Chapter Thirty-Four
JESS
I wake up with a headache. Hardly surprising when Luke and I shared a frosty dinner at an overpriced Italian restaurant and then went to sleep on opposite sides of the bed.
I roll over and look at him. He’s on his back, one arm thrown above his head.
The hand resting on my thigh slides off as I change position.
All the tension in his frame is gone. I breathe out.
This is one time I’m grateful he’s had a year’s distance from our last anniversary, even if I’ve only had a reprieve of a few hours.
I twist my head to take in our surroundings and see cream wallpaper dotted with fleur-de-lys in gold leaf, gold damask curtains and upholstery, and beautiful polished mahogany furniture.
Oh, thank goodness. We’re in Venice. Just as we were last time.
That argument over my mother didn’t send things into a downward spiral so much that it changed our future significantly.
But then I think, Oh, crap. We’re in Venice! And I know that last night was only a warm-up for the fight we had this year.
Luke doesn’t look as if he’s going to be waking up any time soon, so I slide gently from the bed, pad across the speckled marble floor and pull on some comfy clothes. I need some thinking space – and some coffee – if I don’t want to repeat the disaster of our fifth anniversary.
Hotel Vincenzi is a renovated palazzo. I drink in the grand stone staircase with its carved columns and arches and deep red carpet as I descend, thinking once again how it makes me feel as if I’m in a period drama.
A small breakfast room with a low ceiling painted in deep royal blue with gold plasterwork and shimmering crystal chandeliers sits opposite the reception desk.
I grab a cappuccino and head through double doors with wrought-iron gates onto a small, paved terrace overlooking the Grand Canal and choose a table right next to the water.
I couldn’t find my bullet journal in the hotel room, so the only thing I have to help me piece together what happened over the last twelve months is my phone. I scroll through the message thread between me and Luke. It all seems very normal. No major red flags there, thank goodness.
I also check my last text with my mother – eleven months and three weeks ago. There are further messages from her, asking why I’m not replying to hers and then a full-on, scroll-past-three-screens rant about what a horrible daughter I am; after that, nothing.
I let out a long, steady breath. This was what I wanted, and I know it’s the right decision, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
The early morning shadows slant across the canal, plunging the lone gondolier who operates a no-frills ferry service to foot passengers into shade and then brilliant sunlight as he crosses back and forth between the jetty next to the hotel and Campo San Samuele on the other side of the water.
I take a sip of my cappuccino and ruminate on how I can change the course of this day. It cannot turn out the way it did last time. While we made up fairly swiftly, the wounds dealt by this conflict didn’t fully heal for months afterwards.
If I’m remembering things correctly, we’ve been in Venice for two nights now and we’re due to fly home the day after tomorrow. Last night, we got a phone call from Luke’s mother, letting us know his sister has gone into labour three weeks early.
The fact that it’s Cassandra, the next oldest Harris sibling, and Luke’s partner-in-crime when he was younger, sent him into a tailspin of fraternal protectiveness, and he suggested cutting our anniversary trip short and flying home tonight – at the very time we should be having a fancy dinner in a restaurant we had to book three months in advance to make sure we got a table.
I (understandably, I think) was upset that he was ready to axe our celebrations at a moment’s notice and disagreed but, Luke being Luke, he had very fixed ideas of exactly how the situation should be handled.
The whole thing escalated until I accused him of always putting his family above me and he told me I was reading too much into things and I needed to stop being so defensive and insecure, which caused me to shut down completely.
We spent the rest of the trip simmering away at the other’s unreasonableness.
I do not want to live all of that again.
I watch a water taxi pull up to the stop near the hotel and see other holidaymakers dragging their cases onto the pontoon, looking hopeful and happy.
You only live once … Well, I know that’s not true.
At least not for me. But I’m spending so much time panicking about getting things right that I’m not recognizing whatever’s happening to me as the gift that it is.
Maybe it’s because, inside, I’m actually five years older than I look on the outside.
Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been on fast-forward, getting snapshots of my life that add up to create a bigger picture, but as I look back over the last time I lived this day, I feel differently about what went on.
Luke was in full-on panic mode about his sister, and feeling he had to be the one to make it right for her. It wasn’t anything to do with me. He just wasn’t thinking.
But he should have been thinking about you as well, shouldn’t he? Doesn’t that just prove your point?
Shh, I tell the voice inside my head. I think he overreacted when he wanted to jump on a plane and head back home.
Obviously, I know that baby Edie was born hearty and healthy, but we had no idea at the time, even though there was no hint we needed to be worried.
But I overreacted too. Maybe, if I’d been more understanding rather than sulking, we could have ironed the situation out without ruining our trip.
I can do more than just react this time.
Just like the other days I’ve lived again; I can choose a different path.
I can be the wife Luke needs me to be, but I can also choose what’s best for me too.
Those things needn’t be mutually exclusive.
I finish my coffee and order room service before heading back upstairs to our room. When a soft knock comes at the door, I take the tray, carry it over to the coffee table and chairs just in front of the window, and then I touch Luke’s shoulder softly. ‘Hey, sleepyhead … Breakfast is served.’
He grumbles but opens his eyes and blinks at me. ‘Breakfast?’
I stifle a smile. I knew that would get his attention. ‘Mm-hmm. And I got Ciambellone, that cake you like.’
Luke frowns at me and then looks over at the tray laden with two cappuccinos and an assortment of pastries, bread and jam, and a selection of sliced meats and cheese.
I can tell he’s wondering where the normal Jess is, the one who would have backed right off until either one of us apologizes or enough time goes past that we become weary and fall back into our usual routine.
I sit in one of the chairs and load one of the small plates for myself and wait for Luke to join me, which he does a minute or so later.
When he’s had a sip of coffee and a couple of bites of cake, I say, ‘I’m sorry about last night.
About what I said.’ While I don’t remember the exact words, I know I can get spiky when I feel dismissed or overlooked.
‘I do understand that you’re worried about Cassie and the baby. ’
He looks a bit taken aback. ‘Thanks. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said you were being defensive and unreasonable.’
I sigh. ‘I probably was being defensive, but I don’t think I was being completely unreasonable. We’ve saved for this trip for almost a year, and it was meant to be a romantic getaway.’
‘Wanting to book flights for today was possibly jumping the gun a bit.’
‘Possibly?’ I say with a twinkle in my eye.
‘Possibly,’ he confirms, a matching glint in his own.
‘Look … ’ I take a deep breath, knowing what I’m going to say next is stretching me to my very limit. ‘Let’s talk to your mum in a minute, get an update on Cassie and the baby, and we’ll go from there, but—’
As if summoned, Luke’s phone begins to ring.
He answers it and stands so he can pace back and forth while he talks.
I can tell it’s his mum. I get the gist of the conversation just from listening to his end, but I can also fill in the gaps from my previous knowledge.
However, I let Luke end the call and listen patiently as he explains to me that Cassie has had a gorgeous little girl and both mother and baby are doing fine, no issues at all, despite Edie surprising us all with her early arrival.
‘Do you still want to go home?’ I ask him.
‘Because if you really want to, we’ll do it, but I think we could also maybe FaceTime Cassie sometime today if she’s up to it, and we’ll be seeing our new niece within forty-eight hours anyway.
But you can phone, text, whatever – as much as you need to – until that happens. ’
Luke puts his phone down, comes over to my chair, takes me by the hands and pulls me up and hugs me.
‘Thank you,’ he whispers into my ear. ‘Thank you for … I don’t know.
Just thank you. And you’re right – we don’t have to change our flights.
’ He reaches up and brushes my hair back from my face and then keeps his palms on the side of my face.
‘I want to have that romantic getaway we planned.’
After a glass of Prosecco on the hotel terrace, feeling like movie stars as other tourists take pictures of the beautiful palazzo behind us from water taxis and tour boats, Luke and I head out on the twenty-minute walk to the restaurant we’ve booked for dinner. I can’t wait.
It’s been the most amazing day. After a lazy breakfast we made love and then spent the rest of the day visiting some of the famous sites: St Mark’s Square, the Doge’s Palace.
We even climbed to the top of the Campanile di San Marco.
The whole city was laid out before us, a higgledy-piggledy sea of terracotta roof tiles, grey-white stone, and church towers.
It’s been so much better than last time. We did most of the same things, but instead of barely talking, we’ve walked hand-
in-hand, stopping to kiss now and then like honeymooners. I felt so hurt last time. I tried to get past it, I really did, but it seemed impossible.
How strange that, while not easy, it was completely doable this time around. I’m actually feeling quite proud of myself. I haven’t even minded that Luke’s phone has been going off at regular intervals, and he had a long call with his mum while I had a siesta before our evening drinks.
‘Do you have any baby pics yet?’ I ask him, as we cross the Ponte dell’Accademia and pause to look at the lavender glow of the sky as the Grand Canal widens out into the lagoon just beyond a vast domed basilica whose name I can’t remember.
‘Not yet. Mum says she’s going to send some later.’
‘I can’t wait,’ I say. I want to see all the gorgeous wrinkliness and tiny fingers and toes.
‘Do you think … ?’
I turn away from the sunset to look at him. ‘Do I think what?’
‘No, doesn’t matter.’
Dinner is as delicious as I hoped it would be.
We start with a local speciality of sautéed onions with raisins, herbs and anchovies, and then sea bass, before beef fillet.
Each course is punctuated with a palate cleanser or an amuse-bouche of some kind.
By the time I get my tiramisu I’m already full.
Luke manages to clear his plate and, after answering yet another text from either his mum or his sister, declares he needs to use the bathroom and heads off towards the back of the restaurant.
He’s only seven steps away when his phone, which is lying on the pristine linen tablecloth, buzzes again. I lean over to take a look, just in case it’s the promised baby pics.
I’m lonely, the message reads.
I frown. That’s a weird thing for Luke’s mum to say – she’s always surrounded by family, and today probably more than ever.
And I can’t imagine Cassie saying something like that either, after just having given birth to a bouncing bundle of joy.
But then I look again, and I realize it’s not from either of them.
It’s from Elena.
Why is she messaging Luke when he’s on holiday? And even if she did, surely it should be something to do with marble countertops or whether they can get the electricians to wire those wall lights in.
And then another message appears on the thread: I wish you were here. I could really do with a hug x
My stomach turns to ice. What?
I snatch Luke’s phone up and stare at the message on the screen for a good five seconds, before swiping upwards, scrolling further back through the text chain.
And that’s when I realize it’s not his sister or his mum Luke has been messaging all day. It’s Elena. His ‘work wife’.