But when they reached his parents’ villa, Rachelle had worked herself up again. Entering, they were given glasses of Portuguese wine and told to head out to the veranda, where more snacks awaited them. Gia and Teresa were sunning themselves, while Valeria flipped through a newspaper and Tony read a book about ancient Greece. Tio wasn’t there, at least not yet.
“Where’s Tio?” Rachelle asked, trying to keep her voice light.
Valeria smiled. “He should be coming down soon.”
Distracted in the silence, Rachelle got up and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. It wasn’t customary for anyone at the villa to do anything themselves. You were supposed to ask the staff. But here she was, “working” to get her own glass of water. She guessed she’d get in trouble, but she didn’t care.
When she turned around, she nearly dropped her glass. Tio was standing in the doorway, en route to the veranda. He wore a soft smile, and he held a book in his right hand. She guessed he was planning to join the others for their reading afternoon.
“Oh! I didn’t know you were there,” Rachelle said. She hated how kind she sounded, especially after what she’d heard Tio saying at the party.
In English, Tio said, “I snuck up on you. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Rachelle was surprised at how open he was, how friendly. She set her glass of water down and crossed her arms. Was he really so good at lying? Were they all?
Tio hadn’t dared continue. It was as though he knew she wanted to ask him something.
“I saw you the other day,” Rachelle said. “You were coming out of my restaurant.”
Tio looked confused. “I’m sorry. Which restaurant is yours?”
“The one that burned!” she cried. “The one with the charred-out kitchen!”
Tio’s face echoed recognition, but she didn’t think he still fully understood. “I did buy a property like that,” he said thoughtfully. “Just the other day.”
Rachelle remained quiet.
“You’re saying that was your restaurant?” Tio asked, shaking his head. “I don’t understand. Why did it burn up?”
Rachelle was fuming. But confusion swirled in her head, as well. “Why that place?” She demanded. “Why did you buy that particular restaurant?”
Tio’s eyebrows skyrocketed. It was clear he didn’t want to tell her.
It was then that Rachelle spotted the book he had in his hand. The writer’s name—Estelle Coleman—-shot through her so violently that she thought she might fall. She couldn’t stop herself from pulling it out of his hands. “What are you doing to me?” She demanded, shaking the book. It was the Italian translation of her most recent release, a book Rachelle had never held in her hands. She began to cry, having it here.
Tio looked at a loss.
Hearing the commotion, Valeria and Riccardo came inside to find Rachelle, crying with Tio’s book in her hands, and Tio, his arms hanging, gaping at her.
“I don’t know why you’re all messing with me,” Rachelle said, the book still waving. “I’m a person, you know? I might not have your money or your Italian lineage or whatever. But I’m a person!”
“Honey, what are you talking about?” Valeria demanded.
Slowly, Tio’s face echoed his disbelief. Rachelle knew she looked insane. But she couldn’t stop.
“It’s my grandmother’s book,” she said to Tio, waving it. “She wrote it. She’s the most brilliant woman in the world, and I don’t even know her anymore. She’s out of my life.”
Riccardo and Valeria exchanged panicked glances. But Tio reached forward, took his book back, then opened it to the cover page. There, in her grandmother’s handwriting, it was written “To my star in the sky, Albert. Yours, Estelle.”
19
It was the evening after Estelle’s reading at the Rome bookstore. Lounging in the sunlight on the balcony of her hotel, she read over the most recent pages she’d written for her novel and allowed herself the briefest reflections on last night’s walk with Albert. To her, his soul had seemed burdened, overwhelmed by his family’s demands on his money and time. But she’d told him she understood. Family came first, always. It always had for her, and it always would.
They still hadn’t kissed. Maybe that was all right, Estelle decided. Maybe her “love” for Albert was little more than an infatuation, a doorway into another route of feeling.
Maybe meeting Albert was a part of grieving Roland and allowing her heart to move forward.
Via text, Estelle could tell that Sam was avoiding asking questions about Rachelle. Estelle knew she had to get up the nerve to tell Sam about the engagement, about the wealthy family their girl was marrying into, how it was likely they’d lost her. Estelle had no plans to leave Rome before she saw Rachelle, of course. But with a full week ahead in the hotel room, she was grateful for the time to consider what to do and what to say.
