Chapter 36
Allegra
TWO DAYS LATER, I still hadn’t heard from Matteo.
I’d wanted to go next door at least a dozen times to apologize again.
But I thought he might need time to grieve for the version of the marriage he’d thought he’d had.
Because how do you process something like that?
Finding out someone you loved wasn’t the person you’d believed them to be.
It was betrayal tangled in grief, and there wasn’t even anyone to yell at anymore.
I knew firsthand how hard it was to accept something like that.
I told myself it was right to give him space.
I thought he’d come around when he was ready to talk.
So I stayed home—cooked meals from my grandmother’s recipe cards that I didn’t eat, and answered emails I didn’t care about.
I sat outside on my grandmother’s swing, looking to the tall trees for advice and watching the leaves that had been bright green when I arrived turn brown and brittle.
And I tried not to look out the window and stare at his house—though I failed miserably.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, fingers wrapped around a mug of long-cold coffee, when my phone rang.
The shrill sound startled me. The house had been so damn quiet the last few days.
I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, so I almost didn’t check the screen and instead, let it go to voicemail.
But at the last second, I flipped it over and saw a name that made me smile for the first time in two days.
My sister. The term was starting to feel less foreign now.
“Ciao,” I answered.
“Ciao,” she replied. Her voice was bright and full of energy, the opposite of what I felt. “Do you like…how do you say…burning pigs?”
I blinked. “Burning pigs?”
“Yes, you know, the whole pig. On the spit. With the skin all crispy like. We call it porchetta.”
“Oh! Roasted pig.” I laughed. That was a little bit different from the visual burning pig had given me. “Yes, I’ve only had it once. But it was delicious.”
“Brava!” she said. “So, I ask because next weekend we go to the village festival near me, on Saturday. There is dancing, fireworks, porchetta, wine—lots and lots of wine. Sometimes a fistfight or two, if we’re lucky. I want you to come with me.”
I smiled. “That sounds like fun.”
“Okay. Then it’s a date. Now, tell me what is wrong.”
“How…how do you know something is wrong?”
“I can hear it in your voice. You sound like you just bit into your prosciutto sandwich and found out the butcher give you turkey instead.”
I laughed. “It’s…nothing.”
“Come on now. I will support you, like you will support me when I call you to ask if it’s okay to Venmo-request my bad date my hourly rate for wasting my time.”
“Wait—did you actually do that?”
“No.”
“Oh.” I chuckled.
“I had to send the invoice via PayPal because we don’t take Venmo here in Italy yet.”
I snort-laughed. “I’m really glad you called.”
“What has you down?”
“It’s sort of a long story, but basically, I made an honest mistake and Matteo got hurt.”
“Did you use his toothbrush after eating Oreos?”
“No.”
“Did you yell out the wrong name in bed?”
“God, no.”
“Then he can get over it. What does he have to say for himself?”
“That’s the thing. He hasn’t called or come by in two days. I was trying to give him space but—”
“Space? He’s Italiano. We don’t give each other space. We yell. We fight. We call each other every curse name in the book, maybe set a spell on your mother. Then we make mad, passionate love.”
I smiled through a sigh. “Maybe you’re right, and I should go over there.”
“You love him?”
My heart squeezed. “I do.”
“Then you fight for him, yes?”
“You know what? You’re right.”
“Get used to it, big sister. I’m always right.”
I chuckled again. “Thanks. What time next Saturday?”
“Seven. But call me if you want to talk before then—maybe after you take your chicken ass over to your hot boyfriend’s.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Camilla.”
“Ciao!”
***
I almost turned around.
After an entire day of making excuses as to why I should wait to go next door, the time had finally come. The sun was setting. The workers were gone. And I’d baked peanut butter brownies that smelled so good I was tempted to eat the whole plate myself.
But instead, I walked up the gravel path and stood in front of Matteo’s door for far too long. My hand hovered near the wood while my brain spiraled. What if I’d broken something that couldn’t be fixed? What if he still didn’t want to see me?
Before I could second-guess myself anymore, I took a deep breath and knocked.
There was a long pause that made me even more anxious, if that were possible, before the door creaked open.
Matteo stood there, barefoot, in a soft gray T-shirt and jeans. His hair was slicked back and wet like he’d just gotten out of the shower, and he looked tired. The expression on his face was unreadable.
“Ciao,” I said, holding up the brownies like a peace offering. “I made you something. It’s not from my grandmother’s recipes, but I swear they taste good anyway.”
Matteo put on a smile that looked like it had gotten lost halfway to his face. But he did step back. “Come in.”
I followed him into the house. It felt as quiet as mine had the last few days. “I wasn’t sure if I should come,” I said, setting the brownies on the kitchen counter. “But I needed to say I’m sorry again. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Matteo. If I’d known what that set would—”
He shook his head, cutting me off. “I know you didn’t know. You were just being thoughtful.”
I blew out an audible breath. “I still feel really awful.”
He didn’t respond to that, just leaned against the kitchen counter looking at me. Finally, he asked, “How’d your call go?”
I swallowed. “Good. They offered me a partnership to join them.”
He nodded once. “That’s a big deal, yes? You spent six years working for the last opportunity.”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretched between us.
“I’m going to turn it down,” I said.
His eyes flickered to mine, but he stayed quiet, seeming to wait for me to continue.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I love practicing law, but I don’t want to go back to working the way I did. The offer they made was generous, but it came with a lot of expectations. I’m thinking it’s time for…a change.”
He looked at me. “What kind of a change?”
“I don’t know. Open my own small firm, maybe?
So many things can be done remotely since the world changed during the pandemic—hearings, arbitrations, depositions.
Some divisions even allow oral arguments to be done without stepping foot in the courthouse.
” I paused to get up the courage to say what I really wanted to say.
“I was thinking I’d still go back and forth to New York, but I want to be here, too. ”
Matteo looked down, ran a hand through his hair. “Take the job,” he said quietly.
I blinked. “What?”
“Take it,” he repeated, softer this time. “I don’t want you to make decisions because of me. I cannot be the one to keep you here. You’ll be unhappy in the long run.”
“You don’t know that…”
He met my eyes. “And you don’t either.”
The words stung. Because he wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t possibly know what the future held. But I couldn’t imagine one without him. He wasn’t being unkind. He was being honest.
My eyes filled with tears. “I’m in love with you, Matteo.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let things go so far. It was a mistake.”
A mistake? It felt like I’d been slapped across the face. My breath caught in my throat, and I couldn’t speak. I could only stand there, staring at him, waiting for him to take it back. Waiting for him to say something—anything—that made his words mean something other than what they did.
But he didn’t.
He just stood there.
And each second that ticked by turned my hurt more and more to anger.
“Go to hell,” I finally said. “I’m no one’s mistake.”