Leo lifts a hand to his face, and I watch as he slowly drags it from his forehead to his mouth, dropping it as he tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling. His broad shoulders rise and fall and he remains still for what feels like minutes.
The guilt returns. The shame follows.
He can get another job. Kate’s counsel is on repeat in my head like a mantra.You didn’t ask for this. And what are you going to do? Give him a whole fucking restaurant? No.
I take a step back in anticipation of his... anger? I don’t know what’s coming.
Leo turns, hands on his narrow hips where his jeans hang a little low.
“And if it wasn’t a sinkhole?” he says slowly.
“I’d still sell,” I say, hearing the crack in my voice as I say it.
“Please reconsider,” he says, more firmly.
“No,” I hit back sharply, teetering very close to tears. The tiredness. The just... not wanting this important conversation to happen like this.Now.
Leo flinches, a crease appearing between his brows as he leans forward and pulls a beer out of the fridge, knocking the top off on the edge of the bar.
He glances at me and then back at the beer. “I always pay for them,” he says quickly. “There’s a list under the till and we...”
I hold my hand up, shaking my head. “I really don’t need to know.”
“We’re going to Sicily in seven days,” he says. “Could you keep an open mind? Could we talk about it on the trip?”
No. It isn’t fair on anyone to drag this out.
“No expectations,” he says. “Just.Wow. I can’t quite bear the idea this is over without so much as a discussion.”
I feel annoyed. I drag my eyes from Leo toward the dark kitchen. I wanted to go to Dad’s office. I wanted to see if he kept his gelato in the freezer at the perfect height for a kid to sneak in and scoop it out into a paper cup without Mum noticing. I wanted to see if I felt anything other than the years of resentment I’d carried for this place. Although... I already have that answer.
“I’m selling,” I say, exhausted by the questioning. “Sorry. I didn’t ask for this.”
I see a glimpse of something like disgust in Leo’s eyes. And I stiffen, my anger sharpening as I feel a bit like a criminal giving a statement under duress.
“I’m going,” I say. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I should have waited until...”
My voice drifts off and I frown at Leo, who watches me intensely. Too intensely. I turn quickly and walk out the door.
3
ICAN’T BELIEVE Ihave to be there for four fucking weeks withhim,” I call out to Ginny.
Worse still, in Tuscany I’m supposed to be staying at his family’s home—there will be no escape from Leo.
“You can book a hotel in Florence if you’re still mortal enemies by the time you get to Tuscany,” Ginny calls out, as if she’s heard my thoughts.
“I have not packed for Italy in fifteen years,” I call back to Ginny as she finishes putting away the dishes from our boozy good-bye lunch. “And now I’m doing it after a glass of wine.”
“Beach clothes,” Ginny calls back, the clatter of cutlery startling me as it’s tossed back into the drawer. I’m so on edge: a heady mix of anxiety and excitement.
“But I’m not sure I’ll be at the beach much,” I reply, holding a strapless silk dress before tossing it into themaybepile. I glance at my phone, wondering if I should just grow the hell up and call Leo back, but the idea of another confrontation with him makes my palms sweat. The tone of his text messages has gotten increasingly impatient.
LEO:Olive. I think it’s important we have a plan ahead of the trip, don’t you? Shall we meet for coffee?
The next day.
LEO:Or a call if it’s easier?
