Page 18 of The Strength Of A Woman

A bright sunhugs me outside, making my dress more than appropriate for this lovely afternoon.

It’s late, though, and the afternoon light turns golden as I creep down the dirt footpath, hiding behind the trees, moving swiftly, putting as much distance as I can between the house and me.

I was hoping to leave a little earlier so I could walk in peace, without rushing.To enjoy the historic center, wander down the cobblestone streets and stare at the colorful facades, amber limestone, and Baroque architecture.

If I had a little extra time, I could’ve walked even farther and enjoyed the view of the Ionian Sea to the east.

My plans didn’t quite pan out as I spent an hour in Rory’s room, searching for something to wear, providing a few details about my secret mission, and mostly trying to assuage her fears. The bad presentiment I had must’ve transferred from me to her.

And she doesn’t even know the whole bit.

I have to protect her, and I also can’t have her freak out more than I do.

I ended up with one of her best dresses. She insisted I should take it when she noticed the longing in my eyes.

I don’t know what I was thinking about.

Perhaps Callum’s fingers trailing along the neckline, touching the soft fabric, and me through it? My warm skin underneath?

Seeing a flicker of humanity in his eyes, as if he was maybe giving a second thought to the idea of me? A second chance? Taking me seriously for once?

Glimpsing a kernel of longing in his eyes, as men sometimes lust for things they already have yet cannot fully have?

That sort of ephemeral feeling had nestled in my chest, making me look at this particular garment with a pinch of hope that my daydream might soon become reality.

It’s a cotton voile red dress with a tiny white polka-dot print, a frilly, long skirt that almost sweeps the ground, and a shirred, fitted top with soft cups and tied straps on my shoulders.

A matching scarf ties my hair into a loose ponytail.

A few strands of hair brush my flushed cheeks, and a silver cross dangles from a delicate necklace I wear.

I also wear flats for the second time today, which is unusual, and hold a little purse with my phone and wallet tucked inside.

Oh, there’s one other piece. My sunglasses.

I can’t go anywhere without them, and given that this is a historical mission and I’m venturing outside my property with such a clear scope in mind, it only makes them even more indispensable.

It takes me longer than I had projected to reach town, and it’s mostly because I don’t want to ruin my shoes and collect dust on my feet.

I reach my destination just as the shadows begin to grow and the glow of early evening dips everything in magic dust.

I’ve always been fascinated by this place, but never learned how to fully enjoy it.

No matter how beautiful a place is, imprisonment, whether it’s fake or real, can tarnish your perception.

It has ruined mine.

A few moments pass as I try to orient myself, scanning the streets, terraces, and faces of the tourists who are leisurely reveling in the most beautiful time of the day.

A gust of wind unsettles my hair and sweeps my lips, reminding me of how dry they are. I’m thirsty, it’s already late, and a feeling of defeat curls up in my chest.

Nona was right.

Rory was right, although she said nothing.

But did I have a choice?

I head to the church Nona had mentioned and check the area––Foro Italico, Piazza del Duomo,andPiazza Archimede.