The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(58)

“Do it again!” Franco insists.

Sofia pats his head. “Enough, little man. Let Lucy eat in peace.”

Gabe clears the dishes and returns with steaming bowls of homemade ribollita, a delicious Tuscan soup made with beans and bread and fresh vegetables. More wine is poured. Voices overlap. Stars collect in the sky. The breeze carries the scent of grapes and lavender and smoke from the fire. I soak in the sweet scene, knowing this day . . . this moment . . . is one I shall re-create many times, both in memory and on paper.

A star slips from the sky. “Make a wish!” Poppy cries. “Ask for it, whatever it is your heart desires.”

Tonight, my cousin doesn’t argue. She lifts her face to the sky and closes her eyes.

I make my wish for Poppy and Rico. And then, for the first time, I make a wish for myself, too.

Later, when we’re sipping sweet iced wine, I whisper to Lucy in the moonlight, “What did you wish for, on the falling star?”

She pretends not to hear.





Chapter 30




Emilia

Day Five

Trespiano

I wake Friday morning, surprised to see Lucy pulling a shirt over her head. She looks especially pretty this morning, with her hair gathered in one of my clips. Her face, barren of makeup, shines.

“You’re up early,” I say.

“Why waste the day?”

She disappears into the tiny bathroom and I burrow beneath the covers, expecting she’ll spend the next thirty minutes applying makeup. I’m stunned when she slips from the room two minutes later with only a touch of gloss on her lips, smelling of toothpaste.

“See you downstairs,” she says. Just before the door closes, she pokes her head into the room. “And don’t touch that braid. It looks even better with all those loose hairs around your face.”

After a long and luxurious bath, I wrap myself in a towel and scan the blouses hanging in the tiny closet. My clothes look dated and dull, like Nonna’s faded wallpaper. When I get home, I’ll buy something new. It won’t be a short skirt or a see-through blouse, but something fun and stylish, something that reflects who I want to be. This morning I opt for a pair of black leggings and a white blouse that hits just below my hips, my only decent option.

I dry my toothbrush and place it in a cup. From the vanity, Lucy’s makeup bag taunts me. I hesitate, then reach inside. Carefully, I open a compact. I take a deep breath and fish a long-handled makeup brush from the bag. Using the slightest touch, I dip the brush into the powder. I lean into the mirror and stroke crystals of copper across my cheeks and nose. Instantly, I look sun-kissed and healthy.

My gaze zeros in on the scar below my lip. I reach for my cover stick but stop myself. The jagged blue line isn’t telling me I’m ugly and unworthy anymore. It’s telling me I’m brave. I dab my lips with gloss, place my new glasses on my face, and step back.

“Warmer,” I whisper to my reflection. “You’re getting warmer.”

I rush downstairs and throw open the French doors. Thick white clouds muddle the sky, and I breathe in the fresh Tuscan air. Poppy sits on the patio looking like a little girl at the grown-ups’ table. A bowl of fresh fruit sits untouched as she works a crossword puzzle.

“Good morning.” I kiss her soft cheek, surprised by the heat of her skin. “How do you feel today?”

“Peachy,” she says and gives me a once-over. “Aren’t you fetching!”

I smile. At the last minute, I swapped my bra for a black tank, and left my blouse unbuttoned an extra two inches. “Really? I look okay?”

“A-OK.” She pulls a bright pink scarf from her neck. “Bend down, dear.”

“No. I can’t take your scarf.”

“Please. It’s making me claustrophobic today.”

I lean in and she snakes the scarf into a casual coil. “There you go.”

I touch her forehead, once more alarmed by how warm she feels. “We should visit a doctor today.”

She cocks her head. “You’re feeling ill?” I give her a look and she bats her hand. “A doctor would only confirm what I already know. Who needs that?” She returns to her puzzle, end of discussion.

I should insist we go to a doctor, but she’ll never allow it. I squeeze her shoulder as I step away.

A flagstone path leads me to the terrace, where Lucy and Sofia sit on chaise lounges. Sofia wears a long flowing skirt and a denim blouse tied at the waist. Her short hair is pulled away from her face with a headband, revealing a trio of earrings in each lobe. She smiles when she sees me.

“Emilia! Join us.”

I perch on the side of Lucy’s chaise and sip my coffee, listening as they resume their conversation.

“We—” Sofia looks at me and quickly fills me in. “My ex and I—split two months after Dante was born. My brother invited us to live here, with him, so he could be part of his nephews’ lives.”

“Do you work?” Lucy asks.

She shakes her head. “Our father made sure my brother and I were well provided for in our adulthood, perhaps to atone for his absenteeism in our youth.” She shrugs. “That is a story for another day. But for now, I enjoy the freedom of raising my boys. And during the busy season, I help Gabriele with the cooking.” She tips her head. “How about you?”