“That she could be difficult—apparently that was something Luca shared. And in truth, she comes off as a bit sullen. But it could all be a defense mechanism, an attempt to push people away before they could reject her.”
“She’s going through a lot,” Julian said.
“So are you,” Sloane pointed out. “Have you heard from Cliff?”
They’d purchased a bottle of limoncello while walking around Positano. Almost every shop—except for those selling handmade leather shoes, Amalfi-made ceramics or linen clothing—sold it, along with lemon candies, cookies, even lemon-coated almonds. His sister had told them Ben had sent her the recipe for a limoncello spritz, saying it would be fitting to enjoy a popular Amalfi digestif on their first night. So they’d purchased the vodka, club soda and Prosecco the recipe called for at a small family-owned grocery store in Praiano before starting down the path that would take them through the labyrinth of cliffside houses to their villa. Then they’d waited for Lilly to go to bed before actually making the spritzes and going outside to talk.
“He texted to ask if I’d watched his game.”
Sloane gaped at her; Julian felt the same surprise. “Are you kidding me? You were on your way to Italy to meet a sister you didn’t even know you had, and he wants to know if you watchedhisbasketball game?”
Julian was tempted to throw a little shade at Cliff, too, but he bit his tongue. Cliff’s indifference had to hurt; Julian didn’t want to deepen the wound.
“They beat the Cavs,” she said without much inflection.
Sloane rolled her eyes. “Who gives a damn?”
Charlotte shrugged as if to say it wasn’t all that important toheranymore, either. “He can be... self-absorbed. But in his defense, he’s used to people making a big deal about his ability to play ball. In his world, that’s all that matters.”
Julian could tell she was used to relying on that excuse. It was handy, ready, on the tip of her tongue. She’d probably been telling herself the same thing since the day she met him, because there had to besomejustification or it would be too difficult to look beyond the narcissism.
“Youshould’ve mattered to him,” Sloane grumbled. “What you’re going through—whathe’sputting you through—should matter to him.”
“I just need to get over him,” Charlotte said.
Julian swatted away a mosquito whining in his ear. “The split’s still new. Don’t worry, it’ll happen.”
Sloane tilted up her glass while holding back the slice of lemon and mint leaf. “I wonder if he’s still seeing that model.”
Julian scowled at his sister. “Let’s not talk about her. We have enough going on.”
Sloane put down her drink. “You’re right. Sorry, Char. I’m just so mad atClifford,” she said, mocking his full name.
Charlotte added more limoncello to her glass. “The shock and hurt I felt at first is turning into anger for me, too. It’s almost like he flipped a switch one day and became someone else, someone I don’t know—or an exaggerated version of his worst self. When I think about it, I’m stunned, so shocked I feel frozen solid, unable to move. But I have to keep functioning, have to keep moving forward, or my whole life will collapse.”
Julian propped his legs up on the empty chair beside him. The moon seemed huge tonight. The way it hung low over the water made him wish he could capture it through his lens. But night photography required hours of effort. He’d been out many times, from dusk until dawn, chasing enough light to photograph the red rocks of Moab with the stars filling the sky beyond them.
Fortunately, he’d managed to get one shot he was particularly proud of—something different from all his competitors, who were also out in that area, trying to do the same thing. Prints of it sold quite well at the gallery. But he didn’t plan to do any night shooting in Italy.
“So let’s imagine a life without Cliff,” he said. “Where would you ideally want to live?”
“Once I finish my book and have some breathing room, you mean? Until then I’m playing it safe and staying with my parents.”
Sloane lowered her voice. “If you bring Lilly home, will they let her stay there, too?”
“They will. My mom isn’t feeling well a lot of the time, but I’ll be there to take care of both of them.”
“While you write?” Julian said.
Charlotte shrugged. “Other people have to deal with life while they work.”
Other people weren’t on such a short deadline. Other people didn’t have their whole career hanging in the balance. But Julian didn’t say anything. Why add even more pressure when pressure was the biggest problem she faced? “What happens after you finish your book?”
“I think I’ll buy a house with the money I’m getting from the divorce.”
“In LA?” he said. Even small, middle-class homes in Orange County, where her parents lived, cost well over a million dollars. She’d still have a mortgage to pay.
“Or maybe San Diego,” she said.
