickly as I can, and Leo rubs that hand with his other as if massaging away a cramp.
“Sorry,” he replies, as we crouch at the same time to clear up the mess.I start laughing as I scramble to gather my lipstick, wallet, pens, notebook, tissues, tampons, and gum into my bag, wondering if this is what hysteria feels like. “Are you hurt?”
“Only my ego,” I reply, hiccuping the last of my laughter. As he hands me my phone, a message on the lit-up screen reads:
KATE:He doesn’t sound very nice
“Who’she?” he says, an eyebrow raised.
