The SUV with the bodyguards pulls up next, and the four men help us carry our bags down the steep stone steps that lead to the house. We pause at a small terrace that holds another spectacular view. Vale pulls a set of keys out of her purse and unlocks a creaky wooden door.
“Come on,” she says, gesturing for Gemma, Mari, and me to follow her.
Behind the door is a small entryway. We shuffle along it, making jokes about how the guards will get stuck with our big bags because it’s so narrow, but when we make it out on the other side, we shut up. It’s hard to speak with our jaws on the floor.
I move through the living room toward the view that’s framed with a clear arched window. There is no horizon distinguishing sea from sky. The water simply melts into a lighter blue, stretching as far as the eye can see. It is a sublime kind of beauty. The kind that renders you speechless. Gemma wasn’t exaggerating. This place is something.
We flit from room to room, oohing and ahhing about the views from every window, checking out the colorful pottery that decorates the house, and admiring the watercolor art on the walls.
Behind a side door in the kitchen, there is a set of steps leading down to a pebbled beach. We climb down them, warning each other to be careful while clutching a rickety wooden railing that’s been weathered by water, salt, and wind. At the bottom, we find a few loungers with umbrellas just feet away from the water and a dock with a small boat.
“I feel like I’m in an Italian movie,” I say. “This is so cool.”
Vale comes to my side and wraps an arm around me. “And now you live just a few hours from all this. You can come back whenever you want to.”
I smile down at the water lapping at my feet, but it’s a bitter smile. How can it not be when the sky reminds me of the color of Rafaele’s eyes? I would have loved to come here with him. We never even had a honeymoon.
Fuck. Why am I thinking about him? What fucking honeymoon? My marriage is over. Even though he still hasn’t sent the papers.
He seemed in such a rush to get me away from him, but I’ve been here for almost two weeks, and the divorce papers that he promised so vehemently haven’t arrived. I’m trying not to read into it.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask, forcing myself not to ruminate on my soon-to-be ex-husband.
“We’ve got a boozy cooking lesson booked for the afternoon,” Vale says. “It’s only fifteen minutes away from the house, but it’s a bit of a hike.”
Mari gazes at the water, a smile on her face. “Who’s up for a swim?”
“Me!” Gemma says, plucking her shirt away from her chest. “I’m boiling.”
We grab our bikinis from the house and jump off the dock into the cool water. Gem, Vale, and Mari stay close to the shore, but I swim farther out. There are some small fish around me, and a few boats in the distance, but otherwise, I’m all alone.
I float on my back and close my eyes, letting the sun caress my skin. The waves rock me gently back and forth, and for a moment, I almost feel at peace.
Almost.
I used to find it hard to imagine what happens when you die. I’m not religious, and I don’t believe in God, so in the past, my default answer was nothing happens. One second, you’re alive, your senses drunk on your surroundings, and the next, the lights go out. But now, that thought makes my skin chill despite the sun blazing above me.
I want to believe there was something waiting for Nero on the other side. Something that made up for the crap hand he was dealt. He died because of me.
Something drips down my cheek, and I realize I’m crying again. I’m so fucking tired of it, but I just can’t stop.
How do I stop this heartache?
I roll onto my front, submerge my head under the water, and swim back to the shore.
By the time we finish our swim, it’s time to get ready for the cooking class. I pick out a cute green sundress, a pair of platform sandals, and a tiny white purse that’s just big enough for my phone.
When I come out of my bedroom, Mari scans me over and gives me a thumbs-up. “You look so cute.”
I smile at her. I’ve gotten a chance to get to know Mari better since arriving in Italy, and she’s the opposite of her bossy brother. She’s soft-spoken, gentle, and has an air of calmness about her. She’s easy to get along with.
“So do you.” She’s wearing a light-blue skirt, a cropped top, and a few layered gold necklaces.
My sisters appear a few minutes later, and we leave the house with our bodyguards following us. By the time we hike up to the place where the cooking class is, I’m groaning and sweating.