Chapter 16
Rome, Italy
It was the beginning of August and the morning before Rachelle’s engagement party.
Incidentally, it was also the final week before she, Riccardo, and all of Riccardo’s family left Rome for the rest of the summer.
They would do what wealthy Roman elites had done for centuries: leave Rome and head to the coast to escape the insufferable heat.
They would sail and swim and eat decadently—basically living out Rachelle’s entire childhood back in Nantucket.
Rachelle mentioned this fact to Riccardo sometimes.
She told him she was an island girl who had learned to sail from an early age.
She’d basically learned how to swim before she knew how to walk.
Sometimes, Riccardo seemed to listen to her stories.
Other times, he seemed bent on confirming to her that Italy was far better than Nantucket, that in marrying him and moving here, she’d upgraded her life in numerous ways.
But first, the engagement party. Valeria and Rachelle had worked tirelessly over the past few weeks to plan an event that Rachelle knew would exhaust her and terrify her and project her into the Roman elite.
The engagement party, according to Valeria, was a way to introduce Rachelle to their long-standing friends and family members, people Rachelle would have to fit in with and celebrate the holidays with for the rest of her life.
“These are the people who will send you gifts when your children are born, who will be there for you during every phase of your life,” Valeria said.
Rachelle knew to take it all seriously. Not once did she suggest to Valeria that her own mother or sister should be invited. She knew it was beside the point.
Riccardo still wasn’t awake, so Rachelle put on her running shoes and went into the world for a long, strenuous run.
She swept down boulevards, slipped through alleyways, and nearly collapsed near the river, where she forced herself to regroup so she could run some more.
Just as Valeria had wanted her to, she’d lost a bit more weight for the engagement party, and she knew the running would only help.
Plus, it calmed her anxiety, albeit only a little.
Since she’d left Diana’s restaurant to try on wedding dresses, her work with Diana had lessened considerably.
Diana had only put her on the schedule twice in the previous weeks, telling Rachelle that, of course, she wanted her to work more, but only if she felt she could manage it.
Rachelle hated that Diana was cross with her.
But she wasn’t sure how to apologize without admitting both to herself and to Diana that she was making some kind of mistake.
She wasn’t making a mistake. She knew that, didn’t she?
But without the money from her job with Diana, Rachelle knew she was becoming increasingly indebted to Riccardo and his family. The idea of opening her own place felt like a pipe dream, which was incredible, given that she’d only just managed it earlier this summer.
It was then she realized how close she was to Coleman, her restaurant.
Adrenaline rocketed through her, and she ran the rest of the way to the site of her greatest disaster.
Now that she’d given up the lease, she was curious about who would take over and what would be built in its place.
Another restaurant? More gelato? She wiped sweat from her brow.
But someone was moving inside the burnt-out restaurant.
She ducked behind a statue, eyeing the restaurant, as she didn’t want the landlord to see her snooping around. She didn’t know why.
Sure enough, the landlord came out of the restaurant, using his arms as he spoke rapidly.
He was maybe showing a potential renter around.
He turned around and continued chatting, perhaps explaining what had happened during the opening night of her restaurant.
Rachelle wondered if, in his spiel, he blamed her.
But that was when she realized who he was talking to.
The man coming out of the restaurant after him was Tio, Riccardo’s great-uncle.
Rachelle’s jaw dropped with surprise. They were shaking hands, making some agreement.
Before either of them spotted her, she spun around and ran the rest of the way to her apartment, where Riccardo sipped espresso while swiping his phone. She could hardly talk to him.
In the shower, Rachelle told herself to calm down and rationalize.
There had to be a good reason for Riccardo’s great-uncle to be at Coleman.
She tried to remember everything Valeria had told her about Tio.
He was very wealthy, that was sure. He’d been out of the country for years.
He was back, trying to rebuild relationships with all of the family members.
Once the thought dropped into Rachelle’s head, she couldn’t escape it. What if Valeria had wanted Rachelle to fail so much that she’d arranged for the fire, and then arranged for her Tio to take over the lease?
But would Valeria do that? She wasn’t some criminal mastermind. She seemed to like Rachelle, at least sort of. She seemed to want to welcome her into the family.
But why? Why would Tio be at Coleman? What had Rachelle just seen?
Rachelle and Riccardo arrived at the villa a full hour before the engagement party was set to begin.
Caterers and designers were everywhere, moving around, making last-minute adjustments to what had to be a perfect party.
Bored already, Riccardo kissed Rachelle’s cheek and ran off to drink a beer with one of his cousins.
Rachelle was left with Valeria, Gia, and Teresa to go over the events of the evening, where she was needed, and who she was meant to meet.
Valeria told her that she couldn’t forget anyone’s names, so Rachelle had prepared herself with print-outs and flashcards, quizzing herself nightly until she had all one hundred guests’ names memorized.
It felt insane, but it also felt like the only way.
When the first guests arrived and Rachelle greeted them not only in Italian but also by name, Valeria smiled approvingly. Rachelle was good enough, or almost.
But all the while, Rachelle’s brain felt as though it was on fire.
She smiled and spoke Italian and laughed along with everyone’s jokes, but also, at the same time, tried to study her soon-to-be mother-in-law for clues that she was behind the fire.
Rachelle remembered the cops saying it was an accident and wondered if Valeria had used family money to pay them off.
Growing up in Nantucket meant that Rachelle wasn’t unfamiliar with all manner of corruption and fraud.
She wished she could call Darcy and lay out all the facts.
She wished she could hear what her mother would say.
Probably they’d both say, “Why are you marrying into this family?”
Rachelle shook the thought out of her head.
A few minutes before dinner, Rachelle and Riccardo found one another again. There was clinking of glasses and joyous energy as everyone insisted that they kiss. They did, Riccardo with his eyes closed and Rachelle’s with hers slightly open. Nobody noticed, she hoped.
“How is it going?” Rachelle asked quietly as they sat for dinner, side by side. She asked it in English, hoping that Riccardo would give her a break from Italian.
Riccardo grinned. He was already drunk and happy. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” he announced.
Rachelle blushed. She still loved him pretty desperately, she knew, which was a good thing, since they were going to be married. She wanted to ask him about the fire, about whether he knew anything about his Tio taking over the lease. But she didn’t want to ruin the evening.
She cursed herself for how weak she was.
Dinner was very good, but it was only half as good as anything Diana March might have made.
Rachelle had requested that Valeria hire Diana March and her team for the engagement party, but Valeria had brushed her off, saying they had to hire an Italian team, of course. Rachelle hadn’t known what to say.
For dessert, there was tiramisu and several types of cakes and gelato. There was also dancing, a DJ, and several speeches—one from Riccardo’s mother, another from his father, and another from his great-uncle, the man who now owned Coleman.
Rachelle sat, fuming, listening as her new “family” talked about her and Riccardo’s love. They described a very basic and boring love, a love that had nothing to do with the specifics of their romance.
“We are so happy to have Rachelle in the family,” Valeria said. “She’s been a bright light for us after a difficult few years.”
Everyone nodded along, as though they understood. But Rachelle couldn’t imagine what a “difficult few years” meant to people like this. What could be difficult about all this wealth?
Tio’s speech was simple but elegant. “I have been away for many years,” he said in Italian.
“But when I met Riccardo’s new fiancée and reflected on the future these two will have, I was reminded of how special it is to settle down in Italy and build a family.
Look around you. All of us are here together, celebrating their union.
But we’re also celebrating our family.” Tio paused and gazed down at Riccardo.
“I haven’t seen Riccardo since he was just a little boy.
How mischievous he was. How funny. It’s remarkable to watch him grow up and make his own choices.
It’s remarkable to know that time carries on. ”
Rachelle imagined herself jumping to her feet and crying out, Why were you at Coleman this morning? What are you keeping from me? But instead, she clapped along with everyone else and watched as her champagne flute was refilled.
An hour after the speeches, Rachelle left her sisters-in-law to find the bathroom. She didn’t have to use it, exactly. She just wanted to close the door between herself and the world and take some deep breaths. She wanted privacy, which didn’t necessarily come with most Italian families.
But en route to the bathroom, she overheard Valeria talking in a low voice. It wasn’t like Valeria to speak like that, with such secrecy. Rachelle paused in the hallway and got her bearings. Valeria was in the kitchen. Who was she with?
A moment later, Tio answered. His voice was gruffer and easier to make out. “He’s making a big mistake,” he said.
“Shh. Keep your voice down,” Valeria said.
Rachelle’s jaw dropped. When Tio responded, it was too quiet for her to hear, so she crept away from the kitchen, away from all that pain, and returned to the party. She couldn’t stop shaking.
That night, as Riccardo slept in the bed they usually shared at his parents’ villa, Rachelle couldn’t stop crying.
Did Tio and everyone in the family really think Riccardo was making a mistake in marrying her?
If that was so, why were they going through this charade of “bringing her in”?
Of celebrating her? She turned away from Riccardo and willed herself to get out of bed and call Darcy back in Nantucket.
She willed herself, at least, to call Diana March and tell her what was going on.
But Riccardo let out a snore that brought her back to earth.
She’d already made her bed, metaphorically. She knew she had to lie in it.
And besides, she wasn’t willing to let Tio and Valeria get what they wanted.
She was every bit good enough for Riccardo.
In fact, sometimes she thought she was too good for him.
She was a culinary master. She’d learned a foreign language in only a few years.
She’d moved far away from home and built a life of her own. What couldn’t she do?
“I don’t know how to be happy,” she answered herself, the weight of it crushing her chest.