“I’m fine! These are happy tears!” Peggy had always been a terrible liar.
Ellie’s father started out the next leg of their journey from Toronto to Paris by trying to listen to an audiobook but hadn’t realized that his Bluetooth headphones were not connected. The entire cabin got an earful of the first four lines ofThe Splendid and the Vilebefore Ellie could grab for his phone and turn the volume down.
“Cosa fai?” He looked bewildered, asking her what she was doing as though it was she who was disrupting the entire Economy Plus cabin of a transatlantic 747.
Meanwhile, her mother embarked on a stress-crochet marathon all the way to Charles de Gaulle. She only paused once to eat a buttered roll and subject a miniature fruit cup to a skeptical once-over. Peggy did accept a small glass of Chardonnay but claimed it was too sweet and promptly offered it to Gio, who drank it all in one gulp. Old habits apparently resisted cabin pressure changes. Ellie kept her noise-canceling headphones and sleep mask on for most of the eight-hour flight but only slept for two. She had no memory of the flight from Paris to Genoa except for the part where she refused a cheese danish and face-planted into the window. She was wrecked.
“Ecco la mia bellissima famiglia!”
Ellie entered the garden first, eager both to hug her grandmother and to put some distance between herself and her parents. Even the taxi from the airport was like being in a mobile escape room. She kept wishing she could stick her head up and out of the sunroof to stop hearing them debate where they were when the Morandi Bridge collapsed in Genoa years earlier. Peggy was convinced that they were at home inCalifornia in August that year and Gio said it was impossible because it fell in July the year before. Even the headphones didn’t help when she discovered she was remarkably good at reading lips full of insults.
“Ciao, Nonna!” Ellie hugged her tiny grandmother tight and got a gorgeous whiff of Shalimar. The scent anchored her immediately. Some things were absolutelynotfalling apart around her. In fact, Graziella proved that as soon as she laid out the itinerary for the day. Graziella and Simone were going back to the club to have lunch because it was almost 12:30 and, come what may, there would be bowls of pasta and salad on the terrace at the Delfino and a card game starting right after, so help them God, forever and always, amen. Ellie was directed to the guest bedroom to try on the bridesmaid dress that Graziella had selected for her and to meet them later, which meant that Peggy and Gio were left to shuffle off to the apartment they’d owned since the nineties, a few doors down. She wanted to hug her grandmother again for offering ten minutes of parent-free peace as she watched Gio wrestle Peg’s suitcase away from her when she struggled with it. He hauled both rolling bags behind him as her mother rattled on, pointing out as she always did that the city cut too much off the tops of the flowering trees on Corso Buenos Aires as they encroached on the power lines.
“I hope you like the color of the dress,” said Graziella, giving Ellie a squeeze on the arm. “I think it will be so beautiful on you,gioia. Go on up to the boys’ old room and see what you think. We’ll see you later for lunch, okay?”
Ellie swung open the heavy wooden door to the villa that had been in Simone’s family for generations. The interior of the enormous house was dark and cool despite the heat outside. The legend was that the house was originally constructed for a famous dignitary who thought Genoa was too grim a location to build a home and had chosen Chiavariinstead, but no one knew for sure. It was a classicvilla d’epocawith frescoed ceilings, chestnut wood molding, and marble tiles running up the grand staircase. Ellie would have been intimidated if she wasn’t used to seeing water balloons being launched from the second-floor landing. With the front and rear doors open, salt-tinged airwhooshed through the foyer, stirring the many orchids, camellias, and ferns that Graziella had placed everywhere in efforts to make it more her own. Ellie smiled, knowing that her grandmother’s touch was now all over the house.
The couple had chosen to sell Graziella’s smaller apartment up the hill because they wanted to be closer to the beach, and she had brought life back into the old home that had been “un po’ triste” in the years since Simone had been on his own. Ellie made her way up the stairs and paused outside of the bedroom before going in. She’d spent many a rainy afternoon holed up reading comic books in “the boys’ room.” Ale Jr. and Leo would end up indoors at the town pool to continue playing water polo with no weather restrictions and everyone’s moms would head to thecarruggi, the covered porticoes that linked the shops in town together. Ellie, Ben, and sometimes Greta would come over with armfuls of old issues of the comicTex, whose author was actually from Chiavari, or some of the anime stuff they brought over from the States. They would trade issues until everyone had gotten a turn, pointing out their favorite parts to one another and imitating the characters’ voices. Inevitably, Cris would sneak out to go swim a few laps with his dad. It never seemed like he was upset about going, but he had this way of giving Ellie a look of apology as he said goodbye for the afternoon.
The bunk beds had been replaced with one single bed, covered with a coral-colored cotton blanket and heaps of ocean-themed pillows. Also gone were the posters fromIron Manwith Tony Stark suited upfor battle and the one featuring Britney Spears in a black leather jacket in front of a motorcycle. In their place, a giant mirror framed in capiz shells and starfish reflected the afternoon light from the window. It was probably safe to bet that Cris’s stash of Goleador and Kinder Bueno under a loose tile in the floor was also gone. Her eyes dropped down to the exact spot, but it was now covered by a fringed area rug.
A white garment bag hung from a new-looking coatrack in the corner of the room. Ellie unzipped the thick vinyl bag with a gold logo that saidSPOSA DI LIGURIAand found—a skirt? Her face scrunched up as she ran her hands over the soft fabric, trying to figure out if her grandmother had made a mistake or if she missed a crucial message and was supposed to have brought some kind of top along. The color was beautiful, a light grayish purple, but it appeared to be a weird maxi-skirt with two wide panels hanging down from the waist. She searched for some kind of label to at least understand which side was the front. A long cream-colored tag was fastened to a lace ribbon emblazoned with the wordsABITO TRASFORMABILE. It was one of those fits-every-body dresses that she’d seen cluttering up her Pinterest feed. The two wide panels could be wrapped and twisted into an endless configuration of styles that were purportedly meant to flatter each bridesmaid’s individual figure. Every woman in those photos looked like at least one of her boobs was about to pop out at any given moment. The first thought that came into Ellie’s head wasduct tape.
She sighed. It was an understandable choice. What else could you do when your bridesmaids ranged in age from thirty-two to eighty-five? Still, she wished she had been prepared for this. She could have been researching configurations for the last two months. Now she had about twelve minutes to make a dress out of what was basically a silky ACE bandage before she would miss lunch completely. Of course, itcould wait until later or even tomorrow, but she wanted to figure it out now. What if she needed a taller heel? Or a pulley system? There was no way she could leave this for the last minute. The fog of jet lag began to creep in as Ellie picked up her phone and opened YouTube. The third tutorial option appeared to have step-by-step instructions from a woman who had a similar body shape to hers, but the video was in Polish. No problem. How hard could it be to follow along?
Ellie dropped her tote on the bed and started unbuttoning her blouse. Her regular bra was totally not going to work, but the strapless that she’d packed was buried too deep in her suitcase to pull it out at this point. She unhooked the bra and threw it on the bed with her blouse and yanked off her jeans. The dress, in its current non-formation, pulled up over her hips easily and actually felt great. The material was soft and light, perfect for summer and for dancing. She pressed “play” on the video, and a woman named Danuta started explaining what to do with the different sections as techno music played in the background. The first two options involved lots of twisting of the panels, but not much anchoring of the fabric beyond a precarious-looking tuck. One wrong move on the dance floor, and she could easily send one of the elder groomsmen into cardiac arrest. The next one split her chest into what could only be described as boob tamales and lobbed the straps over one shoulder, threatening to strangle any wearer who had over an A-cup. The fourth one involved weirdly drooping sleeves and a V neck to the waist that would make any bra at all an impossibility. Finally, there was a kind of simple cross-back situation with a knot that looked like it ticked all the right boxes, so she set the phone on the bed at an angle and went to work.
She pulled one swath of fabric up over her right side and tried to wrap it around herself but couldn’t manage the same thing on the left.After the third try, she was starting to sweat. Maybe she should take it off for a minute and cool down before possibly staining it. There was no way anyone would be able to see inside the window from below but she covered her chest with her hands anyway and wandered over to catch a breeze. She walked back over to the bed to mute Danuta and the techno, which was giving her a headache, but did not make it before the bedroom door opened.
She screamed and instinctively grabbed her chest.“Ninnolo!”
Cristiano Conte stood filling the doorway, motionless. His childhood nickname was the first thing that came out of her mouth and probably the last thing he wanted to hear, judging by the stunned look on his face. Although it was hard to actually know what was happening on his face at all behind the dark pair of sunglasses and black baseball cap—and the facial hair. Since when did Cris let facial hair grow, let alone the rest of it? And did he get taller? Or bigger? And how much of this mattered while she was standing there essentially doing a striptease to Polish techno?
“Perché sei nudo?” he asked with a scrunch visible between the glasses and the visor of his cap.
“I’m not naked!” she yelled while at least half naked.
“But—” He raised his hand, gesturing in the general direction of her torso.
“Can you get out?!” she tried. He backed out of the room and closed the door without a word. Ellie sat on the bed with her head in her hands, too tired to think beyond anything but:Why?She knew she was going to have to deal with him eventually, but she didn’t expect to have to do it topless and sweating. She turned off the video, pulled the dress down off her hips, and yanked on her shirt and jeans. She could feel the shock of seeing him wear off and the panic start to rise in herchest. She had to calm down. It was just Cris. Regular ol’ Cris. Buddy, pal, known-her-whole-life Cris. Heart-breaking, soul-stomping, oblivious Cris. She picked up her bag but just stood, eyeing the door.
“Hi,” she said, finally pulling it open as if everyone had always been clothed, forever. He was standing obediently in the hall against the wall, completely still.
“Hi,” he said at last. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—” He shifted a large duffel from one hand to the other, making the muscles in his forearm flex with the weight. His black T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and his cap was losing the battle of controlling the mop of wild hair underneath. The last time she’d had an actual conversation with him he was in the middle of training for the World Athletic Games, a highly trained beast, and on the razor edge of lean and clean-shaven. The guy in front of her was a different kind of animal altogether.
“It’s fine,” she interrupted. “You’re here. I mean, are you staying here?”
“Yeah. It’s just me. For now.”
“Yeah. I figured,” she said, wondering why these were the only words her allegedly genius IQ could come up with. “I’m going to the beach. Well, to our apartment, then to the beach, I mean.”
“Okay,” he said, and walked past her into the room to put his bag down.
How the hell were he and his girlfriend going to fit in that bed? She pictured him under the coverlet with his feet hanging over the footboard and her on the floor. There’s no way the woman who was the face of the latest Versace perfume would curl up on the hardwood. Maybe they slept braided up like a muscular loaf of challah and had no need for personal space whatsoever. Maybe she needed to get out ofthe house before she started picturing them squeezed into the en suite bathroom, tandem brushing their teeth with their arms intertwined.
“See you later,” she said, and turned to walk back down the stairs.
“Ellie,” he said in a voice so low and rich, the word hung in the hallway like a tapestry.
