“Hmm,” Nico says.
“What?”
“It just sounds like, from what you describe, youdohave to work really hard. You planned the first part of your vacation around him, and he couldn’t even text you back.”
Nico’s trying to let me down easy, but it still stings.
“The thing about love is that you don’t have to be so worried about losing it. Love should never make you feel undeserving of it. Like you have to prove yourself for it.” Nico pauses. “True love, at least.”
“Yeah,” I say, because he’s right, of course. I lie there, swaying from side to side. It’s quiet then, apart from the crickets. Nico doesn’t ask any more questions, which is good because I’m not prepared to answer any, afraid of receiving responses that I don’t want to hear.
“Good night, Sora,” Nico finally says.
“Good night, Nico.”
I stare up at the night sky, counting the stars until I fall asleep.
CHAPTER 23
I’m on a pool float,lounging in languid waters as the sun shines down. There’s birdsong and crickets and trickling water from a nearby waterfall. I’m adjusting myself to get even more comfortable when I flip over and tumble out of the hammock.
“Ouch.” I collide with the very hard ground beneath the hammock, scraping my hands against concrete that’s already so hot you could fry an egg on it. I’ve sweat through my clothes, baking in the morning sun.
Any semblance of tranquility is gone the moment I come to. There’s no pool, no float, and no Nico, either. My only companion is a small bird with a vibrant tangerine-colored collar, pecking at a patch of grass not too far away. Memories of the horrible fight come rushing back and, once they do, they won’t leave again. I get up, stretching out my sore limbs. The small fountain must be set to a timer, because it’s spouting, the trickling I’d taken for a waterfall.
There is a small plate under a glass by my hammock—it contains a triangle of cheese, a buttery almond croissant,and a cluster of some of the largest grapes I’ve ever seen, still attached to the vine. Nico’s placed it over a note that reads:Didn’t want to wake you. I’ve taken Anya and Mari into town. Be back around lunch. In the meantime, some light reading.He’s left a folded-up newspaper and circled one of the front-page headlines in thick blue marker:COULD THERE BE A SERIAL KILLER IN ROME?The article covers a string of murders that have happened near the Trevi Fountain in the city center of Rome, the most recent being last night. Underneath, he’s scribbled,This makes you my alibi.
I laugh. The sound startles me, because just last night I would have sworn I’d never laugh again. I pick at my breakfast, forcing down a juicy grape before ripping off a corner of the croissant. A glance at my phone reveals that not only have Anya and Mari stayed radio silent, but Wes hasn’t made any attempt to reach out either. How had everything gone sideways so quickly? Just last night it had felt like my life was finally falling into place.
I glance toward the lobby. If they’ll be gone for the next few hours, I could sneak upstairs—change my clothes, shower, maybe even take a short nap. I don’t think I got even ten seconds of REM sleep last night. I sneak through the lobby, feeling like a thief.
Once within the confines of our small room, I make a beeline for the shower. But I’m startled by a noise—a soft meow from Anya’s side of the bed.
“So, this is happening now,” I say as Anya’s cat hissesat me, tail bushy and big. He’s staring, judging me. Scolding me for my behavior. I inch against the wall to pass by him until I make it to the bathroom. I turn the shower up as hot as it will go and scrub off last night’s makeup. I would cry, letting my tears melt into the shower stream, but I just feel empty and depleted; there are no more tears coming. I’ve always done my best thinking in the shower, but today there are no lightbulb ideas.
Once out, I rummage through my suitcase for a change of clothes, packing up a small emergency bag to keep over by the hammock. Who knows how long I’ll have to take refuge in the courtyard, taking advantage of Nico’s generosity.
After blow-drying my hair, I tuck myself away under the covers amid the watchful eye of Anya’s cat. I’m not sure how long I nap until I’m awoken by familiar laughter from outside. It’s Mari.
I bolt out of bed. Through the window, Anya, Mari, and Nico are walking up the winding road, holding burlap bags overflowing with produce. Mari licks a cone of gelato and Anya smiles easily as she talks to Nico. Neither of them seem all that bothered that a bomb has gone off in our friendship. My heart pings, for just a second, with jealousy. And from their indifference.
I have no idea what to do, but the thought of facing them feels insurmountable right now. I grab my spare clothes and slip out to head back to my hammock oasis.
Like I was never there at all.
CHAPTER 24
Nico, with his tall statureand broad frame, is a very convenient tree to hide behind, which is just where I find myself this afternoon when Anya and Mari leave through the lobby for what I can only assume is an off-property dinner.
Once Anya and Mari disappear down the street, I step into my role as Nico’s shadow, preparing check-in folders, folding pool towels, and packing up breakfast leftovers because the B and B donates to a nearby church. Nico says they don’t need the help, but I insist, because I need the distraction.A busy body quiets an unsettled mind, Mom always claims, and I am determined to live it until it comes true.
I settle in on one of the two reception desk stools. I choose the one right in front of the complimentary bowl of individually wrapped pistachio and hazelnut chocolates. I pop one in my mouth every time Nico turns his back to me, crumpling the evidence in my jean shorts pocket. I try to rearrange the bowl, playing my own version of Jenga, as I try to make it appear as full as it was before I had my way with it.
Nico sits on the stool next to me. He’s wearing shorts that are creeping up his lean, muscular legs, revealing the outline of his tattoo. It’s a shield, intricately detailed, with a roaring lion in the middle and what looks to be flowers blooming from the center. There’s a banner with his last name, Caccini, written on it in cursive.
Nico catches me staring. “It’s the family crest.”
“Is there a story to it?” I ask.
