Page 102 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

He looked over and could see she’d checked out, watching the container truck they were passing.

“Sorry, I crossed a line,” he said. “It’s none of my business.”

Her head swiveled his way, and he braced himself. George had done it again. “And maybe you could trust me. I’m not an idiot.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot.” So much for being a good parent.

“I might not be perfect,” she said, “but I can definitely read people. I would be the luckiest girl in the world to be with Corrado, but he deserves better. That’s the simple truth.”

“Don’t ever say that.”

“Just being honest.”

More silence.

He thought what he might say to earn back the trust he’d gained recently. “Can we pretend like I didn’t say anything? Please let me start over.”

No response.

“I’m like a big ship, Muffin. I know I have to make a turn, but it takes time. I hear you. Everything you’re saying and have said the past few days, and I do trust you. You have it more figured out than me.” He tapped her leg. “Just let me keep trying.”

She let out a long exhale.

Chapter 24

I’ll Never Be Here Again

There are days that define a man. Days when he must step onto the battlefield, axe raised, and fight for his life. Fight for love.

Today was that day for Aroldo Gibler.

Harold was now dead, and in his place stood a man who knew exactly what he wanted, a man who’d broken through the walls that had been holding him back.

He’d dressed exactly as John Cusack, which had taken more effort than he’d thought. The dark gray sweatpants, The Clash T-shirt, and the trench coat had come from Amazon. The white high-tops, he’d found at a vintage clothing shop. And he’d settled for a JBL Bluetooth speaker that was far too modern for a scene reenactment, but it would have to do. At least, it could get super loud.

To his left walked the opera singer, otherwise known as Vittorio Spina. The man had appeared dressed in a black tux with a white bow tie, à la Pavarotti. What was left of Harold thought it was a bit much, but Aroldo had seen the brilliance in the formality and had eagerly clapped, saying, “Bravo, signore!”

Spina had bowed. Actually bowed, right there on the cobblestones of Via Giulia.

They’d not rehearsed, as the mission wasn’t exactly complicated, but they’d worked it out as they walked to Renzo’s apartment. The earlier clouds had cleared, and the sun shot harshly down over the city. Thank God for the porticoes.

“Can I ask you something?” Aroldo said. “Who do you have lunch with every day? I see you leave at the exact time. I’m just curious.”

“My wife,” Spina said in his resonant tone.

“I didn’t realize you were married.” Only then did he glance over at the gold ring resting on a chubby finger. “I’ve never seen her.”

A long quiet.

As they crossed the street, Vittorio said, “She passed two years ago, but I still take a table at our favorite place and pour a glass of wine for her.”

A wave of chills ran over Aroldo. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine.”

Vittorio touched his heart. “This is why you must love with all of yourself, ragazzo. I like this that you’re doing. I’m happy to be a part.”

“Thank you,” Aroldo said. “I hope it will—no—I know it will work.”

In an admittedly stalker fashion, he’d figured out Alice’s new schedule and knew that she’d be home any minute. And Renzo typically didn’t show up till six, which gave him a perfect window of forty-five minutes to resurrect his dying love from the ashes of unrighted wrongs.