chapter 13
“So how do you think it went with Lilly today?” Julian asked.
The villa had gone quiet except for the rhythmic pulse of the waves against the cliffs. It was late in Italy—almost one a.m.—but
only midafternoon in California, so he, Charlotte and Sloane were still wide-awake. They sat around the dining table on the
deck, where a lantern flickered, drawing moths that tapped faintly at the glass.
“Tough to say,” Charlotte said, her voice low.
They were keeping their voices down. Lilly had gone up to her room an hour ago, but it was possible she hadn’t fallen asleep
and could hear the conversation.
A gust of wind nearly yanked away the umbrella that had provided shade earlier, so Julian got up and secured it. “Seems like
a sweet girl.”
Charlotte sighed. “Sweet wasn’t the word the attorney used.”
“What did he say?” Julian asked.
“That she could be difficult—apparently that was something Luca shared. And in truth, she comes off as a bit sullen. But it
could all be a defense mechanism, an attempt to push people away before they could reject her.”
“She’s going through a lot,” Julian said.
“So are you,” Sloane pointed out. “Have you heard from Cliff?”
They’d purchased a bottle of limoncello while walking around Positano. Almost every shop—except for those selling handmade
leather shoes, Amalfi-made ceramics or linen clothing—sold it, along with lemon candies, cookies, even lemon-coated almonds.
His sister had told them Ben had sent her the recipe for a limoncello spritz, saying it would be fitting to enjoy a popular
Amalfi digestif on their first night. So they’d purchased the vodka, club soda and Prosecco the recipe called for at a small
family-owned grocery store in Praiano before starting down the path that would take them through the labyrinth of cliffside
houses to their villa. Then they’d waited for Lilly to go to bed before actually making the spritzes and going outside to
talk.
“He texted to ask if I’d watched his game.”
Sloane gaped at her; Julian felt the same surprise. “Are you kidding me? You were on your way to Italy to meet a sister you
didn’t even know you had, and he wants to know if you watched his basketball game?”
Julian was tempted to throw a little shade at Cliff, too, but he bit his tongue. Cliff’s indifference had to hurt; Julian
didn’t want to deepen the wound.
“They beat the Cavs,” she said without much inflection.
Sloane rolled her eyes. “Who gives a damn?”
Charlotte shrugged as if to say it wasn’t all that important to her anymore, either. “He can be . . . self-absorbed. But in his defense, he’s used to people making a big deal about his ability
to play ball. In his world, that’s all that matters.”
Julian could tell she was used to relying on that excuse. It was handy, ready, on the tip of her tongue. She’d probably been telling herself the same thing since the day she met him, because there had to be some justification or it would be too difficult to look beyond the narcissism.
“You should’ve mattered to him,” Sloane grumbled. “What you’re going through—what he’s putting you through—should matter to him.”
“I just need to get over him,” Charlotte said.
Julian swatted away a mosquito whining in his ear. “The split’s still new. Don’t worry, it’ll happen.”
Sloane tilted up her glass while holding back the slice of lemon and mint leaf. “I wonder if he’s still seeing that model.”
Julian scowled at his sister. “Let’s not talk about her. We have enough going on.”
Sloane put down her drink. “You’re right. Sorry, Char. I’m just so mad at Clifford,” she said, mocking his full name.
Charlotte added more limoncello to her glass. “The shock and hurt I felt at first is turning into anger for me, too. It’s
almost like he flipped a switch one day and became someone else, someone I don’t know—or an exaggerated version of his worst
self. When I think about it, I’m stunned, so shocked I feel frozen solid, unable to move. But I have to keep functioning,
have to keep moving forward, or my whole life will collapse.”
Julian propped his legs up on the empty chair beside him. The moon seemed huge tonight. The way it hung low over the water
made him wish he could capture it through his lens. But night photography required hours of effort. He’d been out many times,
from dusk until dawn, chasing enough light to photograph the red rocks of Moab with the stars filling the sky beyond them.
Fortunately, he’d managed to get one shot he was particularly proud of—something different from all his competitors, who were
also out in that area, trying to do the same thing. Prints of it sold quite well at the gallery. But he didn’t plan to do
any night shooting in Italy.
“So let’s imagine a life without Cliff,” he said. “Where would you ideally want to live?”
“Once I finish my book and have some breathing room, you mean? Until then I’m playing it safe and staying with my parents.”
Sloane lowered her voice. “If you bring Lilly home, will they let her stay there, too?”
“They will. My mom isn’t feeling well a lot of the time, but I’ll be there to take care of both of them.”
“While you write?” Julian said.
Charlotte shrugged. “Other people have to deal with life while they work.”
Other people weren’t on such a short deadline. Other people didn’t have their whole career hanging in the balance. But Julian
didn’t say anything. Why add even more pressure when pressure was the biggest problem she faced? “What happens after you finish
your book?”
“I think I’ll buy a house with the money I’m getting from the divorce.”
“In LA?” he said. Even small, middle-class homes in Orange County, where her parents lived, cost well over a million dollars.
She’d still have a mortgage to pay.
“Or maybe San Diego,” she said.
That area was no cheaper.
“Something close to LA,” she continued. “I’m an only child. After all my parents have done for me, I feel I should stay close
as they age.”
“Do you have much money left over from your first book?” Sloane asked. “It was on the bestseller lists forever, right?”
Charlotte shifted uneasily at this question. Julian could tell by the way she hesitated that he wasn’t going to like her answer.
“Everything Cliff wanted to do or buy cost so damn much,” she explained. “I couldn’t contribute equally, so I just gave him everything I had.”
Julian dropped his head back with a groan.
When he looked up again, he found Charlotte giving him a disgruntled look. “I thought we’d be married forever, Jules, like
my parents. Why wouldn’t I share everything I have? Anyway, I just got a royalty check that was decent. It came into my account,
and I haven’t switched it over, so he doesn’t have that. I’ll be getting another one the first of August. And I’ll get a progress
payment when I turn in some sample chapters of the new book—if my editor likes them enough to sign off on the proposal.”
“She’ll like them,” Sloane said, but Julian wasn’t convinced and Charlotte couldn’t blame him. She didn’t seem capable of
writing anything. She’d lost all confidence. And that scared him. The money she was getting from the divorce sounded like
a lot, but it wouldn’t even buy her a house—not if she paid cash—so if she couldn’t maintain her career, she’d be broke before
she knew it. And what if she was supporting Lilly?
Her parents would probably come to her rescue, he told himself. They were incredibly supportive. But she wouldn’t want to
be bailed out, especially after being on her own for so long. That would cost her some self-respect, make her more depressed.
He didn’t like the setup, could see it all going badly very easily.
“Are you nervous about meeting with Luca?” Sloane asked, changing the subject.
“Sort of,” Charlotte admitted.
Sloane pushed her glass aside. “What are you going to ask him?”
“I want to know what my birth mother was like. What kind of childhood Lilly had so I’ll know what issues she could be facing. I also want to find out what he knows about any extended relatives.”
“And Lilly’s father,” Sloane reminded her. “Don’t forget to ask if Sabrina ever said anything about him.”
“I won’t forget. I also want to know if he can tell me anything about my own father.”
Dropping his legs to the deck, Jules sat up straight again. “We’ll take Lilly to the beach in Positano tomorrow, so don’t
feel you have to hurry.”
Charlotte’s expression showed relief as she met his gaze. “Thank you.”
“You bet.” He wanted to ask when she was going to start her new manuscript. He knew it should be right away. But she’d just
met Lilly and had so much to figure out, especially if she was going to try to contact other family members or reach Lilly’s
father. That meant the book would have to wait. But . . . until when?
As they sat on the deck, Sloane finally began to relax. They were in Italy, looking out at the coastal lights, a blanket of
stars across the sky and a vast inky ocean after one of the best meals she’d ever had. Julian had queued up “Bella Ciao,”
“Volare,” “Con Te Partiro” and other classics—along with a bit of Italian opera. The music drifted out to them through the
open doors of the villa while they discussed Lilly and Charlotte’s situation.
Sloane was glad the conversation never turned to her and what she was facing with Ben. She didn’t even want to think about
the choice she had to make. She’d come to Italy to catch her breath and draw strength from two of the people she loved and
trusted the most, and that was exactly what she planned to do.
“What are you thinking about?” Julian asked, cutting into her thoughts.
Surprised that she’d drawn his attention—he’d just been speaking to Charlotte—she blinked and sat up straighter. “Nothing, why?”
“You went quiet on us, and you had a dreamy smile on your face,” he replied, smiling himself.
“I just can’t believe we’re here—that we have this time to be together in this truly amazing place,” she replied. “It makes
me feel stronger, as if we can handle anything.”
“I hope we can,” he replied.