The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(64)

“Grazie, Gabriele,” I whisper. I turn, leaving his bedroom door ajar on the off chance he’ll call me back to his arms.



* * *





Lucy stirs when I cross the floor. Very slowly, I slide into my bed, trying not to wake her. My head reaches the pillow. From the opposite bed, Lucy’s hand rises. She gropes the bedside table until she finds the clock.

“It’s two in the morning. Shouldn’t you have a tongue in your ear about now?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, Luce. I will never forget this day. Gabe is incredible.”

She groans and rolls over. “Then why the hell didn’t you dock the boat?”

“Dock what boat?”

“You should have finished the job, Em. Gabe’s a guy. Guys expect that.”

I could confess that I’ve just had the best sex of my life . . . twice in one night. She’d probably be impressed. But I don’t. That’s my secret, and Gabe’s.

“Good night, Luce.”



* * *





It’s still dark when I wake again. I glance at the bedside clock: 4:13. Thoughts of last night send a rush of heat through my body. I close my eyes and grin. I did it. I fell in love. Or as close to love as I’ve ever come. Pride and excitement and the purest of joys rise in me.

When will Gabe and I see each other again? Christmas is just two months away. I’ll invite him to New York. My chest flutters with anticipation. I feel like an Italian Jennifer Aniston. I’ll decorate Emville and make all my favorite holiday treats. I’ll get a real Christmas tree this year. We’ll pick it out together. Dad will love Gabe. Nonna . . . she’ll tolerate him. But Daria will be thrilled. Lucy and Mimi will be free!

I shake my head. I’m getting ahead of myself. I need to put on the brakes. But Poppy’s right—it’s possible. The curse—the one I actually, foolishly embraced—is lifting, just as she promised.

I roll onto my side. Do I dare wake Lucy? I want to tell her everything. She was right. I was checked out. I never gave love a fair shot.

In the darkness, I try to make out her figure.

“Luce?”

Her bed looks flat. And the room is strangely quiet. She’s not snoring tonight. I prop myself onto an elbow, my eyes slowly adjusting to the silvery moonlight.

“Lucy?” I say, louder this time.

I pull back the covers and grab my glasses. My heart speeds. I rise and flip on the bedside lamp.

Lucy’s bed is empty.

My gut turns inside out. No. No. She would never do that. I rub my temples and spin in a circle. She must be in the bathroom. Or maybe she’s downstairs already.

But the bathroom light is off. My cousin does not rise at four in the morning.

My stomach churns. I’m going to be sick.

I let myself out of the room. Quietly, I tiptoe down the steps. Never have I more desperately wanted to believe my instincts are wrong. Please be open! I reach the end of the hall.

The door to Gabe’s bedroom, the one I purposely left open, is closed.





Chapter 32




Emilia

Day Seven

Trespiano

I yank my suitcase from the closet and pitch it onto the bed. I will not cry. I throw open the dresser drawer and heave my clothes into the suitcase. I need to get out of here. I cannot bear to see Gabe. How will I ever forgive Lucy? We’ve got forty-eight more hours of this damn trip. The forty-eight most crucial hours.

My hand hits something hard buried beneath my leggings. I lift my notebook from the drawer. I haven’t written in two days. I hold it to my chest like my neglected best friend. Then I reach for my pen.

I shove the suitcase aside, making space for myself on the bed. Propped against the headboard, I write fast and furiously. Words flow with greater clarity, deeper emotion, more honesty than I’ve ever dared put on paper. I fill one page. Then another. By the time Lucy steps through the doorway two hours later, I’ve written three chapters of a new book. This time, it’s not a happily-ever-after romance.

Lucy’s hair is a tangled mess—sexy bedhead, to be exact. She’s wearing her pajamas—cotton shorts that come up to her ass and a tank top that’s so tight it may as well be stamped on.

“Em?” she says and takes a step back. She smiles, but not before a flash of guilt strikes. “You’re up early.” The girl who barely speaks before noon is cheerful today. “And you’ve already started packing.” She gestures to the suitcase. “Could you be any more organized?” She plops down on her bed and looks around. “I don’t want to leave this place.”

I slap shut my notebook. “I’m sure you don’t!”

She looks at me and scowls, then her face falls and she looks away. “Oh, shit. You followed me?”

I clench my jaw, not trusting myself to speak.

She hangs her head. “Don’t be mad at me, Em. Please.”

My anger erupts. “Right. You expect me to give you my blessing? God, you’re disgusting.”

Her face flushes. “Nothing happened, I swear. You’ve got to believe me, Em. It’s freaking me out. And I was hoping maybe, just maybe, you’d be cool with it.”

“Cool with it?” The fury in my voice simultaneously scares and delights me. “You just assume ol’ Em the doormat will take the hit, like she always does, don’t you?” I open my arms. “Go ahead, Luce, take another stab at my heart. Go on, walk right over me, just like Dar and Nonna. Stomp your muddy feet on me. I’ll even point out a few places you haven’t crushed, so you don’t miss a single fiber.”