What on earth was he doing with her on the Seine late at night, talking about his feelings?
More than that, what was he doing reading her books?
It boggled her mind.
She continued reading as much as she could about him. It looked like he owned a number of high-roller restaurants, casinos, resorts, and cruise ship companies. He’d been photographed with all manner of politicians and movie stars. In some of the photographs, his ex-wife was featured. She was a little bit younger, with plenty of plastic surgery. Not that Estelle judged plastic surgery. But it was clear she’d had a great deal of expensive work done, all on Albert’s dime, she was sure.
Estelle began to laugh softly. A few people in the restaurant noticed and glanced over at her. Probably, they thought she was a crazy lady, that she was an old woman in a restaurant, dining alone, showing how insane she’d gotten in her loneliness.
But truly, she was laughing because she knew she would never see Albert again. All she could thank him for, she supposed, was having opened the door back into her emotions. He’d reminded her that she was so much more than her grief. For that, she would remain thankful forever.
16
Rome, Italy
It was the beginning of August and the morning before Rachelle’s engagement party. Incidentally, it was also the final week before she, Riccardo, and all of Riccardo’s family left Rome for the rest of the summer. They would do what wealthy Roman elites had done for centuries: leave Rome and head to the coast to escape the insufferable heat. They would sail and swim and eat decadently—basically living out Rachelle’s entire childhood back in Nantucket.
Rachelle mentioned this fact to Riccardo sometimes. She told him she was an island girl who had learned to sail from an early age. She’d basically learned how to swim before she knew how to walk. Sometimes, Riccardo seemed to listen to her stories. Other times, he seemed bent on confirming to her that Italy was far better than Nantucket, that in marrying him and moving here, she’d upgraded her life in numerous ways.
But first, the engagement party. Valeria and Rachelle had worked tirelessly over the past few weeks to plan an event thatRachelle knew would exhaust her and terrify her and project her into the Roman elite. The engagement party, according to Valeria, was a way to introduce Rachelle to their long-standing friends and family members, people Rachelle would have to fit in with and celebrate the holidays with for the rest of her life. “These are the people who will send you gifts when your children are born, who will be there for you during every phase of your life,” Valeria said. Rachelle knew to take it all seriously. Not once did she suggest to Valeria that her own mother or sister should be invited. She knew it was beside the point.
Riccardo still wasn’t awake, so Rachelle put on her running shoes and went into the world for a long, strenuous run. She swept down boulevards, slipped through alleyways, and nearly collapsed near the river, where she forced herself to regroup so she could run some more. Just as Valeria had wanted her to, she’d lost a bit more weight for the engagement party, and she knew the running would only help. Plus, it calmed her anxiety, albeit only a little.
Since she’d left Diana’s restaurant to try on wedding dresses, her work with Diana had lessened considerably. Diana had only put her on the schedule twice in the previous weeks, telling Rachelle that, of course, she wanted her to work more, but only if she felt she could manage it. Rachelle hated that Diana was cross with her. But she wasn’t sure how to apologize without admitting both to herself and to Diana that she was making some kind of mistake.
She wasn’t making a mistake. She knew that, didn’t she?
But without the money from her job with Diana, Rachelle knew she was becoming increasingly indebted to Riccardo and his family. The idea of opening her own place felt like a pipe dream, which was incredible, given that she’d only just managed it earlier this summer.
It was then she realized how close she was to Coleman, her restaurant. Adrenaline rocketed through her, and she ran the rest of the way to the site of her greatest disaster. Now that she’d given up the lease, she was curious about who would take over and what would be built in its place. Another restaurant? More gelato? She wiped sweat from her brow. But someone was moving inside the burnt-out restaurant. She ducked behind a statue, eyeing the restaurant, as she didn’t want the landlord to see her snooping around. She didn’t know why.
Sure enough, the landlord came out of the restaurant, using his arms as he spoke rapidly. He was maybe showing a potential renter around. He turned around and continued chatting, perhaps explaining what had happened during the opening night of her restaurant. Rachelle wondered if, in his spiel, he blamed her.
But that was when she realized who he was talking to.
The man coming out of the restaurant after him was Tio, Riccardo’s great-uncle. Rachelle’s jaw dropped with surprise. They were shaking hands, making some agreement. Before either of them spotted her, she spun around and ran the rest of the way to her apartment, where Riccardo sipped espresso while swiping his phone. She could hardly talk to him.
In the shower, Rachelle told herself to calm down and rationalize. There had to be a good reason for Riccardo’s great-uncle to be at Coleman. She tried to remember everything Valeria had told her about Tio. He was very wealthy, that was sure. He’d been out of the country for years. He was back, trying to rebuild relationships with all of the family members.
Once the thought dropped into Rachelle’s head, she couldn’t escape it. What if Valeria had wanted Rachelle to fail so much that she’d arranged for the fire, and then arranged for her Tio to take over the lease?
But would Valeria do that? She wasn’t some criminal mastermind. She seemed to like Rachelle, at least sort of. She seemed to want to welcome her into the family.
But why? Why would Tio be at Coleman? What had Rachelle just seen?
Rachelle and Riccardoarrived at the villa a full hour before the engagement party was set to begin. Caterers and designers were everywhere, moving around, making last-minute adjustments to what had to be a perfect party. Bored already, Riccardo kissed Rachelle’s cheek and ran off to drink a beer with one of his cousins. Rachelle was left with Valeria, Gia, and Teresa to go over the events of the evening, where she was needed, and who she was meant to meet.
Valeria told her that she couldn’t forget anyone’s names, so Rachelle had prepared herself with print-outs and flashcards, quizzing herself nightly until she had all one hundred guests’ names memorized. It felt insane, but it also felt like the only way. When the first guests arrived and Rachelle greeted them not only in Italian but also by name, Valeria smiled approvingly. Rachelle was good enough, or almost.
But all the while, Rachelle’s brain felt as though it was on fire. She smiled and spoke Italian and laughed along with everyone’s jokes, but also, at the same time, tried to study her soon-to-be mother-in-law for clues that she was behind the fire. Rachelle remembered the cops saying it was an accident and wondered if Valeria had used family money to pay them off. Growing up in Nantucket meant that Rachelle wasn’t unfamiliar with all manner of corruption and fraud. She wished she could call Darcyand lay out all the facts. She wished she could hear what her mother would say.
Probably they’d both say, “Why are you marrying into this family?”
Rachelle shook the thought out of her head.
A few minutes before dinner, Rachelle and Riccardo found one another again. There was clinking of glasses and joyous energy as everyone insisted that they kiss. They did, Riccardo with his eyes closed and Rachelle’s with hers slightly open. Nobody noticed, she hoped.
“How is it going?” Rachelle asked quietly as they sat for dinner, side by side. She asked it in English, hoping that Riccardo would give her a break from Italian.
