He seemed to think getting her to stay put took force.
A cage.
He did not know her.
He would never know her like I did.
I could get her to stay with me with only a whispered word, a soft touch.
Because her bones knew mine.
Her blood knew mine.
Her heart knew mine.
She was mine.
And there would only be one man she called when she needed anything.
Me.
I opened my arms to her when we took a seat at a bar. She flew to them, and I locked her in. Instead of fighting, she relaxed into the safety of her protective home.
TWENTY-EIGHT
AVA
“You look different.”
After spending the day at Brio and Lucila’s “new” villa, we were walking the street of Naples at night, admiring all the decorations and doing some shopping. Brio and Nazzareno walked a couple of paces behind me and Luci. Minnie was wedged between them.
She seemed infatuated with Nazzareno. It had always been Brio. And he seemed a little jealous. He was the only brother in her life, and Nazzareno was working his way there.
I smiled and then shook my head, knowing it was only a short dream.
Of the way we were in that second.
He was getting married.
I had to keep reminding myself of that.
Even if we walked these streets after he said his vows, it would never be the same.
We were both free in that moment.
I cleared my throat and answered Luci. “Yeah, I’ve lost some weight. You know this already—Italy is a country of walking and the freshest foods. I eat more than I did in New York, but I’ve lost weight. Plus, Nazzareno eats what I would consider a Mediterranean diet, even if he doesn’t call it that. Olive oil, olives, nuts, and fish are staples in his pantry and fridge, and I started eating them with him. Drinking a glass of red wine every evening too. I feel much better.”
Even when I’d feel great in New York after cutting back, my face always seemed puffy, like I held water weight in it or something. Once a woman even stopped me on the street on my way to Vice City and told me I was swollen because I was holding in childhood trauma. It was causing an autoimmune issue. I told her all I was holding in was leftover alcohol from the night before, then told her to get lost.
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” she had called after me. “Give me the chance to unblock your blocks!”
“For how much?” I’d shouted back. Everything had a price, and I wasn’t a poor sucker who didn’t know it.
“$25.99!”
So, for basically twenty-six bucks, I bought myself some good face cream and one of those marble rollers, and I didn’t have to unblock anything. I even treated myself to an at home-office spa night once or twice a week. It was only a temporary fix, but Italy seemed to cure me of it in a much deeper place. And for free.
“No, this change has nothing to do with your physical appearance,” Lucila said. “Even though I can see it, you have lost weight, but again, not what I’m talking about.”
