Meet Me in Italy

chapter 1

Charlotte Williams-Jackson was about to lose her married name. Her husband of only four years wanted a divorce. The reality

of that—the mere weight of the D word coming out of nowhere—hit her, once again, like a gut punch as she walked through the

front door of the sprawling LA mansion he’d purchased just after they were married and saw the leather carry-on Cliff had

packed in anticipation of his trip to New York. The text she’d received while she was at yoga said he wanted her out by the

time he returned.

Out. Gone. But they hadn’t even been fighting!

She covered her mouth with one shaking hand as tears welled up. She’d be divorced before she turned thirty. That had to be

unusual. These days, people weren’t even marrying until then. And not only would the split be painful, but it’d also be humiliating,

embarrassing. Their relationship had been almost as public as that of Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift.

At least she wouldn’t be left destitute.

As an NBA player who’d just negotiated a huge contract, he’d asked her to sign a prenup, but the settlement was more money than most people her age would ever have the chance to earn.

Since they hadn’t been married long and didn’t have any kids, she’d get the minimum amount specified, but eight hundred thousand dollars was still a lot of money.

Maybe he was breaking things off because she’d been pressing him to start a family. He was probably afraid she’d go off her

birth control and get pregnant even though he wasn’t ready. She wanted to believe he knew her well enough to trust she’d never

try to trap him, but there were plenty of professional athletes who’d faced such a scenario or worse, and he’d heard all the

horror stories.

Before he’d left their bed to sleep in one of the many guest rooms last night, he’d said he hoped she wouldn’t try to break

the prenup. She’d told him she wouldn’t, and she meant it. Besides the settlement, she still had royalties coming in from

her first novel, a “sports romance.” She wanted to think her book had sold over a million copies because it was just that good, but she knew debut authors typically didn’t see such numbers. Her success had to be largely due to her connection with

Clifford, who was one of the best shooting guards in the league. Thanks to him, she’d had over a million followers on social

media before she’d even been published, giving her an incredible platform.

But she hadn’t married him for his fame or his money. She’d married for love, and although her parents and friends had warned

her that being the wife of a professional athlete wouldn’t be easy, she’d thought she could defy the odds. She’d never dreamed

she and Cliff wouldn’t even make it to their fourth anniversary.

Numb inside, she lifted the hand that held her phone. She’d replied when he’d said he wanted her out before he got back, but

he hadn’t answered. Couldn’t they talk through whatever had upset him? Go to a counselor?

She’d suggested as much last night when he’d asked for a divorce, but he’d refused, said he just didn’t want to be married anymore. When she’d pressed him for an explanation, he’d added that he didn’t know how long his NBA career would last and he planned to enjoy these years while he could.

Apparently that meant unencumbered. But why couldn’t he enjoy playing ball while he was with her? How had she been getting in the way? Didn’t he love her enough

to try to salvage what they had?

The door opened behind her, and she turned to see his driver, whom she’d passed in the driveway when she’d pulled in a minute

ago.

“Mrs. Jackson.” Jeremy nodded politely, but he wouldn’t look her in the eye. She could tell he already knew that she was now

persona non grata. Cliff must’ve told him he was kicking her out, which made everything she planned to say, after a morning

spent reassuring herself that her husband would view things differently once he came back to himself, seem pointless.

“Have you seen Cliff?” she asked woodenly.

“No, ma’am. He called to tell me to get the car ready shortly after you left, but I haven’t seen him yet,” he replied. Then

he grabbed the luggage and beat a hasty retreat.

Was there another woman? Charlotte wondered. She had a feeling Cliff had strayed a time or two. Last night, he’d insisted

he hadn’t, that he simply wanted his freedom. But professional athletes—at least those at his level—were constantly faced

with temptation.

A bead of sweat rolled down between her shoulder blades. It was only eleven, but LA could get warm, even in April.

Footsteps sounded above her. She looked up to see her husband striding toward one of two matching staircases that swept down

to the first floor. It appeared he was leaving for his trip to New York to play the Knicks in an important play-off game sooner

than expected.

When he noticed her, he stopped as if he didn’t want to confront her. She got the impression he’d been trying to get out of the house before she returned. But then he squared his shoulders and continued, jogging down the stairs.

“You’re back from yoga already?” he said.

She tried to hide the hurt, but the emotional blow he’d struck was still so fresh it was impossible. She blinked rapidly but

couldn’t hold back the tears. “I’m actually home later than usual,” she said. “I wanted to give you plenty of time to sleep

in. I know you have to be rested for the game.” She’d also been hoping he’d be in a better frame of mind. “So I ran a few

errands after my class and stopped by my mother’s house. She hasn’t been feeling well.”

“There’s always something wrong with her,” he said dismissively.

Surprised by this callous response, she stiffened. “Lupus is like that.”

“Maybe she’s got lupus and maybe she doesn’t. Has that really been determined?”

“That’s what the doctor told her.”

“Either way, she loves the attention being sick brings her. Every time she says she’s not feeling well you run over there,

which is exactly what she’s after.”

He’d made similar comments before, but her mother would not say she wasn’t well unless it was true. Charlotte opened her mouth

to defend Penny, as she always had, but the words froze in her throat. If he wasn’t going to be part of her life in the future,

what did it matter?

He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his slacks and glanced at it. “Anyway, I have to go.”

She fixed her eyes on the thick gold chain hanging around his neck because she couldn’t bear to see the hardness in his eyes.

“You rarely leave this early.”

“I’ve got lunch with some of the guys.”

As if he wouldn’t have enough time with his teammates on the long plane ride.

“That’s it then?” she said. It was all so sudden she had whiplash.

But she didn’t know how to fix anything.

Cliff was completely unemotional, indifferent; she almost didn’t recognize him.

He’d been an asshole at times, sure. But he’d grown up with a difficult father who’d been in and out of his life—until he’d gotten rich and famous.

Then Richard was always hanging around, looking for a handout.

Cliff was also in an unusual and demanding job, despite its perks, and sometimes suffered from anxiety and depression due

to the constant pressure to perform and the very public backlash if he didn’t.

She’d tried to be understanding, tried to see the best in him. She’d meant what she’d said when she’d sworn to love him for

the rest of her life. But if he wanted to end their marriage, there was nothing she could do to stop him. The helplessness

she felt was probably the worst aspect of what was happening. He wouldn’t even give her the chance to change whatever was

bothering him.

“Have a safe trip,” she said dully.

The door opened behind her, and Jeremy stepped in. “Car’s ready,” he announced.

Relief flooded Cliff’s face. “Great. Let’s go.”

Charlotte thought he’d simply circumvent her and leave without so much as a goodbye, but as he brushed past, he muttered,

“I’m sorry.”

Then he was gone.

Charlotte had packed a suitcase and moved back in with her parents, who lived in Newport Beach, while Cliff was gone. She

wasn’t going to stay where she wasn’t wanted; it’d been his money that’d bought the house in the first place.

But even after living an entire week in her old bedroom, whenever she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, she felt strange, as if she’d stepped into a time capsule.

Her parents hadn’t changed a thing since she’d graduated from high school and left home.

Her yearbooks were stacked in the closet, the cluttered bulletin board above her desk held, among other things, a picture of her and Doug Green at senior prom, along with the dried-out corsage he’d given her, various notes from the friends she’d been closest to at the time, her SAT results, her acceptance to Stanford and her old book lists, which were extensive because she knew, in order to become a writer, she needed to be well-read.

That she’d been able to achieve her dream of getting published by a major publisher and hitting The New York Times bestseller list so easily and early in her career certainly wasn’t typical.

But she hadn’t marveled at the anomaly too much.

For her, nothing had seemed off-limits. As far back as she could remember, the world had bowed at her feet. She’d always felt

loved, valued, capable, happy.

Until now. Now the world had, without warning, become completely hostile. The press was having a field day with her divorce

(“Clifford Jackson Kicks out Queen of the ‘Sports Romance’”; “NBA Star Leaves ‘Queen of Sports Romance’”; “‘Sports Romance’

Author Unable to Create Her Own Happily-Ever-After”; “Clifford Jackson Giving up on ‘Storybook’ Romance”), so she wasn’t just

brokenhearted; she felt like a laughingstock. It didn’t help that the friends she’d made since marrying Cliff had become unresponsive