“Yeah. With you. Forever.” The tip of his nose caresses mine.
“You’re not afraid to start from scratch?”
“I rewrote my CV. I’m willing to take any job, even as an intern. I don’t know much about viticulture, but I’m good with numbers.”
I cup his face in my hands, staring deeply into his eyes. “My Michael.”
“My Elisa.”
He takes my hands in his and our fingers intertwine, never to unclasp again. “You’re cold,” he whispers, kissing me.
“Not anymore.”
Epilogue
Elisa
Seven months later
“You take one too. Please?” Giada implores after we lock ourselves in the bathroom.
“Why?”
“Because you’ve already done it. You’re an expert, and I’ll feel better if you do it with me. Plus, that way we’ll know if it’s accurate. If my test is negative like yours, it means I’m not pregnant; if mine is positive, it means I’m pregnant for sure. Come on, help me out.”
“Do we have to do it today?” I ask, eyeing the time.
In less than half an hour, Jemma’s best friend, Cécile Loxley, is marrying one of Michael’s best friends at the estate. It’s a high-profile event, given that he’s a world-famous F1 driver; with all the British aristocracy and international superstars in attendance, Le Giuggiole has become a sort of destination for the jet set. In short, not exactly the time to lock yourself in the bathroom to take a pregnancy test.
We should be out there, making sure everything goes perfectly.
“We have to do it today,” insists my sister. “Because yesterday was too early, and I can’t handle the wait until tomorrow.”
“Does Charles know you might be pregnant?”
“Yeah. We’ve been trying. We’re ready to be parents.”
The two of them live in London now, in a cottage that looks like it’s from a film. Though to call it acottage—which is what they call it there—is an understatement, given that it has six bedrooms and four bathrooms. At least once a month, Giada comes back to visit us.
“Come on, the sooner we do it, the sooner we’re done,” she says, taking two sticks from a box that says Babypredictor and holding one out to me.
“The things you make me do ...” I mutter, sitting on the toilet, my tulle dress pulled up to my waist.
Giada does the same thing after me, and then we place the two tests on the sink.
She tortures her nails while waiting, while I peek out the window at the situation outside: The new swimming pool looks fantastic! Charlotte was right about adding one, and the design she drew up is perfectly integrated with the villa. I was terrified it would look tacky, but it looks like it’s always been there. It may have cost three times more than the average swimming pool, but we received a stratospheric wine order for the entire Bloom Group, so the next loan installments are as good as paid.
“The mascara! The mascara!” shouts Linda, charging into the bathroom.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Tommaso and I were sitting on the edge of the fountain ...”
“I know, I saw you,” I comment sharply. “Take a breath. This isn’t a freediving competition.” Linda and Tommaso got back together—“together” being an accurate spatial description, given that they spend most of the time with their mouths glued to each other’s—because he said he left her only to impress his friends but that in reality he’d fallen in love. Years of evolution and males are still stuck in the same place. If Darwin were alive, he’d revise his studies.
“Jemma’s dogs dived in like a bomb, and a wave hit us in the face.”
Good little naughty corgis. I’ll have to reward them with some bones.
