Chapter Eight
MARINA
PRESENT
“ Grazie !” I yell at the driver, who went well above the speed limit to get me here just in time.
He toots the horn before driving off as I walk into the lobby of Hotel Dolce. People are everywhere. A woman walks past me with a bunch of flowers so big she can barely see over them. I step out of her way before I cause a disaster.
“ Ciao, Marina,” Stefan—Caio’s assistant? Hotel manager? I’m not sure what he is anymore—greets me as I shuffle my way down the hall to the bridal suite. “You’re?—”
“Late, I know,” I say as I pass him. Turns out it takes way longer to do your hair and makeup when two of your favorite people are getting married than when you have a shift at the bar beneath your apartment.
I slept like shit last night, my head in a never-ending loop, leaving me begging to a higher power for just a wink of rest. Sleep found me after hours of tossing and turning, but my mind didn’t stop running, even while I slept.
My purse starts buzzing. It’s probably Ma calling to find out where I am.
No doubt, she and Nora have already found their seats.
Those two have been preparing for nearly a month for today, going shopping in Sorrento for new dresses and going to the hairdresser just this week, so they could make sure they looked perfect for Caio and Isla’s day.
It’s sweet really. Even if they’ll sit there thinking they are the ones who got Isla and Caio together.
They can think that, but I truly believe it was fate that made those two collide. There’s no other explanation for two people who are that perfect for each other.
I rifle through my purse looking for my phone to stop the incessant buzzing when I walk straight into something hard.
“Oh, sorry,” I say as I stumble back, brushing the loose strands of my curls out of my face. As I do, a familiar, warm, clean cologne floats up my nostrils, and I immediately feel like I’m going to be sick.
My heart feels like it’s working double time as I realize whose presence I’m in. Even more so when two big hands grip my arms to keep me from falling. I hold my breath as my eyes travel up to see what used to be my favorite pair of green eyes.
That sick feeling surges again as our eyes lock on each other, getting stuck there just like they did all those years ago. I’m frozen in place, my body’s fight or flight response short-circuiting as I just stand here, lost for words or thoughts, or anything. It seems like he is as well.
But my gaze doesn’t linger there for so long this time.
No, I can’t help the way that my eyes map every single detail on his face.
Can’t help the way they instinctively look towards where I know a birthmark sits hidden beneath his collared shirt and tie, the one I used to trace with my fingertips in bed at night.
His hair is longer than it used to be, the light brown strands now brushing the top of his ears. He’s got a mustache too, when did a mustache ever look this good?
He looks rougher than he used to, scruffier, but in such a charming way, it only makes me angry. Every new crease in his smile lines reminds me of how beautiful we were, and how he destroyed that.
I have the urge to slap him across his pretty cheeks and wrap him in a hug at the same time, my emotions fluctuating every second I spend looking at him and all of his new features.
I focus on the part of me that wants to slap him, forcing myself to remember the nights I spent staring at my phone waiting for him to call.
My eyes begin to sting beyond my control, my frustration and anger deciding to come out in liquid form.
I try my best to force the tears back through the holes they came from as Miles looks down at me.
I’m thrown right back to the way it felt to have those eyes look at me with pure admiration.
Now they’re looking at me with only confusion and sorrow, like he’s piecing this all together.
I suddenly remember that he only found out about me being here last week, only found out that his sister is one of my best friends last week.
He really is piecing this together, trying to make sense of the fact that two different parts of his life have somehow merged, trying to make the puzzle pieces fit.
I push down the sympathy that surges in my core as I watch his mind work before his eyes clear, like a fog has lifted, like he’s truly seeing me.
Me, Marina, standing right in front of him.
I’m still fighting to hold those tears in; if I let one slip, it will give away exactly how weak I feel in this moment, when all I want to be is strong.
His eyes bounce around my face and between my glistening eyes. He doesn’t let go of his soft grip on my arms.
“Please don’t cry,” he whispers, and it guts me.
I turn my head to look anywhere else.
“Marina I?—“
“Don’t.” My voice comes out strong, just how I had hoped. “You had your chance to explain yourself four years ago. You’re a little too late.”
I force myself to look at him again. “I love your sister, and I am here to celebrate her and my cousin and their sickly, perfect love. Please don’t ruin this for me.”
“Please,” he says, his eyes brimming with hurt. “Just give me five minutes.”
“No.” I don’t dare to speak any other words, fearful that my voice won’t waver.
Miles lets go of a breath before he hesitantly lets go of me and steps aside.
I finally let out a breath of my own and stride past him, heading for the bridal suite.
My instincts want to drag my head around to look at him, to see if he’s looking back, but I don’t.
I just shake my arms, physically trying to shake off the interaction.
But I can’t help but feel like the ghost of his touch is stuck on my skin.
But I did it. I faced him, and I didn’t break.
Let’s just hope that he doesn’t try to talk to me again, because I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold it together.
I scold myself for how much of an effect he still has on me.
I spent so little time with him in the big scale of things, one summer.
Yet, he has the ability to throw me for a loop whenever he’s so much as mentioned in conversation, let alone seeing him in person.
I thought I’d just feel angry, and I do, but I also feel sad. All of my emotions from that time flooded my system as soon as the smell of his cologne hit me. And the one that jumped to the forefront was sadness, even if I dragged the anger to the front lines.
I push on the big double doors to the bridal suite.
“Oh, thank god you’re here. Help.” May stands trying to do up the corset of Isla’s wedding dress. All the tension held in my body dissipates at the sight of the two of them. The girls who are my true soulmates.
I drop my purse on the couch and chuckle as I go to help them.
As I’m doing up the buttons at the back of Isla’s dress, May eyes me wearily.
I chance a look over at her and her eyebrows are raised in question.
I give her my best attempt at a reassuring smile before doing up the last button.
I won’t let that little wobble deter me, I’m good .
“There,” I say after tying a knot at the top of the corset. I rest my hands on her shoulders. “You look incredible.”
Isla lets out a breath, shuffling over to look at herself in the mirror. “Okay, I’m really getting married.”
“You’re really getting married,” May and I say in unison.
She runs her hands down the front of her dress, her hands lingering on the lace overlay.
I can’t help the intrusive thought that enters my mind, the one that has me thinking that this might never be me.
I might never find someone that I want to see at the end of the aisle.
I try to force the thought away with an exhaling breath.
This isn’t the time to be worrying about my future husband.
I pick up her veil and clip the comb into her hair, admiring how beautiful she is in the final look. It was beautiful when she tried it in the shop, but all done up like this, she looks angelic. “He is going to cry.”
Isla’s face turns stern. “No, he is not. I gave him strict instructions.”
May frowns. “Not to cry?”
“Yes. If he cries, I’ll cry, and I refuse to look like a raccoon on my wedding day.” That makes all of us laugh. I don’t know if Caio will be able to keep his promise, but I can’t wait to see him standing there at the end of the aisle.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
Isla lets out another breath before nodding. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
May grabs my arm as Isla takes one last look in the mirror. “Hey, you good?”
I nod, smiling as I start what I know is going to be a night of pretending. “I’m good.”