Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Present day
Taormina, Italy
Sicily is not quiet. And yet, despite a handful of overactive, raucous gulls right outside my window, the droning buzz of cicadas, and the rhythmic wash of the waves along the shore, I don’t wake until midmorning.
I throw open the heavy silk curtains and tiptoe out on the balcony, not fully convinced of the solidity of nineteenth-century Italian engineering. Watch the sea shimmer, lazy, quiet. Down below, Lucrezia chats with other staff, sweeps the patio, gestures for the furniture to be rearranged; yells at a trio of teenage-looking boys who are taking a cigarette break on the steps of the gazebo.
The sun is already high, bathing the sand, the grass, the cobblestone paths in golden beams that have me itching to go explore. Back home, in Texas, the light is white-hot and relentless, and I do my best to avoid being outside. The heat here, though, feels qualitatively different. Drier, more ancient, punctuated by oleander-scented breeze and blocky stone walls that keep the inside of my room just cool enough, even without AC.
In the garden, no evidence remains of last night’s ravagement. I try to picture Jade’s reaction upon hearing that Mr. Axel McHockeyman, the most famous person we know, poisoned the entire wedding party, and chuckle to myself. I hope someone took pictures. Her birthday’s coming up, and a scrapbook of what happened would make for an excellent gift.
I get dressed quickly, cutoffs and a tank top, and go look for coffee, making a few stops on the way.
“I think I can sue him,” is the first thing Nyota tells me after opening her door. Even in a mysteriously stained Hot Girls Litigate T-shirt, she looks like a million bucks. “At the very least, I can murder him without doing any jail time. No one would convict. Jury nullification. It’s on Wikipedia, look it up.”
I bite back a smile. “Do you need anything?”
“Like what? His severed balls stuffed in the mouth hole of his severed head? On a platinum platter?” She sounds hopeful.
“I was thinking more like a glass of water, but—”
She slams the door in my face.
Rue isn’t doing much better, at least judging by the way her usually straight spine seems to coil around the doorjamb. “I feel stupid, being a food scientist,” she says, low voice raspier than usual. “I assumed that no bacteria would survive such a high-ethanol environment, but the alcohol content of limoncello-type drinks typically ranges from twenty-five to thirty-five percent, and anything less than fifty would leave a sizable margin of error. The main issue is the biofilm that Staph aureus can form. You know which ones, right?”
She looks so serious, I want to hug her. “Can’t say I do.”
“Bacteria aggregate around the surface of a cell, and—”
“Babe,” Eli says, pulling her backward and into himself. They both look greenish, and about two decades older than last night. I hope the wedding makeup artist is a good one. “Let’s go to sleep, okay?” He coaxes her back inside the room. Tiny, who would never leave Eli and Rue in this time of dire need, disappears after them.
Minami, wearing the pajamas with her baby’s face plastered all over that I gave her as a present last winter, reassures me that she won’t need childcare for the day. “Kaede and I will have some loud fun right next to where Daddy is passed out. Won’t we?”
I consider sliding an I LUV PHILLY FLYERS note under Axel’s door, but it seems like too much work, so I head downstairs.
The spread Lucrezia prepared in the dining room pulls a gasp from me: a pristine white linen cloth, various wicker baskets lined in gingham fabric and full of fresh bread, croissants, and brioche, glass jars of jam and honey, little pots of yellow butter. There are several ceramic vases, brimming with bright pink, magenta, and white bougainvillea. It looks so rustic and picture-perfect, I briefly wonder if I stumbled on the set of a high-fiber breakfast cereal commercial.
But Conor’s presence drains the vibes of any idyll. He sits alone at the head of the long table, chin resting on one hand, two fingers thoughtfully brushing his lips. He glares at his open laptop like he’s a hairbreadth from Venmoing someone to have it murdered.
“Look at you, being all Citizen Kane,” I say, ignoring the way my stomach flips onto itself.
He glances up, still scowling, and gestures for me to sit on his right. I don’t know why, but I do just that.
“Maya?”
“Yup?”
“Does physics have an explanation for why humans insist on being such fucking shitheads?”
“Not as far as I know. But I could inquire.”
He grunts, closing his laptop. In the morning, the silver strands throughout his hair are even more visible.
“Is it work stuff? The…active-deal thing?”
“No.” He shakes his head. Runs a palm across his clean-shaved jaw. I’m tempted to prod, find out more, but Lucrezia comes in in a flurry of loud, drawn-out vowels, her hands curling warmly around my shoulders. As one of the precious few who refused to drink Axel’s death juice, I skyrocketed to a very high place in her esteem. She beams, then says something about caffè while pointing at me, and when Conor nods, she ruffles his hair in a way that seems a bit too familiar, even for a touchy-feely nation.
“You don’t happen to be her love child, do you?” I ask, taking a sip of water.
He shrugs. “Knowing my father, it’s very possible.”
I think he’s joking. “What do you mean? You…Did you not just meet her?”
“I used to come here as a kid. It’s one of the many properties my father owned.”
“Oh. When did he sell it?”
“He didn’t.”
“But you said ‘owned’?”
He leans back. Studies me for a long beat. “Did you not hear?”
“Hear…what?”
“My father died.”
“What? When?”
“A few months ago.”
“I…” Don’t know what to say. Because the day my dad died, I felt as though I would vanish any minute. I had been, first and foremost, his goblin princess. If he was no longer around to call me that, that meant that nothing could tether me to this world. I could see no path forward. The pain was staggering. Incomprehensible.
Conor’s father, though…
“Congratulations,” is all I can think of saying.
After a beat, Conor smiles, looking pleased and surprised. “Thank you, Trouble.”
“I would have sent you a celebratory edible arrangement. I’m not sure why Eli didn’t tell me.”
“Probably because it was widely covered by international media.” He sounds gently amused.
“Your dad was that big of an asshole, huh?”
“Regrettably.”
We regard each other. Between us, only a table corner and a whole lot of silence. “So,” I ask, tearing off a piece of bread. The crust is as thin and crispy as the inside is airy. “Who’s the new owner of—”
I stop when Lucrezia returns and deposits a glass in front of me. I thank her, then wait for her to leave again before asking in a low whisper, “Why did she bring me a slushy?”
Conor looks at me like I just produced a legally actionable claim. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“Maya.”
“What did I do?”
“Took a dump on centuries of Sicilian culture?”
I blink. “Because I asked about the slushy?”
“It’s called a granita. Granita al caffè . With panna —the heavy cream on top.” He plucks a brioche bun from the basket on his left and puts it on my plate. It’s oddly shaped: a round, donut-like base, and a tinier ball on top of it.
“Am I supposed to drink after I eat the boob with a giant nipple that’s having a severe allergic reaction, or before?” I mostly ask because I love the way the corners of Conor’s eyes crinkle together when he’s annoyed at me. But the Arabica aroma wafts up, making me salivate, and Conor…he’s always been good at feeding me.
“Shut up and eat.”
It turns out to be crunchier than a slushy, made of little shards of ice infused with sweet espresso. It’s delicious, of course—creamy and refreshing and cloud-fluffy, and: “I’m moving here,” I tell him after two bites, scooping more granita onto my pastry.
He smiles, staring at me in that way that I sometimes wonder if I imagined—enchanted. Sweet, almost. Like I’m precious. Like he cares about me enough to not go ten months without contact.
“No, I’m serious. After I finish scarfing this down I’m gonna throw my passport into the ocean.”
“The jellyfish will rejoice, I’m certain.”
“So, what are the rules? Is granita just for breakfast? Can I have it multiple times a day, or is it like having cappuccino after eleven a.m.?”
“Lucrezia might judge you if you substitute granita for every meal.”
“And since I didn’t drink the E. coli juice, I want to hold on to her good opinion as long as I possibly can. Hmm.” I push my polished-off plate away. “Maybe I’ll find another downtown. I’m going to check out the Greek theater, anyway.”
His eyes narrow. “Who are you going with?”
“Bob,” I say.
“Who?”
I point to the right. “He’s my imaginary friend. Big Shamrock Rovers fan. You two would not get along.”
“Maya.”
“Come on. The only person who feels good enough to take a stroll among the ruins with me is Minami, and she’s sticking around to take care of Sul. You know I’m going alone.”
His scowl deepens. “You can’t.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Ah, yes.” I push back my chair and rise to my feet, which prompts him to do the same. “You’re right. I absolutely do not have the experience or the ability to take care of myself in a foreign country.” I squint. “Wait a minute…”
“This is different. You don’t speak the language, and—”
“And the forest is thick and dark and terrifying, full of dangerous beasts that will wrestle me to steal my rucksack and the mulberries it contains.”
He gives me a flat look.
“Conor, it’s the middle of the day in one of the most tourist-heavy cities in Europe. I have cell reception. Given the circumstances, I think I can manage to not get trafficked. And if you don’t believe me, just come with me.”
I throw it out like a dare, mostly to get him off my back, but the glint in his eyes, the sudden tension in his fist, they are dead giveaways.
That he’s considering it. He’s considering spending the day with me.
At once, my blood is carbonated.
Because I wasn’t lying, when I told him that he was my best friend, or that I missed him. And even if he disappeared into Tamryn’s room last night, even if it’s obvious that there is no romantic future in store for us, I’m not ready to move on from him.
I step closer. “Come on,” I say. The conifer scent of his soap, the warm notes of his skin underneath, they’re seared in my olfactory memory. “It’ll be fun,” I add, making a point not to sound too eager. Otherwise, his no would be immediate. A hatchet falling between us.
“Will it.” He looks at me sternly.
“We’ve visited places together before. We like the same stuff.”
“Which is?”
“Walking around. Getting lost. Eating. Laughing about how uncultured we are. Let’s go have fun while everyone else convalesces in their little sanatoriums.”
“I don’t think that’s the correct plural.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
His expression slowly softens. Then does something more than that. “Okay,” he says, at last.
“Okay,” I repeat, turning toward the door, trying to stop my body from vibrating with something that feels like hope. I don’t want him to see my happiness and push me away.
He’s my friend. I missed him. If this is all I get with him, that’s enough.
Remember the first day? Edinburgh? Breakfast? Then the rest? Always together? Please tell me you didn’t forget. “You have to go up to your room before we leave?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “You?”
I do the same. We turn. Walk outside, side by side, in step. “So, the Greek theater first. And then there’s a church I want to see.”
“The duomo?”
“Yup.”
He nods. “It’s beautiful.”
“Good.” Our arms nearly brush. Then they do—my elbow against his warm skin. “And after that, I was thinking…”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I heard a lot about this amazing homemade arancello they sell at the market.”
He knocks his shoulder against mine. The heat of it scalds me. “Too soon.”
“No, really, they told me great things about its cleansing properties.”
“Trouble.”
“But it’s so popular right now. Even professional athletes recommend—”
“Hey, you two!”
We both look over our shoulders. Both turn around.
Avery is standing on the first step of the stone porch, wearing a pretty blue sundress that makes her look like a water nymph. The goddess of the sky.
“Are you going to Taormina?”
Beside me, Conor tenses. He says nothing for a silence that stretches too long, and I’m the one who nods.
In response, her grin is dazzling. “May I join you?”