chapter 26
Julian was going to tell Charlotte about his diagnosis. That was why, after his sister went to bed, he’d asked if she wanted
to take a walk with him. He’d been psyching himself up all evening, preparing for her reaction and the domino effect it would
have as the news rolled out from her to Sloane, Lilly, his friends and, finally, his business associates. Then the metamorphosis
in his life would be complete and permanent. He’d be “Julian with Parkinson’s” for the rest of his life.
So much for having a month in Italy to prepare for all that . . .
But he hadn’t expected what happened last night. That forced his hand.
Once they left the villa, they started navigating the labyrinth of walkways and stairways to the Church of St. Gennaro.
Lanterns glowed in niches along the stone walls, and the timeless scent of the sea drifted on the breeze. He figured they’d
stroll through the town square with its timeless mosaic, and there, in the middle of centuries of history and tradition—which
was one of the things he loved most about Italy—he would explain why his behavior last night hadn’t been fair to her and apologize
for not letting her know the truth before they made love.
“How old do you think this church is?” she asked once they finally reached it.
He’d been careful not to have anything to drink this evening. It was alcohol that’d gotten him into trouble last night. But
she’d had a glass of wine with Sloane and seemed to be in a happy yet mellow mood.
“It was owned by a noble family from Amalfi and dates back to the late fifteen hundreds,” he told her. “Not as old as the
convent farther up the mountain, but it’s built on top of an older structure from several centuries earlier.”
“How do you know all that?” she asked in surprise.
The air tasted faintly of metal and brine; the surf below boomed against the cliffs like a slow heartbeat. “I spoke to a woman
who came out of the church when I was here once before, trying to photograph it.”
She studied the bell tower with its cupola covered in the same kind of majolica tiles that adorned the floor of the square.
“It’s beautiful.”
“You should see the sunset from here.” Although other towns on the Amalfi Coast were also built on cliffs overlooking the
sea and had somewhat of a similar view, people claimed Praiano’s sunsets were the best, and he agreed.
“I’ll have to make sure I see one before we head home.”
He wanted to show it to her. He wanted to show her other things, too—wished they were in a different situation so he could
take her around and share all he’d learned about Italy, both on his previous trips and while she’d been inside writing. But
he had no idea how she was going to feel about him once she heard what he had to say. And he couldn’t put off telling her
any longer.
They were still standing in front of the church when he took her hand and turned her to face him. “Charlotte, you’ve been
wondering what’s wrong.”
She grinned up at him. “You’re finally going to tell me?”
He couldn’t maintain eye contact. Wincing, he glanced to where the mountain fell away and the dark, roiling water stretched out beyond it. “I’m not ready,” he clarified. “But I feel as though I owe it to you to—”
“Stop right there,” she interrupted, a stubborn set to her jaw as she stepped away from him. “You don’t owe me anything. You
didn’t make any commitments last night. If you’re dealing with something you don’t want to share, then don’t. You have that
right.”
He couldn’t keep from tugging her back into his arms and kissing her, something he’d been wanting to do all evening. The way
her naked body felt against his had been on his mind ever since she’d left his bed. “But if I don’t, I’m afraid I won’t be
able to stop myself from making love to you again and again and again.”
“Would it be so terrible to just let go and have some fun? We came to Italy for Lilly, but also for a much-needed time-out,
a chance to get our heads together and figure out where to go from this point. At least, I know Sloane and I came here to
do that, and I think part of the reason you joined us was because you needed the same thing. I say we stick with the original
plan and give ourselves what little time we have left here.”
“But last night—”
“Doesn’t change anything. It was my choice, too. Let’s just . . . let it be whatever it will be.”
“I can’t,” he argued. “I don’t want you to feel as though I’ve misled you.”
Her arms tightened around his neck. “You’re forgetting something.”
The longing he felt was undermining his good intentions and wreaking havoc with his state of mind. “What’s that?”
“I know you,” she said simply. “I know you’re a stand-up guy.
And I understand that you’re in the middle of something you’re struggling to navigate.
So if you’re not ready to open up about whatever’s troubling you, don’t.
I won’t hold it against you. I promise.” Rising up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his in a sweet peck that quickly grew into something more when he put his hand to the back of her head and deepened their kiss.
“What you do to me,” he murmured.
“Allow this to be the escape it was intended to be—for both of us. We’ll figure everything out once we get home.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “Don’t ruin it,” he said, echoing what she’d told him last night.
A smile played at the corners of her lips. “Exactly. Don’t ruin it.”
“But by then I’m afraid you’ll be in love with me.”
Although he hadn’t been joking, she started to laugh, so he did, too. “I admire your confidence,” she said. “But right now,
I can’t promise you anything, either. My life is a mess. So you’d better be careful not to fall in love with me.”
That was the problem. He was pretty sure it was too late. But he didn’t say so. She’d just given him nine more days he could
spend with her in Italy as if nothing in the world was wrong—and he knew they’d probably become the nine best days of his
life. How could he refuse that?
“No matter what, we’ll always remain friends,” he said solemnly, trying to make it a pact so he could feel a little less selfish
about accepting her offer. Then he allowed his hands to travel down her back, pressing her lower body to his.
“Now you’re getting the idea.” She sounded slightly breathless, which let him know she was as affected by his close proximity
as he was by hers. “Let’s go back to the villa before you tell me you’re too tired.”
“There’s no chance of that,” he said.
“You never know,” she teased. “Brooding can drain you.”
“Brooding? I can’t even remember the last time I heard that word,” he said and swept her off her feet, laughing as freely as he used to while letting her slide down the front of him—until she found her footing and he found her lips.
There’s no place on earth quite so romantic as Italy, Charlotte thought as she lay, exhausted but content, in Julian’s arms. They’d gone to his room again. Because of the layout
of the house, they had less chance of being discovered if they used his room. But he was now snoring lightly, fast asleep,
and she felt he’d likely remain that way for the rest of the night.
She had to get up and find her own bed—she just couldn’t move yet.
Closing her eyes, she reveled in the warmth and comfort of his body for just a little longer. The shutters were cracked, letting
in a slice of moonlight that silvered his bare shoulder and the sheet tangled around their legs—a welcome sight. Giving him
license to simply enjoy what they were feeling had changed him, removed whatever had been holding him back, and that made
being with him even more intoxicating.
But what was it he had to reveal? And how would Sloane react to them being together?
She heard a toilet flush somewhere else in the house. Sloane or Lilly was up, she realized, and dragged herself out from under
Jules’s arm, causing him to stir.
“You’re leaving?” he mumbled.
“Yeah, before I fall asleep, too.”
“Damn.” He sounded disappointed.
“There’s always tomorrow.”
“The rest of our time in Italy will go too fast,” he predicted.
“Don’t start worrying yet—I’m not ready to face it,” she said and kissed him before climbing out of his bed.
The next day, when Sloane asked to speak to her as soon as Julian took Lilly to the market to pick up a few things for dinner, Charlotte couldn’t help growing apprehensive.
Her friend looked so serious. Nervous, too.
Sloane had been acting strange all day, not that Charlotte had had much occasion to notice.
It was Julian who’d texted her about it while she was writing.
He’d been hanging around the villa for a change, showing Lilly some editing software for pictures while waiting for Charlotte to get off work.
Sloane and Lilly were planning on making a fancy dinner—Charlotte had heard them talking about it at breakfast—and she and Julian had been hoping to escape to the beach for an hour or so while they cooked.
“Of course you can talk to me,” Charlotte said. “You can always talk to me. What’s going on?” Against all odds, she’d managed
to finish her sample chapters and get them off to her editor. She’d been absolutely exuberant after she hit Send, and given
her pact not to fall in love with Julian, more excited than she probably should be to spend more time with him.
Now she was worried that she’d been wrong about Ben’s involvement with his new coworker, however, and that was the reason
Sloane was acting so fidgety and on edge. “Don’t tell me it’s about Ben.”
“Not really, no. I mean . . . he’s involved, but . . .”
“He’s not having an affair,” she clarified.
The smell of fresh bread and espresso still lingered from breakfast and sunlight pooled across the tiled floor. “No.”
“Thank God.” Relieved, Charlotte pressed a hand to her heart. But an instant later, another thought struck her. Did Sloane
know what was going on between her and Julian? Could that be what this was all about? She caught her breath and held it for