Chapter Forty-Seven
MARINA
PRESENT
“Someone should name you the margarita queen of Italy or something, because I swear,” Isla takes another sip, “I’ve never had a passionfruit margarita that didn’t make me want to puke.”
“Yeah, yeah,” May says, waving her hand in dismissal. “Keep bragging, we know, you can drink alcohol.”
A grin pulls at my mouth. I made May a mocktail that, in my humble opinion, tastes almost exactly the same as the actual cocktails, but she’s still mad about it.
“At least you won’t be hungover tomorrow,” Marisol says as she walks through the open door of Rosemary Cottage.
“Hey,” we all echo as she drops her designer bag on the kitchen counter.
Marisol is the most dressed down I’ve seen her in years, sporting a matching sweat set and running shoes. Not that she’ll be running anywhere.
I have barely seen Marisol in the last few years, the one exception being Isla and Caio’s wedding. But something I know won’t have changed since she left is that the girl hates to run. I’m not sure if she would even run to save her life—one thing we have in common.
The thought sends my brain back to the day I was running in the forest, the day I ran straight into Miles. I think of all of the small moments that led us to where we are today, and even though in so many of those moments I was so guarded, so sharp, I wouldn’t change any of it.
“Passionfruit Margarita?” I ask from my spot in the kitchen.
“Ooh!” Marisol clasps her hands together. “Yes, please.”
“Come sit.” May pats the sofa beside her and Marisol collapses into the corner of the cushions. “How’s everything going?”
Marisol tips her head from side to side. “Trying to find another agent is proving difficult. Jack did his due diligence when it came to tarnishing my name.”
“Aw, honey,” I say as I hand her a cocktail. Marisol has been having trouble finding work after her dickhead of an agent-come-boyfriend cheated on her and then dropped her.
“It’s fine.” She pushes her hair out of her eyes, her new bangs framing her face like a piece of art. “How are you?” she asks May, grabbing onto her hands. “Feeling any better?”
“The morning sickness has transformed from violent vomiting to mild nausea, so,” she raises her eyebrows, “improvements are being made.”
“Do you have any names in mind?” Isla asks.
May shakes her head softly. “We can’t agree on anything. I think we need to allocate a certain number of vetos each, because at this point, he’s just going to be called baby.”
“It’s a boy?!” all three of us echo.
May just takes a casual sip of her mocktail. “Not confirmed, but I just have a feeling.”
“Whichever way the tables turn, that is going to be one lucky kid,” Marisol says.
“Cheers to that,” I say, and the four of us clink our glasses together .
“Over to you, Marchetti.” May nods in Isla’s direction as we all settle back into our spots.
“I’m still getting used to that.” Isla shakes her head from where she’s sitting curled up on the couch next to me. “Honestly, everything is fine in my world. I don’t have any big updates for you guys.”
“Have you heard from your parents since you got back?”
“Barely,” she rolls her eyes, “and whenever I have all we talk about is Miles. They think they can use me to get updates about him just because he’s not answering their calls.”
“Wait,” I put my glass down, “he’s not taking their calls?”
Isla shakes her head. “As far as I’m aware, he hasn’t talked to them since he told them he was staying here after his surgery. I don’t think they took it so well, but they’re still trying to reach him, of course.”
“What am I missing here?” Marisol asks.
Isla lets out a breath. “Long story short, my brother and I grew up with parents who only really cared about us when we were succeeding. If we were getting good grades, if Miles’s soccer team won a match, if we went to college and followed the career paths they set out for us.
Shocker—coming to Italy and falling in love and never wanting to leave was not in their plans for me, and that created some…
problems. But Miles spent so many years so focused on finding that success, on reaching the top that…
” She shakes her head softly. “I think he forgot who he was.”
“Damn,” Marisol mutters, taking a gulp of her drink. I’m not sure she expected shit to get deep not even one cocktail into girls' night.
“He broke Marina’s heart in the process of finding that success?—”
“ What? ” Marisol's eyes cut to mine. I just shrug.
“But now he’s here, off work for a while because he nearly died in a boxing match?—”
“Okay, slightly dramatic,” May pipes in.
“Now he’s got Marina back, and I guess…he’s starting to fi gure out who he really is when all of that pressure is out of the way. I don’t blame him for not picking up the phone. The burst of pressure would be suffocating.”
The rest of us are left silent. I don’t blame him either. Miles needs to decide what is right for him and what future he really wants for himself. He can’t do that while people tell him just how much he needs to go back to his old life and how good it will be for him.
Maybe that’s why I’ve never tried to convince him to stay. I don’t want him to stay because I asked him to, I want him to stay because he wants to. Not because I pressured him into it.
“Shit sorry guys,” Isla says. “That got real serious real quick.”
May just ignores her, her focus stuck on me. “Did you guys end up having that conversation?”
I just shake my head. Now it’s my turn to take a big gulp of my drink. “It was his last physio appointment today. No doubt he’s been cleared to get back to work. He’s so perfect that even his bones heal miraculously.” I roll my eyes.
Marisol snorts. “Sorry.”
“It’s literally stupid.” I pick up the rust colored throw pillow from beside me, hugging it to my chest. “His stupid job, and his stupid fractured collarbone, and his stupid smile and that stupid fucking house.” I groan, throwing the pillow over my face and sliding down the couch.
“Did you hear how the appointment went?” May asks.
I just shake my head—and the pillow before dropping it into my lap. “Nope. I had my shift at the bar and then came straight here.”
“He didn’t text you to let you know?” Marisol asks.
“Nope. And I’m trying not to let that freak me out so if you all could give me some mildly delusional reassurance here, that would be great.”
“He’ll be processing,” Isla says. “He’s always had to deal with things on his own.
Our parents didn’t respond to anything but positivity from him, so he learned to look inward, to solve all of his problems internally.
He’s gotten better, he’s opening up more, but he’ll be taking his time with his decision, no doubt. ”
It’s funny because I’ve never felt like Miles hasn’t been open with me, with our relationship in the past, and now.
I’ve always known what he was thinking, whether it was that he secretly loved The Princess Bride , or the fact that I knew as soon as he got to town that he wanted me back.
I’ve never had to dig with him, so it feels foreign to wait this out.
The only other time I’ve ever waited on Miles was when he never came back, and I don’t even want to fabricate that possibility in my mind.
“No matter what,” Isla says, grabbing my hand, “I’m here for you. We all are. I will gladly talk about what a loser my brother is if he decides to let you go.” I just exhale in a laugh. “But I have a funny feeling he’s not gonna do that.”
“I hope you’re right.”