“Whatiswrong with these places,” Rosaria said, more flippant than usual—her hair had been tossed in the wind at the Cliffs, and she still couldn’t settle it down, putting her in a pissy mood, “is that we have not danced once! What is this? A history school trip or a girl’s getaway?”
“I agree,” Abree said, the same flippancy in her tone. It didn’t seem like they meant it all of the time. The sisters just seemed wired that way. Cut from the same cloth. “Where is the fun in seeing a bunch of old ruins? The wordruinsays it all.”
“I love it!” I said, nudging Carmen next to me. She had started to stiffen. “My camera is full of pictures.” And my bag was full of Scottish shortbread, which I pulled out and offered to Carmen.
She took one with thanks. Probably glad to have something to occupy her mouth. Carmen and Rosaria were friendly, but there was some tension there. Abree seemed to be making it worse.
Rosaria scoffed. “For a world-renowned dancer, you have lived a sheltered life.Anythingintrigues you.” She made me soundsoboring. “You shy away from the nightlife. Being connected at the hip to yourhusbandwill do that to a woman.”
Abree and Colette both tittered at this remark.
I narrowed my eyes at the back of Rosaria’s unkempt hair and shook my fingers over it, salting her raven locks with shortbread crumbs. She touched the top of her head, but she hadn’t realized what I had done. It was better to get revenge on Rosaria without having to use my tongue. She had a sharp one.
Carmen, Chiara, and Valentina snickered around me, all asking for a cookie afterward.
My phone chirped. I dug in my bag again, staying out of the debate on whether an Italian man would wear a kilt or not.
I sighed, heaviness in my heart.
Brando’s usual:You okay?
His messages were neverWhat did you see today? Did you take plenty of pictures for me?No, it was alwaysYou okay?, and once I replied withyes, conversation over.
He might have sent me off like some romantic hero in a novel would do, but life wasn’t like a fairytale, and his cold demeanor permeated the air even when he didn’t occupy it.
Hewashaving a good time though. I checked. It took him a while to warm up, but Rocco, Dario, Romeo, and Uncle Tito’s pleased voices on the other line assured me he was showing them a side of himself that he had never before. Rocco said he had never seen Brando smile so wide as when the group went under with great white sharks. I could feel Rocco’s smile over the line. Their big brother was enchanting them.
That was enough to keep me warm, even through his cold and impersonal contact.
Are you having fun?I texted back.
Five minutes later.Tell me, Scarlett.
With snapping fingers, I texted back,FINE.
No response came after that, so I shoved my phone back into my purse.
“Still mad?” Carmen inquired with a lift of her brow. Her eyes were a true amber and striking against her black hair and copper skin.
“Still unsure about this,” I admitted. “He’s just worried. The less he talks to me, the less chance of me telling him something that will worry him even more.”
She grinned at that. “I know nothing’s perfect, but I love watching the two of you. You have something special.”
“Are you getting excited for the wedding?” I asked.
Her cheeks went a touch pink at that. I offered her another shortbread cookie and she shook her head, grinning when the cookie found itself in my mouth. “I’m excited,” she said, pulling out her glasses from her bag. She swept her hair back and then slid them over her eyes. “It still seems unreal sometimes though.”
Abree made a rude remark in Italian—I bet it is, gold digger, or something along those lines. Carmen frowned at her. I did too. Carmen didn’t speak Italian, but she had Spanish. Although the languages were different, she could understand some of what was being said and was able to participate in conversations.
“Now, now,” Violet said, sensing the tension start to rise. She was good at being mother hen when she needed to be. “Let’s enjoy the sights!” She turned the radio on to ease the tension.
“It Takes Two” was in the midst of playing. We ignored Abree’s remark, as we usually did, and the rest of us began to hum at first and then sing. Just as Carmen and I started to do the duet together, her being Marvin Gaye and me Kim Weston, the van stared to gurgle. There was no other way to describe it. It seemed to be gasping for breath, spluttering and wheezing, and before we knew it, the motor spewed white smoke into the pure Irish air—then it came as dark as a demon. The smell of it was so acrid that I hoped it didn’t pollute the cows and their ability to make good Irish butter.
Violet navigated us to the side of the road, which was a thin strip of grass that separated us from the nosebleed section of Ireland’s rugged coastline. The eight of us flew out of the van, grabbing our things upon exit.
Ciro drove the van behind us, Guido in the passenger seat. Both men, along with the eight in their own car, eyed our van dubiously. Though the air was far below warm, Guido patted at his head with a handkerchief from his back pocket. Droplets of sweat bubbled up from his skin. Thomas shook his head next to him. Two other men argued over what was wrong with the van, almost coming to blows over who was right.
“Enough!” Violet shouted. “My husband is a mechanic! I know what I’m doing.”
