by Jen Carter
My heart felt achy.
He must have just gotten home. What an incredibly long day for him.
Goodnight, Nico, I wrote. I miss Vernazza.
It misses you, he wrote back.
I really thought he was perfect.
TWENTY-ONE
The next morning, Stella was gone when I woke up. She had promised that we didn’t have to get going until nine or ten o’clock—a promise that was met by a cheer from Holly. There weren’t any bike rides or hikes in Rome that I wanted to do, so sleeping in sounded like a treat to me. But sleeping in is relative. While Holly was capable of sleeping half the day, I only managed to sleep until seven.
Why was Stella gone? She was a relatively-early riser, but on the days that Jason got up with their boys, she’d take the opportunity to sleep. So why wasn’t she sleeping now?
She had left a note on the dresser. Be back in a bit.
Okay. It was thoughtful to leave a note, but I still had no idea where she went or why she went there so early.
I brushed my teeth and jumped in the shower. As the hot water helped bring my mind into focus, I marveled that today was our last day in Italy. It had gone so fast. And it hadn’t been anything like what I expected. Not only had I gotten along with my sisters reasonably well, but I also learned something about them. I hadn’t known Stella was so deeply impacted as a mother by our parents’ deaths. I hadn’t known that Holly was conflicted about her PhD.
Then there was what we learned about our parents. Would we have ever known that Mom was disowned by her parents or that Dad was an artist? If Aldo hadn’t told us already, it was unlikely that he had plans to tell us one day. I hadn’t known that it was possible for me to appreciate my parents more. But I did.
And then there was Nico. He was the biggest surprise of the trip—and the most bittersweet surprise. Why did I have to cross an entire continent and ocean to find someone who gave me butterflies?
Maybe it was a test.
Mom? Dad? Are you testing me? Is there another lesson I’ve missed—something else you’re trying to tell me?
I wished I had the answers.
By the time I got out of the shower, Stella was back.
“Hey, where’d you go?” I asked, brushing my hair.
Stella looked up from where she was repacking her backpack. “Coffee,” she said, dropping her eyes to the shirt she was folding.
Oh. That was the first time on the entire trip she got up early to get coffee. I didn’t quite believe her, but I wasn’t going to push it.
“You know what? No, I didn’t go get coffee,” Stella said. “I just said that because I was going to stall. My plan was to tell you when Holly got up, but that could be hours. I’ll just tell you now. Come here.”
I crossed the room and sat on the bed where Stella had her backpack. She turned to the little desk behind her and picked up a folder. From it, she took an envelope and then sat down on the bed next to me.
“Remember when we were on the train coming here and I told you that I was working on an idea to help Holly come to terms with her PhD program?”
I nodded.
“Well, since then, I realized that my plan had to be extended to you as well.” She looked at me earnestly. “I’m getting on a plane tonight to see my family. But I don’t think that you or Holly should come with me. Holly needs to go back to Florence and finish working through her questions about school. And you need to do something completely outside your comfort zone. So I bought Holly a train ticket to Florence. And,” she handed me the envelope, “I bought you a ticket to Vernazza.”
I took the envelope. My name was scrawled across the front, and inside, sure enough, was evidence that my way had been paid back to the little seaside village.
“You do what you want,” Stella said. “Go to Vernazza and then fly out of Genoa tonight. Or find a place to stay up there and stick around for a couple days. You’re off all summer—you don’t need to be back in California for anything. Of course, you could come home with me tonight, but I really think you’re at a crossroads right now. Do you want to live your life in your little bubble, or do you want to pop it?”
I stared at the envelope. “This is really nice Stella. Thank you. But I can’t pay for a new plane ticket home. And what if—”
Stella waved me off. “Stop with the what-ifs. Those what-ifs are chains holding you down. And don’t worry about getting home. I bought insurance on our plane tickets, and I’ll take care of the new ticket. You have no excuses.”
There was insurance for plane tickets? Was that a thing? Well, if it was, Stella would know about it. And if it wasn’t and she was willing to lie about it, then clearly she really wanted me to go.
I hugged my older sister.
“Thank you,” I said.
Stella gave me a big squeeze before letting go. “You need to pack. The chances of Holly waking up before you leave are slim, but I’d still hurry if I were you. I’m pretty tired of her peanut gallery commentary, and you must feel the same way.”
Yes. I. Did. I loved my younger sister, but yes I did.
“Leave your hair down today,” Stella said. “Maybe trade out your running shoes for something less bulky.”
“I only have flip flops.”
Stella sighed. “Well, that would be less bulky. Want to use some of my makeup?”
“Nope.”
She smiled. “You’re right. Just be who you are.”
Well, maybe I needed to be a slightly better version of who I was. Because regular me would never get on a train to see a boy.
***
Okay.
Okay. Yes, this was going to be fine. I didn’t need to text Nico and tell him I was coming. It seemed rude not to, but then I was too scared to do that anyway. What if he didn’t answer? Or worse, what if he said not to come?
But then again, what if I arrived and he wasn’t there? Or, worse, what if I arrived and he was all awkward and didn’t want to see me? I’d rather avoid either of those possibilities.
Maybe it was better to text him.
No, I couldn’t.
Besides, the guy had spent all that time and effort to get to Rome the day before, had said he wanted to see me, had kissed me, and had texted me goodnight. This plan of Stella’s was fine. Completely doable. Granted, it was totally outside my comfort zone and totally the stuff of which romantic comedies were made. But why couldn’t my life be a romantic comedy for a day or two? It had been a drama for so long. And not even a riveting drama. It had been a boring, depressing, I-shouldn’t-have-paid-ten-dollars-to-see-this kind of drama. I wanted romantic comedy. Just for a day. Or even just a couple hours. That was all.
I tried to read, but my mind kept wandering. By the time I got to La Spezia and boarded the train for Cinque Terre, my stomach was in knots. I wished Vernazza wasn’t the fourth stop. It seemed so far away, and the trip was taking so long. But then suddenly the train was there, and I had no idea how time had slipped away so fast. Why wasn’t Vernazza the fifth stop? Why couldn’t there be more villages so that Vernazza could be the sixth or seventh stop? I needed more time. I wasn’t ready.
Stepping off the train, I felt an odd mixture of déjà vu and out-of-body floating. The sun beat down on my shoulders as I shuffled along with the herd of tourists migrating to the village center. It was hot and loud, but the further we moved, the more the crowd thinned, the noise dissipating almost magically. Before I knew it, I was walking pretty much by myself. And then I was standing outside Nico’s wine shop.
I peeked in the open door and saw Nico at the back counter handing a bag to a customer. Vincenzo sat on the same barstool he did the day we first arrived in Vernazza. Well, I assumed it was Vincenzo. He had the same rounded back and shaggy hair.
I waited until the customer left. Vincenzo was still in there, and there might have been other customers that I hadn’t seen, but I couldn’t wait all day before going inside.
I stepped into the doorway.
Nico looked
up to greet me. When he realized I wasn’t a customer, his friendly look morphed into surprise.
“Benvenuto,” I said.
His surprise melted away, and his eyes darted to Vincenzo. “Vin, get out,” he said.
Vincenzo grunted and turned toward the door. With one look, he hoisted himself from his stool and pointed at me. “I think I know you.”
“No you don’t,” Nico said. “Go on, get out of here. And close the door behind you.”
Vincenzo lumbered through the shop, wagging his finger at me. “No, no, I think I know you,” he said.
I moved from the doorway to let him pass and shook my head, “Sorry, no. Must be someone else.” I dropped my backpack to the floor.
Vincenzo grunted again and then walked out. Before the door was closed behind him, Nico had crossed the store and was wrapping me in his arms and kissing me.
I could get used to that.
“You’re here,” he said after a prolonged welcome.
“I wanted to see you again,” I said.
“How long are you staying?”
“I don’t know.” I nearly laughed. It was practically absurd that I was standing there having that conversation. The déjà vu was gone, but the out-of-body floating continued. “I could leave tonight, or I could find a place and stay a couple days. I don’t start teaching again until the end of summer, so I don’t have to be back just yet.” Was I quoting Stella? It sounded like I could have been. I needed to stop that.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said. “You really don’t have to leave right away?”
I smiled. “No, I’ve got some time. I can stay till you get tired of me.”
He ran his hand down the length of my unbraided hair and kissed me again.
TWENTY-TWO
Two months later
I was not nearly as artistic as Mom.
I also wasn’t as organized or as poetic. But I was in a now-or-never situation with getting our Italy scrapbook done. I had set a deadline for myself, and it was looming.
A knock sounded on the door.
Good. Reinforcements were here. I pushed myself off the couch and walked across the living room, careful to avoid stepping on pictures that littered the floor around me.
“Hey,” I said while opening the door. “Forget your key again?”
Amanda stepped inside. “Since I moved out and took it off my key ring, I keep forgetting to grab it whenever I come over. I should just put it back on the ring.” She rubbed her palms together and grinned. “Okay, so we’re scrapbooking? How far have you gotten?”
“Almost nowhere,” I said. “And we’re leaving for the airport to pick up Nico in two hours. I promised myself that I’d get it done before then.”
Amanda and I walked back to the couch.
“No problem,” she said. “I’m an objective observer. I’ll go through all the pictures and pick out the best ones. I’ll hand them over, and you paste them in.”
“Good,” I said. “Picking them out is the hardest part.” I sat down on the couch and pointed to one section of the floor. “Over there, we have Vernazza.” I pointed to another section. “Over there is Florence.” I pointed to the last section. “And over there is Rome. I need ten to twelve pictures of each place.”
Amanda sat down in the middle of the mess and examined the Vernazza pictures. Picking up one and handing it to me, she said, “So how excited are you for Nico to be here?”
I took the picture and ran a glue stick over its back. “Beyond excited. And completely nervous. We talk and text constantly, but what if he thinks my life is boring or hates Southern California?”
“Oh stop,” Amanda said. She handed another picture out to me. “He’s going to love it here. Are Holly and Stella coming with us to pick him up from the airport?”
“No, they’re just meeting us for dinner.”
“Ah.” She held two pictures up and examined each. “Any update on those sisters of yours? What’s the latest and greatest?” She gave me the picture in her left hand.
I smiled at it. It was from the night we ate at John the winemaker’s restaurant. In the picture, Holly was holding up a glass of wine with the soccer game on the beach taking place behind her.
“Stella and Jason finally put their house on the market, so the next couple months will be crazy for them as they get ready to move. And Holly broke up with that loser, Guy. I guess he read a chapter of her dissertation and said it was subpar. She told him that he was subpar and called it quits.” I suppressed a giggle. “I think she said it in French to match the pronunciation of his name, and he didn’t understand. It’s not funny, but it is funny.”
“Maybe I should send him a box of subpar rolled tacos to express my condolences.”
I couldn’t keep the giggles in any longer. “That would be hilarious.” I took the next picture she held out to me. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I had an idea about the winery holding a 5K Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving this year, and Jason okayed it—as long as I organized it. So I’ve got some planning to do.”
“That’ll be fun,” Amanda said. “I won’t run, but I’ll come and cheer on the runners while drinking mimosas.”
“I’ll appreciate that support.”
Amanda made three more decisions on pictures before speaking again.
“So, is there anything I should know about Nico before we all go out to dinner tonight? Anything I should or shouldn’t say?”
“Well, I don’t think we’re going to dinner at a place that takes coupons, so it’s not like you could impress him with pulling out a coupon from his old company. Just be yourself and talk about how awesome I am.”
“I can do that.”
She handed me another picture, and we lapsed into a steady working rhythm. I was so grateful for Amanda. She had moved out about three weeks ago, and so far I was doing fine. We had promised to have dinner every Wednesday night, and before she moved, I was already getting better about heading up to Otto Viti every weekend to spend time with my family—and the new friends I had made there. I had worried that I’d be lonely without a roommate, but between my Otto Viti weekends and the constant conversations with Nico, I wasn’t lonely at all. I actually felt more independent and balanced.
We finished the scrapbook with three minutes to spare, which worked out perfectly since I needed to run a brush through my hair, find my purse, and put on my shoes. On our way out, I kissed my fingers and touched the frame around Dad’s sketch of sunflowers now hanging by the front door and said a silent thank you.
Life might not always go the way we expect, but it’s the unexpectedness that brings gratitude and humility.
And sometimes excitement and love.
Thank you for reading Honeymoon in Italy. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review to help the D’Angelo sisters find new readers. Just a couple words would be greatly appreciated.
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www.jencarterwrites.com
The Otto Viti Mysteries
Honeymoon in Italy (Before the Otto Viti Mysteries: A light smystery prequel novella)
http://a.co/2yWzMGC
Must be Murder (Book 1)
http://a.co/b7WkI3Z
Fired and Inflamed (Book 2)
http://a.co/bbD7oe9
Starved for Attention (Book 3)
http://a.co/aITvG9s
Read on for an excerpt from Must Be Murder!
Also by Jen Carter
Chasing Paris
Amy Chase is no stranger to mysteries. In fact, back when she was Amy Winthrow, the mystery of a long-lost grandmother is what brought Will—her future-husband—into her life. See how their paths crossed and how the mystery of Elizabeth Hathaway changed both of them in Chasing Paris:
https://amzn.com/B008M7UCFQ
Remembering Summer
Long before Livy moved to Otto Viti, she grew up in a coastal California town known for its annual Shakespeare festival. Growing up
there, she learned to make the products eventually sold in Mortar and Pestle, and she fell in love with Hunter. See how her story unfolded in Remembering Summer:
http://amzn.com/B00EFYI626
The Sarafina Series
for Young Readers Ready for Chapter Books
When Mother Nature gets sick, her sister Sarafina must take over. What happens when she makes mistakes, like mixing up the colors of a rainbow and making a volcano erupt bubbles?
I am a mom. Find out why I wrote the Sarafina Series here: www.sarafinabooks.com
Sarafina Series Volume 1: Books 1-4 https://amzn.com/B01FYMS3KM
Sarafina Series Volume 2: Books 5-8 https://amzn.com/B01FYMS3R0
Individual Books:
Sarafina and the Mixed up Rainbow (#1) https://amzn.com/B00QZHHJ0Q
Sarafina and the Muddy Mess (#2) https://amzn.com/B01BFURKSS
Sarafina and the Bouncy Island (#3) https://amzn.com/B01BJUN9IY
Sarafina and the Bubbly Volcano (#4) https://amzn.com/B01C68BC8M
Sarafina and the Protected Pyramid (#5) https://amzn.com/B01E1PHHM8
Sarafina and the Bamboozled Countryside (#6) https://amzn.com/B01E1PZKV8
Sarafina and the Raging Rainforest (#7) https://amzn.com/B01FBE5UYK
Sarafina and the Broken Rules (#8) https://amzn.com/B01FBE6HC4
Excerpt from Must Be Murder
ONE
“Don’t look now, but here they come,” Holly muttered.
I didn’t know why my sister said that. Everyone looked when told don’t look now. It was practically impossible not to.
Still drying the wine glass in my hand, I turned just in time to see a large group of late-twenty-somethings filing into the tasting room.
Holly swatted my arm somewhat playfully. “I said not to look,” she said.
I ignored the swat, partly because I was used to being swatted by my younger sister, but mostly because my good mood began evaporating once I saw the group. I had completely forgotten that they were coming today. As much as I loved helping out at my family’s winery on the weekends, every now and then I’d rather be at home watching movies on my couch. This was one of those times.