Estelle remembered their gorgeous night on the river in Paris, how romantic it had felt, how her heart had opened up to fresh possibilities and new stories.
“Well, that’s such a great question,” she replied, still smiling stupidly. She wondered if her fans could tell that she and Albert knew each other, that his appearing here was a part of a dramatic story they were making up as they went along. “I suppose, being from the United States, everything in Europe feels entrenched in a history that’s entirely romantic to me. I walk the streets, people-watch, and write in my journal. I see myself as part of a larger, grander story. And it makes me understand that I wasn’t meant to be at home, mourning my husband for the rest of my life. Yes, I miss Roland. I will always miss Roland. He’s written into my DNA. But I’m seventy-three years old. I don’t want to count myself out yet.”
“Well said,” Albert said, before passing the microphone on to another.
By the time Estelle managed to get away from her fans to find Albert outside, the sun had set over the city. It was still hot, maybe ninety degrees, and they were sweating and smiling like teenagers. Like a good European, he bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She remembered that she hadn’t thought she’d see him again, if only because he was so wealthy.
“You started writing it,” he said, speaking of her new novel.
“I couldn’t stop myself,” she said. She didn’t tell him how much she’d ached for him to appear in the South of France, in Spain, and in Portugal. He was here now, and that was all that mattered. “Are you in Rome on business?”
“Sort of. But I’m here for a number of other complicated reasons, as well,” Albert said.
“Sounds cagey.” Estelle wondered if he had a girlfriend here, if he had snuck away for the night to see Estelle at the reading.
“If you want, we can go for another walk again,” he said. “I can tell you what’s going on.”
Estelle agreed.
Later, a little after midnight, Estelle slipped out of her hotel suite to meet Albert downstairs. They walked to the Trevi Fountain, where they stood, rapt, gazing at one another. A plaque read that the fountain had been built in 1732, which seemed impossible.
“I wanted to see you before now,” he said. “I know it’s been a little while.”
“You said you’ve been busy,” she said, teasing him.
“I have been.” His smile faltered. “I’m here for family, mostly. I haven’t seen them in years. Turns out that since I last saw them, they’ve lost millions upon millions of euros. We were always a prominent, wealthy family. We practically ran this city. But now, the assets they own are basically property-based. They have very little money in the bank. They’re looking at me to bail them out of all of their problems. Not everything they’re up to seems legal, either. It’s been exhausting, to say the least. I know it sounds awful, but I don’t know how to love them just now.”
Estelle squeezed his hand. “Can you step away from them? Go back to New York? Leave them to deal with their own problems?”
Albert sighed. “I wish I could. But I feel that I’ve already involved myself too much in their mess. And to tell you the truth, after my most recent divorce, they’re all I have left.”
Estelle considered pointing out their relationship. But she knew it was only a fantasy, something that existed in the late nights in beautiful cities. Maybe it couldn’t survive in the real world.
“You’re a good person, Albert,” she said.
Albert laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. But I think knowing you has made me a little bit better. For as long as I’m allowed to know you, I’m grateful.”
Estelle smiled, biting her tongue to keep herself from crying. Why did it seem that being alive was just one goodbye after another?
18
Rome, Italy
Two days after Rachelle and Riccardo’s engagement party, Rachelle was still on edge. Walking to Diana’s restaurant for one of her two weekly shifts, she paused at a little coffee shop to take a breather, to think about Tio and Valeria and how clear it seemed that they were setting her up for failure. But if that were so, why had they gone to the effort of throwing the party in the first place? Why had they bought Rachelle that tremendous wedding gown? Were they doing it for Riccardo, because they thought Riccardo loved Rachelle so much? Was that amount of money just pennies to them?
What she’d overheard Tio saying in the kitchen continued to ring in her ears.“He’s making a big mistake.”But since then, she hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to tell Riccardo, nor ask him what he thought was going on with her old restaurant. The day after the engagement party, he’d wanted to spend a cozy day mostly in bed, kissing and cuddling. She’d allowed herself to drop into her love for him, as it felt comfortable not to considerall the ways her life was falling apart. But now that she’d left the apartment, she felt as though she were drowning.
When she reached Diana’s restaurant, she made eye contact with her old friend and boss and nearly burst into tears. Diana was washing her hands. She threw her towel aside, then came over to Rachelle and scooped her into a hug. “Oh, honey,” she said. The hug felt remarkable, if only because Rachelle hadn’t thought Diana would ever forgive her for the wedding dress debacle and how Rachelle had failed her.
Now that so many Romans had left the city for the seaside, the restaurant wasn’t slated to be busy that night. It meant that Diana could take Rachelle to the bar, order them two glasses of wine, and ask her what was going on. Rachelle couldn’t bring herself to explain everything. She was sure that she sounded half-crazy.
“You’re having doubts about Riccardo?” Diana asked, an edge of hope to her voice.
“No!” Rachelle lied, although she guessed that Diana could see all the way through her.
Diana sipped her wine and studied her.
“But I am sorry, Diana,” Rachelle went on, feeling flustered. “I’m so sorry that I failed you, that I abandoned you when you really needed me. It wasn’t right.”
