“No.” I squint in their direction. “What is it?”
“They say this place exists because Hercules created it. He needed a burial place for his beloved bride, the nymph Amalfi. She died young, leaving him utterly heartbroken, so he chose the most beautiful place he could find, a place where the sea met the sky and where nature flourished. He decorated her burial place with trees that carried fruit as bright and fragrant as the sun, so he planted them everywhere he could. Lemon trees, which he stole from the Garden of the Hesperides.”
“No way,” I marvel. I’d been right about this being the perfect place to fall in love, at least. “That’s incredibly romantic.”
“The most famous story is fromThe Odyssey.” Nico points to the bay. “Right here, the Bay of Ieranto, is where the sirens perched as they attempted to seduce Odysseus during his journey home from Troy. Their songs were so entrancing that it would send the sailors into a stupor, luring them into treacherous waters, and eventually to their deaths.”
“I remember that from elementary school. AndOdysseus told his men to tie him up so he could listen to their song, right?” I hadn’t ever thought of these myths as happening in real places. How strange it is, to be here in this place where the stories originated.
“Yes. Legend says the sirens were so distraught by his apathy that they threw themselves in the water, turning to stone, and drowned.”
“Do you believe in all that?” I ask, staring out at the white caps in the water and the lush green cliffside speckled with violet flowers.
“They say mythology is a mix of truth and fable.” Nico shrugs. “But there’s something special about this place. And there’s a magic in believing in the impossible.”
The way he says it makes me think it applies not only to mythology, but to other things, too. I could sit here forever, skin on Nico’s, staring out at the ocean. But no matter how slow Nico says the pace is around here, I don’t want to find out how slow is “too slow” for his mom.
“I think a crate of wine is calling our names. Shall we?” I ask.
“Yes. We should go.” Nico pops up and grabs the dishes, tossing them in a recycling bin. “We’re not far.”
We only walk a block or two farther until Nico is knocking on Vittoria’s door.
“Nico!” Vittoria greets Nico like he’s a celebrity. She hugs him so tight that I worry his head might pop off, kissing him on both cheeks before pinching them and admiring his curls. She spews a rush of Italian at him. Nicohands over the gifts from his mom, which sends Vittoria into another tizzy. Then she’s scurrying around, packing food and cookies for Nico to take home, piling fresh produce in a burlap bag until it’s so full it may rip apart.
Then Vittoria notices me, standing awkwardly on her front stoop, and she’s fawning over me too. She says something to Nico, and his cheeks burn. He appears to be trying to change the subject to the matter at hand, because he finally points at the crate of wine that’s sitting by her front door.
And then Vittoria is on a different tangent, explaining something about the wine.
“Grazie, grazie,” Nico repeats over and over as he bows his head, lifting the crate and taking small steps back as he attempts to leave.
We do eventually escape, laughing as we tumble down the walkway. We lug the wine back together, bottles clanking against the sides as we each keep hold of one side of the crate. Nico’s other arm is full of the burlap bag bursting with produce and gifts for his mom.
The coastline is enchanting set against the water at dusk, dotted with tiny pops of yellow from all the lemons. It’s the sunset, the stories, the laughter, the company that makes the words spill from my mouth. “Someday, I want to find someone who loves me so much they’d create all of this for me. A paradise of ten thousand lemon trees.”
Nico looks at me, that glint in his eye. And then he delivers his line so low and with so much conviction itsends a shiver down my spine. “Soraya, I have no doubt that you will.”
My chest swells. I warm from head to toe. In this moment, I want to be nowhere but right here, even with everything that’s led me down this narrow, winding path with Nico. As we swing the crate of wine under the lamppost, my steps feel as light as my heart.
And to stop myself from saying something I don’t mean just because I’m caught up in the Italian sunset, I say something frivolous instead. “After all of this, I sure hope I get to try some of this wine.”
Nico smiles but doesn’t say anything back, like he knows I wanted to say something else entirely.
CHAPTER 27
Some mornings sing to you—that’show this one feels. The birds are chirpier than usual and there’s not a single cloud in the sky. But I’m here, feeling nauseous instead.
Anya and Mari are eating breakfast out on the patio. Neither has looked in my direction once, which suggests we are not any closer to thawing the frostiness between us. Mari picks mindlessly at a plate of fruit while crocheting what looks to be the finishing touches on a stuffed lemon. Anya has her notebook open and is scribbling as she laughs at something Mari just said.
It stings.
I should be there, next to them, in on the joke.
I look for clues of what they’ve been doing—maybe those crinkly curls at the end of Mari’s hair means they’ve been spending their days in the water. What did they do last night, when I was managing the dinner rush? What memories have they been making without me? A sharp pain ripples through me. I’d found a photo album in the room when I helped Nico clean the other day and hadn’tbeen brave enough to open it and see proof of the Polaroids that Mari is snapping of just Anya and her. They’re eating breakfast at our regular table, the one we would hog when we were all on speaking terms. It abuts the balcony, and Anya and Mari sit across from each other while my empty seat stares out at the ocean.
Nico notices, but thankfully he has the tact to know that I don’t want to talk to him about my estranged friends. “It’s Tuesday morning. Should we take a field trip?”
I know he’s just trying to distract me, but I’m grateful. “What does it being Tuesday have to do with anything?”
