chapter 21
When Charlotte woke up the next morning, her mouth tasted of stale sugar and wine and her skull throbbed behind her eyes.
“Damn it. What’d I do?” she said aloud. Then the memory of kissing Julian rose in her mind, and she realized drinking too
much wasn’t the worst of it. Thank God he’d put a stop to what they’d been doing. There was no telling how far she would’ve gone. She’d suddenly been willing and eager
to make love with him, which was beyond shocking. He was her best friend’s brother! Her longtime friend! And she wasn’t even out of her marriage yet.
“Hey, you!” Coffee drifted up from the kitchen as Sloane cracked open the door and leaned through.
Charlotte managed to rise up on her elbows, but the sight of her best friend nearly made her curse silently. What would she think about that kiss?
Charlotte didn’t want to find out, so she wasn’t going to tell her. She could only hope Julian made the same decision. “Hey,”
she responded, and gingerly slid back down to lay her head on the pillow.
Concern entered Sloane’s expression as she came into the room. “What’s wrong with you? Are you sick? I thought you’d be up writing by now.”
Charlotte wished she’d lower her voice, but didn’t really care to explain why, so she didn’t ask. “I’m okay,” she said, trying
to speak as loudly as she usually did. “Just . . . slept in a bit. Is Jules up?” She couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking about what happened last night.
“Not yet. He’s been keeping some really late hours.”
“He doesn’t seem to be sleeping much,” she agreed.
“And sometimes, if you look at him when he doesn’t know you’re doing it, he’ll have this far-off expression on his face, as
if he’s . . . lost.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s acting weird, Char. I’m worried.” She sat on the corner of the bed. “Have you noticed anything . . . strange going on
with him?”
Charlotte sifted through possibilities and tried not to land on last night. Had Sloane picked up on the subtle changes that’d
been going on between them since this trip began?
If so, he wasn’t the only one acting different. She’d enjoyed kissing Julian, had wanted to go much further.
Where had that come from? Since she got married, she hadn’t allowed herself to even think about anyone other than Cliff. And
then . . . only a short time after they split up, she was ready to take off her clothes for someone else? Not just anyone
but . . . Julian?
She was on the rebound, she decided. A person going through a breakup didn’t always make the best decisions. “Not sure what
you mean,” she mumbled.
“He hasn’t told you what’s bothering him?”
“I didn’t know there was something bothering him.” She’d been so caught up in her own troubles, had she missed signs she should’ve noticed?
“He probably wouldn’t say anything to you. He knows you’re already going through too much. Just thought I’d ask.”
A fresh wave of guilt gave Charlotte the impetus to drag herself into a sitting position. “What could it be?”
“I have no idea.”
“You’re his sister,” she said. “Ask him.”
“I’ve tried! He won’t tell me.”
Attempting to ease the pain in her head, Charlotte began to rub her temples. Julian had seemed rather pensive at times—when he wasn’t trying to lift her spirits. “He seems to be over his broken engagement, and he’s his own boss, so it’s not like he could lose his job.”
“He claims the gallery’s doing fine, too. So what is it?”
“He’s pretty driven. Could it mean something that he’d take off so much time to come to Italy?”
“No. That’s not a warning sign as far as I’m concerned. Why would he turn down an opportunity to spend an entire month on
the Amalfi Coast? Especially when any pictures he takes here would be commercially viable. It’s not like we dragged him to
some godforsaken place where there wouldn’t be anything appealing to photograph.” She grinned. “And he gets to hang with us.
What could be better?”
Charlotte could no longer hold her best friend’s gaze. “I get that, but it must be work. What else could it be?”
“It’s not work,” Sloane argued. “If it was, he’d tell me.”
“Maybe it’s just that he’s lost direction in his life. Maybe this trip is meant to be a reset for him. Everyone has those
moments . . .”
“So I shouldn’t worry?”
“Not until you know there’s a good reason to.”
She blew out a breath. “Okay. I’ll sit on my hands and trust that he’ll tell me when he’s ready.”
“What about you?” Charlotte asked. “How are you and Ben doing?”
She pulled her gaze away. “We’re hanging in there.”
It’d taken some time, but Sloane had finally started confiding in Charlotte about the decision she was facing. Although she
didn’t really want to talk about it, a bit more seemed to come out every day. “I’m worried about you.”
“I know. But . . . don’t. I’ll figure it out.”
They heard voices downstairs. Lilly was up, speaking to Julian.
Sloane got off the bed. “I’m going down to breakfast. Forget I said anything about Jules. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
The memory of Julian’s lips, soft and pliable on hers, and the taste of Merlot when he laughed against her mouth rose in Charlotte’s
mind. “Jules is fine,” she said aloud, trying to convince herself at the same time. She couldn’t bear the thought that anything
could be wrong with him.
But if he needed her, she’d be there for him just like he’d been there for her.
Over the next week, Charlotte fell into a productive routine in which she got up early every morning and went to her computer.
She told herself she only had to write five pages, but some days she was able to produce more.
Soon she had forty pages finished. She printed the first few chapters, spread the pages on the table, and circled a sentence
that finally felt like her voice again. Seeing her words, feeling the forward momentum of the story, felt so good.
Once she reached chapter five or six, and she’d edited those pages so they were as good as she could make them, she’d be able to send them in to get her editor’s opinion—something that both excited and scared her.
She liked the story so far, but it was only her second book, and it was dealing with a much more divisive conflict.
It was also striking a more somber tone—obviously a reflection of where she was at emotionally.
She felt it was engrossing, but she was afraid it wouldn’t be similar enough to her first book.
What if her publisher didn’t like it? She was under such a tight deadline there was no margin for error, and if they went
with it even though they weren’t entirely happy and it flopped, there’d be no forgiveness. The people she worked with had
their hopes set far too high to be able to take failure lightly. But Charlotte didn’t really see how this book could succeed.
Once it was released, she wouldn’t have Cliff’s celebrity to help propel it to the top of the bestseller lists.
The story had to be so good, had to stand entirely on its own merit. But better writers had failed to realize the kind of sales necessary to remain
in the industry. To achieve that on her own seemed daunting. Still, she kept reminding herself to push forward. She had to
try. The last time she’d spoken to her father, he’d said, “Stop sabotaging yourself with all these doubts, babe. Let your
publisher be the one to tell you if it’s not good enough. Don’t destroy your own confidence. Otherwise, you’ll go nowhere.”
He was right, of course. But imposter syndrome was real and something she had to fight every time she sat down to write.
After she finished work each day, she and whoever hadn’t already set off to do something—most often Sloane and Lilly—would
go hiking, shopping, sightseeing or exploring the coast. Sometimes Julian joined them. She also spent some of her off-hours
scrubbing Sabrina’s phone of dating apps, sexts and any explicit photos while keeping the number, the clean pictures and anything
Lilly might treasure.
She wanted to pass the phone on to half sister as Sloane had suggested, but she’d been holding back in case some man Sabrina had connected with hadn’t gotten the message that she was no longer alive and sent something suggestive or made a comment that wouldn’t show Sabrina in the best light.
“You have Sabrina’s phone with you today?” Sloane asked.
Charlotte glanced up. Sloane had been inside a nearby bakery, purchasing lemon croissants while Lilly went with Julian to
get sorbet, so she’d had a moment alone and pulled out Sabrina’s phone to make sure she hadn’t received any new messages.
“Yeah. I thought I might run into a good opportunity to surprise Lilly with it.”
Sloane clapped her hands. “She’s going to be so excited.”
“I just don’t want to do it too soon. I’m still hearing from some of Sabrina’s contacts.”
A moped coughed past. “Even after you texted everyone?”
“Yeah.”
“What are people saying?”
She lowered her voice despite the fact that Lilly wasn’t even close. She didn’t want anyone else to hear her, either; there
were tourists clustered all around. “One guy said he’d never had a better lay.”
Sloane curled her lip to show her distaste. “Now I see why you’re waiting.”
“Another said the world’s a better place.”
“Ouch!”
She shaded the screen from the bright Amalfi sun. “Maybe I should go ahead and change her number—”
“No,” Sloane broke in. “There’s something special about keeping it. Lilly told me her mom’s phone number is the only one she
knows by heart. It’ll preserve a part of Sabrina for her.”
“And she’ll be able to text Steve whenever she wants.” Charlotte lifted the phone to show Sloane the screen. “I’ve left his
contact info in here.”
“She loved the picture he sent.”
It’d been a week since Sloane had helped Lilly find a place in Praiano where they could get it printed so she could tape it to her mirror. She’d done that to keep Lilly occupied while Charlotte worked. “What are you hearing from Ben?” she asked.
“He’s keeping busy while I’m gone,” she said, once again veering away from a more serious conversation. She’d shared what