“You grew up here with your aunt and uncle?”
Ah shit. Here we go.
“I grew up in Brooklyn with my Nonna, but I moved here when I was ten—when she passed,” I clarify, watching her face change from interested to saddened. She has zero emotional filter right now.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. And mio Dio does she look sorry. She looks like she’s about to cry. I force myself to look up the cobblestone street.
“You came over here by yourself? At ten years old? That must have been terrifying.”
I shrug. It was. But she doesn’t need to know that.
“Nina and Leo were here. Believe me, I was never alone,” I say.
She nods, understanding how impossible it is to be alone with two personalities so big.
“You must have been incredibly brave,” she says to her wine.
“Bravery is making a choice despite your fear. I had no choice.”
Her hand falls on top of mine and I study her expression as she registers that she’s touching me. Her eyes widen, and she pulls her hand back so fast an empty wine glass clatters against the table.
She stands, too quickly, and through willpower alone, barely teeters. I imagine her stubborn ass could will herself sober if she chose. She’s a tiny whirlwind right now and, despite myself, I can’t help but enjoy the view. Verga immediately pops up by her side, looking up at her like she’s the sun. Poor shmuck.
She strides away, lifting her purse over her shoulder as she passes and slipping her flats back on her toes, both arms out to balance as she pokes her head inside the restaurant and yells goodbye to Vincenzo. She makes her way down the hill and back through the archway. My traitorous dog doesn’t follow at first, just looks at me, and I swear in that moment as he takes in the stupid grin on my face, I can hear him repeat my thought right back at me.
Poor shmuck.
DODICI
Ava
Groups of college students are passing us heading back into the city from the dormitories in the hills. I compliment them despite James’s shushing as he tugs me in the direction of the villa with his hand covering his face.
“Ladies, looking good—damnnnnn, Gina. Wear that dress!”
“You’re going to regret this tomorrow when one of them is in our class,” he tells me over his shoulder. I make a face at the back of his head when he turns. I don’t get drunk like this often—must uphold Bennington standards in public. But being over four thousand miles from home feels like an invisibility cloak on top of the glorious wine haze. Everything feels warm and soft. Fuzzy at the edges. And I’m not wasting it.
“They don’t recognize me. I’m incognito,” I say, tipping Franco’s hat down over my eyes, then immediately tripping over Verga because I can’t see.
“You’re literally wearing the exact outfit you wore to class today,” he says, finally releasing his death grip on my wrist.
“Wanna switch clothes?” I pretend to lift my shirt up and he yanks my arm harder. “Calm your hormones, Jamesy. A little girl-on-girl positivity is allowed and encouraged.”
He lets out a dramatic breath and I give him a saccharine smile.
“You’re dangerous when you drink,” he says to himself, putting distance between us so that he’s on one side of the curving road and I’m on the other.
“Fun dangerous? Or like liability dangerous? Oooooh, my mug!”
I reach for the white ceramic mug I left on the wall that morning and hold it up to him. He lifts his brows, one side of his mouth slightly higher.
“I’m very thirsty,” I tell him. I drop the dry mug in my purse. “Do you have any water?”
“Your brain reminds me ofIf You Give a Mouse a Cookieright now,” he murmurs. “I’ll get you a whole pitcher when we get back if you’re good.” He gestures with his hands for me to pick up the pace or do a somersault. Definitely one of those.
I do neither. I make a smooching sound and Verga comes to my side of the road.
He laughs. “What the hell did you do to my dog?”
