Page 134 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“How about squid?” George asked. “Are they equally as smart?”

“It’s their ink, though,” Bianca said. “You have to at least try it.”

“Oh, I will,” George said. “I’ll try every single thing, trust me. This promises to be the best meal of my entire life. It’s not the same as the food back in Scottsdale, but the Italians definitely know how to cook.”

“Um, yeah,” Bianca said.

George raised a glass of the Albana. “This is a heck of a night, guys. Thank you for having me.” After a sip, he said, “I must admit, Italy used to drive me crazy. Traveling used to drive me crazy. But I can see why you’re here.”

“So you’ll be back soon?” Sandy asked, and Bianca thought she heard a twinge of hope in her voice.

“I’ll certainly be back. You know, it’s not every day you find community. What I’ve seen since I’ve been here, what I had the pleasure of witnessing yesterday. You don’t find that everywhere. Maybe it’s not Italy. I think it’s that bookstore.”

“That’s what I keep telling Sandy,” Moira said.

“Speaking of yesterday,” Harold said, slightly mumbling his words, “Bianca and I came clean. Maybe this is a good time for everyone else too. Anyone else have secrets?” He slid his eyes to Moira, who shook her head.

“Bad idea,” Sandy said.

Harold took another sip of wine. “Oh, c’mon, we’re all friends here.”

Silence.

Then a hand went up.

It was George, and all eyes went to him. “Actually, I have to get something off my chest, if you’d allow.”

Oh, God, Bianca thought, don’t do it. He was about to confess his love to Sandy.

The wine had gotten to George. He wasn’t quite swimming, but he’d had enough to care very little about what might leave his mouth. Besides, he’d scrapped his plan to pull Corrado aside and had recommitted to telling Bianca the truth.

Might as well be now.

George cleared his throat and loaded the chamber. “I’m going to get in trouble, but I can’t go home without coming clean.” He stopped himself from having another drink and put his attention on Bianca. “Shortly after we came back from our trip, our father-daughter adventure, I . . .”

A sobering freeze hit him. “Shit, I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.

“Of course you should,” Harold slurred. He’d clearly taken Bianca’s orders to heart not to eat all day. Poor kid probably weighed only one thirty.

George turned back to Bianca, feeling like the most epic of failures. “I ran into Corrado on the street. Told him that the two of you weren’t a good fit, that he was acting selfishly if he continued any relationship with you.”

“What?” His daughter’s eyebrows crinkled. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business, and I screwed up, and I . . . I don’t seem to learn, but believe me, I’m trying. And this is me trying to make it right. I have no right to get in the way of your life. You have things figured out far more than me.” His throat tightened. “I was trying to get you back home. You’re all I’ve got left, B.” He stopped there, unsure what else to say.

Bianca felt everyone watching her, waiting for her to snap at her dad. Their lovely night had possibly reached its conclusion. Her mind spun. When and how and why? Well, not why. She knew why.

Her father wouldn’t learn.

“When was this?” Her words were arrows dipped in poison.

“The day we got back from Florence.”

Bianca nodded. She’d gone to see Corrado a day after that. Was that why he’d rejected her?

“And you think getting in the way of my love life, or my life here, will make things better between us? You think that’s what will bring me home?”

No one else at the table moved.