T-MINUS 1 DAY.
Ever so charitable, the rain added to my misery when I landed in Italy.
I descended the stairway without a peacoat, too pressed on time to hunt one down.
A driver stood before the open rear door of a Rolls Royce Droptail. I didn’t know a lick about him. Didn’t deep-dive into a background check.
And soon, I’d let this total stranger drive me in the rain.
For Farrow, I’d officially broken all my rules.
I waved him away, sliding inside and closing the door myself. “Casa al Mare. 10k if you can get me there in half the time.”
Four minutes.
The conversation needed to be completed in four minutes. That would give me enough time to fly back to Maryland, change and shower, then track down Farrow.
We passed row after row of lush villas. I ignored them all, checking an alert from my security system.
Farrow.
In the gallery. Twirling around with random sculptures like a schoolgirl.
She finally got the pendant. It only took her thirty fucking days. But it wouldn’t be Octi if she didn’t push me past my comfort zone.
The Rolls Royce rolled up to a limestone manor, overlooking a private strip of the gulf. I swung the door open and stormed up the cobblestone steps before the car even pulled to a stop.
Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” blared from somewhere out back. I followed the heavy notes to the oversized terrace, expecting to yank out speakers.
Instead, I came face-to-face with a cellist.
He paused, tilting his head at me, lips curled down at the sight of my untamed hair and two-day-old outfit. “Can I help you?”
“If you’d like to continue your music career, I suggest you set down your bow and shut the fuck up.”
“Zee Zee.” Eileen stretched on a yoga mat, soaring from the staff pose into the mountain pose. “How lovely to see you.”
Zee Zee?
Of all the worst nicknames I’d ever been called, that topped the list. Above Oliver’s Rumpleforeskin and Ayi’s Zachy Poo Poo.
I ignored her greeting, strode to the table beside her, and set down my phone, starting the timer.
She paused, pointing at it. “What’s that?”
“This conversation needs to be completed in four minutes.”
“But—”
“I would say that we’re done, Miss Yang, but we never really started.” I collected my phone, glancing at the timer. 3 minutes and 56 seconds left. “That took longer than I expected.”
I left behind a gust of wind in my wake as I redirected to the exit.
The place was everything I expected from Celeste Ayi’s second ex-husband. Gaudy, over-the-top, and dripping with gold. Gold couch. Gold tables. Gold-plated espresso machine.
Eileen chased after me. “Wait. That’s it?”
I kept walking. “What else is there to say?”
“I don’t know?” She waved her hands, jogging now. “Anything.”
“Unfortunately, your desperation has rendered me speechless.” I slid into the car, sparing her one final thought before I bid her farewell for good. “Keep the fucking ring. Goodbye, Eileen.”
