CHAPTER 15
NINA MARCHESI
For the sixth night in a row, I feel my stomach sink as the message lights up my phone screen.
He’s not coming again.
Tonight, however, I don’t put on a smile. I decide to do something else that justifies the effort I made to get ready.
I head straight to my bedroom, ready to take myself apart and drown in the largest mug of fennel tea I can find in this house. My phone vibrates in my hand the moment I kick off my shoes and step barefoot onto the plush rug beside my bed.
Frog:
I’m sorry, Little Fae. I swear I’m doing everything I can and that I hate canceling like this. I promise this is the last time. Things are almost completely under control here. Tomorrow I’ll make it up to you.
A million possible replies race through my mind, but the truth is, I know I don’t have a right to any of them.
We’ve gone out a few times—yes. That doesn’t give me the right to make demands, even if I really am upset that he’s been canceling at the last minute for almost an entire week.
Not even the inside joke of changing his contact name in my phone makes me laugh tonight.
The second time he canceled, I changed it from Nero / Prince to Nero / Not-so-prince-anymore. On the fourth day, I edited it to Nero / Turning into a frog. Yesterday, I shortened it to Frog.
Tonight, it isn’t funny.
I exhale sharply before replying.
Nina:
It’s fine, I wasn't holding my breath tonight.
It’s the best I can do, and I hope I didn’t sound too bitter.
The message that arrives seconds later tells me I probably failed at that.
Frog:
I hate disappointing you, Little Fae.
Frog:
I really am sorry.
I don’t get the chance to reply.
My mother knocks on the open door of my bedroom, and her knowing look takes me in completely before I can even try to hide the truth.
“He canceled again?” she asks.
I don’t hide the grim smile.
“He did.”
Rosa bites her lip before deciding she won’t keep her opinions to herself. She walks into my room, and I sit on the bed, bracing myself.
“I know you told me not to worry, Nina, and I did my best to stay quiet all week, but I don’t know how to do that anymore,” she says.
I lift my hand slightly, silently telling her to go on.
My mother looks away, wrestling with the words she wants to say.
“Don’t you think that something that starts like this is already doomed to fail, my daughter?”
“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Mom. No, I’m not happy about being stood up six times in one week, but I also don’t think it’s the end of the world. Things happen.”
“Six?” she repeats. “In a row?”
“Say what you want to say, Mom.”
“I adore Nero, but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—I don’t think he’s the man for you, my daughter.”
“And why does he have to be the man for me, Mom?” I ask. “It’s not like there’s space in my life for a relationship right now. We’re just having fun. I’ve told you that already, and I’ll repeat it: I have plans, and nothing and no one is going to change them.”
“Plans,” she murmurs. “And what plans are those? Maybe it’s time you start putting them into motion. I don’t want you buried in that shop day and night, Nina. I raised you for so much more than that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with working in the shop, Mom. It’s yours, and that alone makes working there amazing.”
“It isn’t mine yet.”
“The space isn’t, but the shop is.”
“Stop dodging me, Nina. Your plans. I want to know what they are.”
I huff.
“I applied to the Nurses in the Middle East program,” I admit reluctantly—because her insistence tells me she won’t leave me alone until I give her proof I’m not about to abandon my life for a summer romance. A winter one, actually.
I don’t need to explain what I mean. She knows. I’ve talked about it since the day I decided to study nursing.
A huge smile spreads across Rosa’s face when she finally gets the proof she needed to believe I’m serious.
Working in the United Arab Emirates—regardless of the city—pays extremely well. Much more than any European city. The selection process is tough and the work is exhausting, but if that’s the price of fulfilling my dream and my mother’s, I’m more than happy to pay it.
“When?” she asks, eyes wide.
“A month before graduation. Applications opened and I applied.”
“You weren’t going to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now,” I say with a small smile.
She narrows her eyes at me, and I roll mine.
“I was waiting for the result of the first selection stage, but you were too anxious for that, weren’t you?”
“Tell me more.”
“If I’m approved—and I’m confident I will be—it’s eighteen months working in the Emirates. Any country would be fine, but Dubai would be ideal. That’s where they pay the most.”
“A year and a half?” she asks. The joy on her face dims noticeably. “Aren’t there shorter contracts?”
“No. But the money I’d make would be enough to add to what we already have and buy this house and the shop, Mom. It’s a small price. A very small one.”
My mother bites her lip and nods, even though she’s no longer as enthusiastic as she was moments ago.
“I wish you didn’t have to do this.”
“Wasn’t it you who wanted to know what my plans were?” I tease, trying to lighten the sudden heaviness in the room.
“But almost two years is a long time. You just got back.”
“It’s eighteen months for a lifetime, Mom. We’ll be able to start exactly where we want. Who knows—maybe afterward we can even go back to Italy to visit?”
She sighs, dreamy.
“And where does Nero fit into these plans of yours, Nina?”
“I like him,” I admit. “But he’s clearly not as interested as I assumed he was,” I add. “Whatever happens, he won’t be an obstacle.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
***
I clap a hand over my mouth the moment I grab my phone from the nightstand after waking up and see a new email notification.
Sitting on my bed, still in my pajamas and without even brushing my teeth, I blink at the screen.
My heart races wildly, and I’m sure that can’t be healthy—but I can’t stop it.
Not when, just a few hours after talking about the program in the Middle East, I receive the email with the result of the first stage of the selection process. It’s almost as if last night’s conversation summoned it.
Once I’m sure I’m not about to scream, I let my hand fall to my lap and take a deep breath. I tap the notification and open it.
My eyes race over the words, and when they reach “We are pleased to welcome you to the program…” I jump out of bed, screaming and bouncing without caring if I wake the entire neighborhood with my hysteria.
My mother appears instantly in my doorway, worry written all over her face, one hand pressed to her chest.
“Nina! What is going on?”
“I passed, Mom! I passed the first stage!” I shout, still in full hysteria mode.
Her eyes widen as she connects the dots.
“You passed?”
“I passed!”
And that’s all it takes for the two of us to become a pair of lunatics—jumping and screaming in a pink-walled bedroom at seven in the morning on a Friday.
Two hours later, I’m having breakfast, my mind spinning with all the possibilities of working in the Emirates, when my phone vibrates on the table.
A quick glance at the screen makes my excitement falter for a second when I see a new message from Nero.
I didn’t reply to his last two messages last night, and I’m not sure I want to deal with whatever he’s saying now.
I ignore the phone for exactly thirty seconds—until curiosity wins.
Frog:
Check your window.