“Because it’s eyelash glue!”
“Whaaat?!” I spit and rinse with a liter of mouthwash.
“Never ask me anything before I have my coffee. And keep your things on your half of the vanity.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight today,” she says.
“I can see that. What’s going on with you?” I ask, even though in my mind, I’m thinking of all the horrible ways that eyelash glue could kill me. Will it be a sudden death or a slow and painful one?
“This afternoon Charles and I are going to Monteriggioni, and I don’t know if I’m dressed right, if it’s too much or too little ...”
“You’re getting ready now to go this afternoon?” I ask, even more amazed. She cares a lot about her appearance, but she usually gets ready last-minute for her dates. She even has an app for her outfits so she doesn’t waste time. This version of Giada, insecure and anxious, is completely new to me.
“This morning I have three clients. I don’t want to be pressed for time and then find myself with hair that won’t style, bad make-up, and nothing to wear.”
“Hon, your closet is so full you take up half of mine. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Okay? I’m fine!” she exclaims, cheerful, her eyes gleaming. “It’s just ... promise you won’t make fun of me for what I’m about to tell you.”
“I promise.”
“I think Charles is the one.”
“That’s what every mother in Belvedere thinks. Only Michael could beat him with how filthy rich he is, if he didn’t take such pride in having become such an arrogant asshole. He’s always been proud, but the years have brought out the worst in him.”
“You talk about Michael’s money as if it were his fault. He didn’t choose to be born into one of the wealthiest families in England.”
“No, his fault is insisting he’s better than everyone else.”
“Look who’s talking,” Giada sprays a jet of hairspray in my face. “Miss, ‘No one here is good enough for me.’ It’s no coincidence that the only person to whom you extended the gift of your pristine flower was—”
“Shh!” I silence her with a hand over her mouth. “Are you crazy? Linda is in the other room! What if she hears you?”
“If only she did. That kid has every right to know whose daughter she is.”
“It’s irrelevant,” I cut her short. “And anyway, we were talking about you. How did we end up on me?”
“You were the one who mentioned Michael,” she retorts. “Actually, ever since he made his appearance here, you somehow manage to slip him into every conversation.”
“That’s not remotely true. In any case, you were saying that Carletto is the one ...”
“As soon as we saw each other again, a spark lit up inside me, and now I feel like I’m on fire!”
“Pepto-Bismol,” I say, taking the box from the medicine cabinet. “Four times a day after meals. Works like a charm.”
“You take the antacid,” she retorts. “It’ll do you good. He and I, on the other hand, are on the same wavelength. We get each other, and he’s kind, and thoughtful, and a romantic dreamer with his feet on the ground. He’s my ideal man.”
“I wish I had a euro for every time you’ve said that.” I’d be richer than the Aga Khan. “Like the time you fell in love with that poet, whatshisname? The one who dedicated all those sonnets to you. It was supposed to be forever until he disappeared.”
“I’ve uninstalled MatchMe and all my other dating apps,” she exclaims, showing me her phone.
I don’t believe it. Someone call a doctor. “Are you serious?”
“Serious as a tax collector.”
I believe her. I’m used to her crushes, but I’ve never seen her quite like this: She’s literally emanating light. “I’m happy for you, even though Carletto will take you around the world from New York to Singapore like you’ve dreamed of all your life, and I’ll basically never see you again.”
“It’s still early to think that far ahead, but I think he feels the same about me. If we do end up together, I’ll find a way to visit often ... Even if it’s just to make the wives and their poisonous daughters seethe.”
