Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)(16)
He’s smiling at me. A faint, barely-there, sharklike curve of his full lips. I feel as though I should be scared. But…of what?
“Maya,” a warm, deep, recently heard voice says.
That’s when it finally hits me.
Conor Harkness is in my kitchen.
Chapter 7
Present day
Taormina, Italy
Italians eat their meals in the middle of the night. At least, that’s what it feels like.
Early June in Sicily means that the sun won’t fully set until well past eight, but by the time Nyota and I stumble our way into the lantern-lit terrace garden, the sky is already dark. If it weren’t for the clear shine of the stars, I wouldn’t be able to make out where the air starts and the sea begins.
It doesn’t help that we’re the last two guests to show up for dinner.
And about five minutes late.
We march side by side down the cobblestone path, ready to make our shameful entrance. “How are they all so goddamn punctual?” Nyota mutters in my ear.
“How did we manage not to be?” The walk from her room took us forty-five seconds, tops. Running behind has to be some kind of superpower. And the problem with a thirteen-people wedding party—including her, me, and a sixteen-month-old toddler—is that it’s simply not crowded enough to hide our terrible manners.
Everyone’s already sitting at a long, rectangular table that has been set on a platform made of stone tiles, right in the middle of the lush garden. Strings of fairy lights crisscross above it like a canopy, casting a warm golden glow across the crisp white tablecloth and the earthy wildflower centerpieces. When the coastal breeze lifts, the candle flames nestled in little terra-cotta jars flicker, making the glassware sparkle. Red lanterns hang from the closest trees, cypress and olive, as if marking the border between the villa and its groves. Behind all of it, a solemn, moonlit silhouette oversees eastern Sicily.
Mount Etna.
Most guests are already sipping dark red wines, and shots of something that seems to glow neon orange. There are at least three animated conversations going on at once, loud even over the hypnotic chorus of the cicadas. When Tiny barks, then barrels toward me like I’m a soldier returning from a one-hundred-year deployment, they all come to a stop.
Tisha notices us and begins tapping her glass with a knife.
“Get ready,” Nyota whispers to me. “It’s loser’s open mic night.”
“At last,” her sister declares. “Here they are—our most preeminent guests, bestowing upon us their invaluable attendance.”
Everyone laughs. My cheeks feel sunburnt. Nyota curtsies gracefully and mutters, “Little baby Jesus, why did you not make me an only child?” but her smile stays in place. It’s an act of pure ventriloquism.
“Hardest battles, strongest soldier,” I whisper, searching for Rue’s eyes. Sorry, I mouth at her as I rub Tiny’s back. I could go to her, hug her, maybe even fuss over how stunning she looks in her white dress and French braid. Except, she would hate it.
She shrugs, the curve of her lips small but warm.
“What do you two have to say for yourselves?” Tisha asks. The arm wrapped around the back of her chair belongs to her fiancé, Diego. He’s a Silicon Hills tech bro whom I really, really want to find annoying for being part of the crowd ruining my weird little city. Sadly, he thwarted my plans by turning out to be adorable and never wearing a Patagonia vest, driving a Tesla Cybertruck, or drinking Soylent. I remain on high alert; in the meantime, I wave back when he grins at me.
“I think we can give them a pass, babe,” he says. “I bet they have valid excuses.”
“Such as?”
He shrugs. “Their brains are not fully formed?”
“Ah, yes. The raw, unbaked prefrontal cortex of juvenescence.”
Nyota rolls her eyes. “Tish, quit being jealous because the party doesn’t start till I arrive. We were simply engrossed in our discussion topic—mean girls who act all haughty and superior, even though they notoriously wet the bed well into their teens.”
“I was nine—”
“I didn’t say we were talking about you—”
“—and I had a nightmare—”
“—and yet you’re being so defensive, I wonder why?” Nyota takes a seat across from her sister, ready to spend the night bickering.
Tisha has been Rue’s best friend since they were kids, and for a little while I resented my brother for not falling in love with her. I never said it aloud, and I hope to bring it to my grave, even more than the time I took a gummy and DMed Malala to tell her that I was sure we’d be best friends, even more than the fact that I cheated on every history exam in eighth grade and know nothing about World War I, even more than the identity of the person I’ve fantasized about while masturbating for the last three years. But when I first met Tisha, she was so easy to talk to. She’d laugh at my jokes, and not let conversations fall into unsettling silences, and allow herself to be charmed by me. Meanwhile, Rue…
At the beginning of her relationship with Eli, back when I was still living with my brother, she was cold and distrustful. She doesn’t like me, I thought. She’d rather I weren’t around. It wrung my stomach tight, the fear that her dislike would pry away my single remaining family member right after I’d reconnected with him. Then I would know, really know, what it meant to be alone in the world.