The drive to Amalfi is breathtakingly beautiful. Once we get out of Naples and onto the coast, I roll down the car window and let my thoughts dissolve.
Steep cliffs covered with lush greenery plunge into the sea below, and the aquamarine water is dotted with sailboats. Small villages hide behind the bends in the road, built right into the cliffs, seemingly defying gravity. The sun is warm, and the air is just the right amount of humid.
By the time we get to the house Vale rented, I feel lighter. If I just stay focused on the beautiful surroundings, I can almost let go of the thoughts weighing me down.
We squeeze into a small wedge of a parking space just off the narrow main road, and the driver quickly unloads our things. “I’ll have to park just up ahead,” he tells us. “When you need me, send a text.”
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.
“Oh my God,” I croak. “A person needs to train before they attempt those damn stairs. Gem, I don’t know how you did it.”
My sister gives me a wide grin, looking barely winded. “I’m still doing Pilates three days a week. This is great exercise for the baby.”
I shake my head. She’s a fitness lunatic. I fan myself with my palms as we walk into the restaurant. We’re greeted by the cheerful owner. He leads us to the back and onto the terrace where a bunch of tables are set up with cooking supplies.
Vale pulls me to the bar. “We need wine,” she says to the young bartender. “Do you have rosé?”
“Of course.”
“Three glasses, please. And one sparkling water for the pregnant lady.”
“Let me get it from the fridge,” he says with a charming smile.
When he disappears, Vale elbows me. “He’s cute.”
“I guess.” Then I realize where she’s going with this, and I roll my eyes. “Oh no.”
Vale shoots me an innocent look. “What?”
“Don’t even try,” I tell her. “Just the thought of men makes me want to vomit at the moment.”
She laughs. “All right, all right. I’m just teasing.”
“Plus, I’m technically still married,” I say. “He hasn’t sent the papers.”
Vale folds her lips over her teeth. “How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know.”
She waits, coaxing me to continue with her silence.
“I guess I’m annoyed,” I say. “I don’t know what it means. He seemed so eager to end things.”
“Are you hoping he changed his mind?”
I don’t know what I’m hoping for. Each day, I oscillate between missing Rafaele and wanting to call him just so I can scream at him for tossing me away like I’m nothing. And then there is the guilt about Nero. I feel it the most at night when I’m lying in bed and sleep just won’t come.
The bartender reappears with a sweating bottle of rosé and tells us he’ll serve it at our table, saving me from having to try to give Vale an answer.
The menu for the lesson is simple—caprese salad, paccheri pasta with fish, and delizia al limone, a mini sponge cake filled with lemon custard. The chef demonstrates how to do everything and goes around to check we’re doing it right. Despite our wine glasses being refilled frequently, the chef takes it all very seriously, correcting our technique until we’re all giggling.
“It’s very important!” he exclaims, showing us exactly how to roll the pasta dough into tubes.
Mari is the star of the class, and the chef constantly points out that her work is what the rest of us should aspire to. When my sisters and I tell him we’re Italian, just like her, he makes a big show of not believing us. We burst into giggles again.
Somehow, we manage to get through the class. The end result isn’t pretty, but it’s delicious. The chef brings out a new bottle of wine, accepts our thanks, and leaves us to enjoy our meal. The conversation flows easily. We talk about the art gallery Vale and Gemma are working on opening next year and the artists they’ve been meeting in Naples. Mari’s been trying to buy a painting from one of them for the new vacation home she and Giorgio bought in Ibiza, and apparently, the man’s been impossible to get a hold of.
“They can be quite eccentric,” Vale says, giggling. “One of the guys we’ve been talking to will only sell his work if he likes the client’s astrological birth chart.”
I grin. And I thought Loretta had extreme ideas when it came to her business.
It’s interesting learning about my sisters’ lives on this side of the world. Can I imagine staying here forever? Doing whatever I feel like doing? I guess I don’t have to imagine it. I don’t have to wish for freedom. I have it. Almost.
It’s just one signature away.
But there’s no breathless joy accompanying the realization.
My expression must reflect my darkening thoughts, because the table quiets. Slowly, all eyes turn to me.
“Cleo, do you want to talk about it?” Mari asks gently.
I bite down on my lip. I haven’t really talked about Rafaele since I arrived in Italy, even though I haven’t stopped thinking about him. Maybe it’s time. Maybe letting it out will help.
Plus, the alcohol has loosened my tongue.
“I guess…” I blow out a breath. “I’m still processing how fast it all happened. It’s not that things between us were perfect, but I was optimistic about our relationship. I was ready to tell him I loved him, even if he wasn’t quite there himself. I was going to take a leap of faith.”
Gemma nods. “We all saw how he looked at you on your birthday. Even his poker face couldn’t hide the fact that he adored you.”
I twist the stem of my glass between my fingers. “And the next day, I made a mistake. One fucking mistake. And it was enough to ruin everything? How is that fair?”
“It’s not fair,” Gemma says. “And Rafaele had no right to blame the situation on you.”
“I mean, it was a fucking mess, but you’re right. Why did he blame it all on me? It’s not like I climbed into Papà’s car knowing how everything would spiral.”
I leave the glass alone and lean back in my chair. “When we got married, I wanted nothing to do with him. I tried to get him to send me away by doing all sorts of bullshit, but he wasn’t fazed by any of it. I kept expecting him to lose it the way Papà and Mamma always did when I acted out—which, let’s be honest, was most of the time—but he took it in stride. He listened to me, and he built me up. He made me fall for him.” I give my head a shake. “And I was reckless, but that was because I thought Gem was in trouble.” I glance at my sister. “I love you, Gem. I’d do anything for you.”
Gemma’s lips waver. “I know.”
Rafaele made me feel like such an idiot for falling for my father’s trick, but what right did he have to do that? Couldn’t he understand why I did what I did? Apparently not.
“I don’t know what you guys think you saw at my birthday party, but Rafaele didn’t love me. He’s never loved anyone. He doesn’t get it.” A deep sadness pierces through my drunken haze. He may have felt something for me, but whatever it was, it wasn’t love.
“Cleo, I’m not sure that’s fair,” Gemma says quietly. “He put everything on the line for you when he thought you were in danger.”
“Yeah, and he obviously decided he never wants to do that again. I’m not worth it.”
Not worth losing his consigliere. Not worth putting his kingdom at risk. Maybe no one is worth all that, but I can’t help the anger that licks up my veins.
“Well, it’s his loss,” Vale says after a while.
Mari nods. “Exactly.”
I glower at my wine. “Fuck him.”
“Yeah, fuck him.” Gemma lifts her glass of water. “Cheers to that and to moving on.”
We clink our glasses, drink, and open another bottle of wine.
By the time we decide to wrap it up, I’m so drunk, I can’t even see straight. But when I fall asleep that night, I still dream of him.
