The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(60)

Cute, yes. Funny, definitely. But sweet is not an adjective I’d typically use to describe Luciana Fontana. An uncharitable thought strikes me before I can extinguish it. Might my cousin be trying to win over the boys, in hopes that she’ll also win over their uncle?



* * *





Gabe and I escort Poppy up a cobblestone walk, where young couples stroll hand in hand and children race across the perfectly manicured lawns. I smile at a group of elderly gentlemen playing bocce ball. Poppy clutches my arm, and every now and then I hear her wheeze.

“Shall we rest for a bit?” Gabriele asks her.

“Why? Are you tired?”

He catches my eye and we smile.

We arrive at a lush green garden adorned with flowers and fountains and gorgeous sculptures.

“Belvedere Terrace,” Gabriele says. “My favorite spot.”

Ancient oaks and cypress trees dapple the sunlight. Overhead, blackbirds and robins and pigeons chatter. Poppy clasps her hands. “The majesty of Mamma Nature!” She lifts her face and inhales deeply. “However did I miss this place?”

“It is a hidden gem, sì?” We settle Poppy onto a concrete bench overlooking her beloved city. Below, the Arno River swirls like a serpent. Red clay rooftops pepper the landscape. I spy the massive cupola of the Florence Cathedral, or Duomo, alongside Giotto’s famous bell tower. With Poppy snuggled between us, Gabe begins to tell of the garden’s history. “This place was once a private estate. These gardens only opened to the public in 2005.”

Before he finishes the sentence, Poppy’s head drops onto her chest. He steals a glance at me. “I must learn to be more engaging.”

I smile, certain that would be impossible. “She should be in bed,” I whisper.

“She refuses to miss a moment. I suspect we could all learn from her joie de vivre, as the French say. Her joy of life.”

Together we admire the city. Gone is the traffic and other noise—save for the birds, chirping in the distance. I rise and shield my eyes from the afternoon sun, admiring a breathtaking view of the Florentine cityscape. Gabe comes up beside me and places a hand on my back. A shiver runs through me.

“This place is magical,” I say.

“I was hoping you would like it. I find the gardens here very romantic. Much quieter than the more popular parks.” His eyes find mine. “But that is just me. I prefer understated.”

My face heats, and I can think of no reply. He meanders onto the lawn and lowers himself onto the soft grass. “Come,” he says, patting a spot beside him. “Sit with me.”

My heart pounds in my ears. As I sink onto the grass, I lose my balance and nearly crush his thigh on my landing. “Sorry,” I say, horrified. I scoot over. “I’m not the most graceful.”

He spreads his long legs out in front of him and leans back on his elbows, his eyes twinkling with humor. “You, Emilia, are what I call easeful.”

“Easeful? Like peaceful?”

“Much the same, sì. On the other hand, there is Lucy.” He chuckles. “I sense she can be very . . . turbulent.”

I pluck a blade of grass and gaze out at the city. “It’s not her fault. She’s the second daughter, like me.” Without intending to, I divulge the Fontana Second-Daughter Curse.

“So you see, our ridiculous family myth is making her crazy. All she really wants is a husband and a family, and she’s terrified it’ll never happen.”

“And you?” he asks. “Do you believe you are cursed?”

“Cursed?” I give him a smart-aleck grin. “You think I’m that na?ve?”

He doesn’t laugh. His dark eyes bore into mine, seeking the truth. My breath catches. This is where I say, No, of course I don’t believe. Never did. I wrap my arms around my knees and stare off into the distance.

“I didn’t believe at first. Not for a long time.”

“And then?” His gentle voice acts as truth serum.

“And then something happened with this guy I was seeing in college, the first real boyfriend I’d ever had.”

He gives me a knowing smile. “Your first heartbreak. That will make anyone feel cursed.”

“We’d both gone home at winter break. Liam invited me to Delaware for New Year’s Eve. His best friend was throwing a big party. My nonna forbade me to go, but I snuck out while she was at work. New Castle was a two-hour drive from Bensonhurst, a straight shot down I-95. Daria loaned me her car—a cool red Jeep she called Rita.

“I was excited—and super nervous—to meet his parents and his little sister. But they were really great. Anyway, that night, as Liam and I set out for the party, the rain was changing to ice. His mom freaked out about us driving in the weather, but Liam was determined to go. We decided I’d drive—Daria’s Jeep had better tires than Liam’s car.”

I raise my head to the sky. A puffy white cloud skates past.

“I never saw it coming. One moment we were laughing and singing along with Rihanna, the next minute the car was spinning, swerving wildly. I couldn’t control the steering wheel. We were skidding into the other lane. And then nothing.”

My heart is hammering now. Gabriele’s hand closes over mine.

“I woke when the paramedics were loading Liam onto the ambulance. I tried to call his name, but my voice was this pathetic little croak. I turned to the medic who was examining my leg. He shook his head, as if reading my thoughts. ‘Say your prayers,’ he said.”