“No problem,” she said. “Are you enjoying the island?”
“I love it!” I said with way too much excitement. I grinned. “As you can tell.”
She laughed. “I do too. Even though this island has its share of dark history, it’s mostly?—”
“Romantic,” I said.
She studied my face. “Was everything okay, before I mean? The reason you were late getting to the boat in time?”
I couldn’t lie to this woman, just like I couldn’t lie to Eva. Lying to them was like lying to myself—a waste of time. I had to tell someone. Ishouldtell someone.
“Not really,” I said. “I—I caused an accident, by accident, while I was on the bus to Naples. A…” I stopped for a second, finding it hard to go on. Finding it hard to breathe. But I pushed through with a whispered, “A woman was killed.” This was going to be the real kicker. Especially if these two were fans. “Rosaria Caffi.”
Brando’s eyes didn’t snap to mine but seemed to stick to the side of his wife’s face.
“It was an accident,” I rushed to say again. “I had a bad dream, woke up thinking someone was after me, and it scared the driver. He swerved. She was driving really fast, it seemed. The cliffs are high,” I lamely finished with.
Scarlett reached out for my hand and squeezed. “I know,” she whispered. “Rosaria was married to my brother-in-law.”
Oh.
My.
God.
Rosaria was a Fausti!
She had told me to stay away from her husband.
Was he on this island?
Of course he isn’t.
He’s home mourning his wife!
Panic settled deep inside of my chest, and I tried to hide it, but my face felt stuck in this weird limbo. It was frozen between shocked eyes and a trembling lip.
And what had Scarlett meant?
I know.
She knew?
Did the Fausti family know it was me who had caused the bus to swerve? Or did she know that it was truly an accident? Or was it? Sometimes it felt as if Rosaria and I had beef in another lifetime, and I was somehow getting back at her.
This was all so effing weird!
I finally took control of myself. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I whispered. “She sang beautifully.”
It wasn’t Scarlett who gave me a peculiar look at that, but her husband. He looked between us and then shook his head, like he should have expected it.
Expected what?
It was hard to get a read on him. The only thing I felt was the love and adoration he had for his wife. Scarlett…she was neutral. I felt nothing coming from her one way or another, I just pieced together the clues her tone and body language shared. She seemed to get a read on me, though.
She squeezed my hand, forgiveness in her touch that words could never do justice. “Would you like to have dinner with us?”
“Thank you,” I said, touching my stomach. “But I’ve already eaten, and I’m full. It was so good seeing you again though. Will you be around for a while?”
