Riccardo grinned. He was already drunk and happy. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” he announced.
Rachelle blushed. She still loved him pretty desperately, she knew, which was a good thing, since they were going to be married. She wanted to ask him about the fire, about whether he knew anything about his Tio taking over the lease. But she didn’t want to ruin the evening.
She cursed herself for how weak she was.
Dinner was very good, but it was only half as good as anything Diana March might have made. Rachelle had requested that Valeria hire Diana March and her team for the engagement party, but Valeria had brushed her off, saying they had to hire an Italian team, of course. Rachelle hadn’t known what to say.
For dessert, there was tiramisu and several types of cakes and gelato. There was also dancing, a DJ, and several speeches—one from Riccardo’s mother, another from his father, and another from his great-uncle, the man who now owned Coleman.
Rachelle sat, fuming, listening as her new “family” talked about her and Riccardo’s love. They described a very basic and boring love, a love that had nothing to do with the specifics of their romance.
“We are so happy to have Rachelle in the family,” Valeria said. “She’s been a bright light for us after a difficult few years.”
Everyone nodded along, as though they understood. But Rachelle couldn’t imagine what a “difficult few years” meant to people like this. What could be difficult about all this wealth?
Tio’s speech was simple but elegant. “I have been away for many years,” he said in Italian. “But when I met Riccardo’s new fiancée and reflected on the future these two will have, I was reminded of how special it is to settle down in Italy and build a family. Look around you. All of us are here together, celebrating their union. But we’re also celebrating our family.” Tio paused and gazed down at Riccardo. “I haven’t seen Riccardo since he was just a little boy. How mischievous he was. How funny. It’s remarkable to watch him grow up and make his own choices. It’s remarkable to know that time carries on.”
Rachelle imagined herself jumping to her feet and crying out,Why were you at Coleman this morning? What are you keeping from me?But instead, she clapped along with everyone else and watched as her champagne flute was refilled.
An hour after the speeches, Rachelle left her sisters-in-law to find the bathroom. She didn’t have to use it, exactly. She just wanted to close the door between herself and the world and take some deep breaths. She wanted privacy, which didn’t necessarily come with most Italian families.
But en route to the bathroom, she overheard Valeria talking in a low voice. It wasn’t like Valeria to speak like that, with such secrecy. Rachelle paused in the hallway and got her bearings. Valeria was in the kitchen. Who was she with?
A moment later, Tio answered. His voice was gruffer and easier to make out. “He’s making a big mistake,” he said.
“Shh. Keep your voice down,” Valeria said.
Rachelle’s jaw dropped. When Tio responded, it was too quiet for her to hear, so she crept away from the kitchen, away from all that pain, and returned to the party. She couldn’t stop shaking.
That night, as Riccardo slept in the bed they usually shared at his parents’ villa, Rachelle couldn’t stop crying. Did Tio and everyone in the family really think Riccardo was making a mistake in marrying her? If that was so, why were they going through this charade of “bringing her in”? Of celebrating her? She turned away from Riccardo and willed herself to get out of bed and call Darcy back in Nantucket. She willed herself, at least, to call Diana March and tell her what was going on. But Riccardo let out a snore that brought her back to earth.
She’d already made her bed, metaphorically. She knew she had to lie in it.
And besides, she wasn’t willing to let Tio and Valeria get what they wanted. She was every bit good enough for Riccardo. In fact, sometimes she thought she was too good for him. She was a culinary master. She’d learned a foreign language in only a few years. She’d moved far away from home and built a life of her own. What couldn’t she do?
“I don’t know how to be happy,” she answered herself, the weight of it crushing her chest.
17
Rome, Italy
Estelle flew from Portugal to Rome the first week of August. The expectation of what awaited her there filled her with a sense of angst she struggled to shake. On the plane, she ordered green tea and tried to meditate. But clearing her mind seemed out of the question. After all, Rachelle lived in Rome. Rachelle, her long-lost granddaughter, very well might be at Estelle’s reading that very night. What would Estelle say to her when she saw her? Would she yell at her for letting so much time pass? Would she cling to her and never let her go?
The stewardess assumed that Estelle was frightened of flying and paid her extra attention, eventually bringing her a ginger ale and a chocolate-y Italian snack. Estelle thanked her, smiling. But she couldn’t pretend to be all right, not even to shake the stewardess.
When the plane landed, Estelle took a taxi to her downtown hotel, where she was shown a one-bedroom suite with a balcony that overlooked the Coliseum. Estelle draped her arms over thestone railing and watched the people streaming down below, eating gelato and biding their time till their next plates of pasta and glasses of red wine. Estelle couldn’t wait to dig into the food here, of course. But she hoped that she would be doing it with Rachelle across the table from her.
Before Estelle left for the bookstore, she called Sam to check in on things in Nantucket.
“We’re okay,” Sam said. “Darcy and Remy are holding up well, and Gavin’s a force of nature, as ever. I had everyone over for dinner last night. The kids loved the gifts I brought from Europe.”
Estelle pictured her daughter, maybe on the veranda of The Jessabelle House, her face lined with worry for Remy.
“They have another appointment tomorrow to discuss their strategy,” Sam went on. “I wanted to beg to go to the doctor with them, but it’s obviously not my place.” She laughed at herself. “I don’t know what to do with all this anxious energy. And now, goodness me. You’re in Rome!”
“I’m in Rome,” Estelle repeated. She could hardly believe it herself.
“I imagine she’s walking down the street right in front of you,” Sam said of Rachelle. “I imagine she’ll pop around the corner, and everything will be just as it was. But I know it’s a fantasy.”
