Chapter Twelve
Ousted Congresswoman Isabella Rhodes Trades Washington for Italy—The New York Times
Under the Umbrian Sun? Isabella Rhodes is doing her best Diane Lane in rural Italy—The Cut
CAUGHT?! Isabella Rhodes Ran Away to Italy —TMZ
Traitor Rhodes loses her election so she moves to Italy? Pathetic!, an online comment from a former colleague of mine.
We’re proud of Izzy for following her heart to Italy to start her next chapter of greatness, my dad’s Facebook status.
The news is everywhere. There are memes, there are think pieces, there is discourse.
This is a nightmare. A cheap gossip rag published it first—a blurry photo of me in my bright yellow sundress, carrying a loaf of bread and a bouquet of fresh flowers down the cobblestone streets of La Musa.
I look chic and European, honestly, but the invasion of privacy still makes me squirm.
Someone in La Musa is watching me. Or at the very least, someone recognized me, snapped a picture, and leaked it to the highest bidder. Everyone back home knows where I am, and suddenly the transatlantic flight and two-hour train ride doesn’t feel far enough away.
My phone erupts with a FaceTime call. I click the green button and both my parents appear onscreen.
They’re huddled next to each other at the old wooden kitchen table my father built when I was little.
Something about the image of the two of them there, in the room I’ve known since I was born, makes me long for home.
The first twinge of homesickness after weeks of relishing my escape.
Suddenly I’m longing for the big bay window that looks out into the backyard and the jacaranda tree that blooms bright purple in the spring.
“Ah, our daughter does still have time for us.” My mother purses her lips and shakes her head.
I strain my eyes trying not to roll them. “Sorry, it’s been crazy here. I’m sure you saw the news—”
“I’m proud of you, Iz.” My dad grins. “You’re not hiding anymore.”
“Don’t sugarcoat, Dash. I’m worried. What if one of those people follows you to Italy.” My mother rubs her temples with her fingertips. “You don’t have security like you did in Washington.”
“The threats stopped once I left office. I really don’t think anyone would do anything worse than pointing and laughing.” A shiver runs down my spine. “Not that I wouldn’t find that devastating.”
“You know, CNN was speculating on why you chose this particular area of Italy, and they pointed to the conservation efforts in your area.” My dad takes out his phone and shows me his screen, but I can’t read it. “It’s not a bad idea to bulk up your experience in the international arena—”
My mother shakes her head. “Dash—”
“What? Just in case.”
“In case I want to run again? Yeah, no, not doing that.” I never did get around to drinking that glass of wine Benito poured for me, and now I wish I was mentally lubricated for this conversation.
“And we support you in that decision.” He looks to my mother. “We discussed it, and we do. But you should keep your options open. You’re so young. There’s so much time left.” He scratches his head. “Well, for you, maybe, not the planet or democracy or—”
“You did end up taking that self-defense class, right?” My mother’s lips stretch into a thin, worried line. “You know I don’t condone violence, but maybe you should keep a weapon on you. Not a gun, obviously. But a taser perhaps? Maybe even something medieval—”
My father leans back. “If you’re that worried, we can pay for security. I’ll call Richard and see if he knows anyone internationally.”
Richard was the head of my security team while I was in Congress. I sigh. “Please do not bother Richard. I’m sure he’s busy. I heard he works for Harry and Meghan now.”
My mom gasps. “Montecito is lovely. Good for Richard.”
“Also, I didn’t leak my location,” I say.
My parents share a look. “I didn’t want anyone to know that I’m here, and I really hope this all blows over, because I do not want anyone to care about what I’m doing.
I’d prefer to be out of the news with all my failure behind me forever. ” They share another look. “What?”
“It’s just.” My mother leans in as if she’s about to drop a secret she doesn’t want the trees to hear. “We thought maybe you were getting bored, so you leaked your location to soft launch yourself back into the American political sphere.”
I stare at them blankly. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.” I hear a knock on my door and my heart skips a beat. “Look, Mom, Dad, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Iz—” I hang up.
“Come in,” I say, sitting up straighter and running my fingers through the ends of my hair.
The door opens and Benito’s on the other side.
He looks behind him before he walks inside and shuts the door, like he’s making sure he’s not being followed.
He gingerly walks over to me, stopping when he reaches the edge of my bed.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
He takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair; the veins and knuckles on the top of his hands protrude and I’m suddenly lightheaded.
“I’m sorry for everything that happened after—” He stops himself and gestures to the edge of the bed.
“May I?” I nod and he sits so he’s barely perched on the corner across from me.
“That’s not how I imagined things going.
But for the record, I don’t regret anything.
” He cocks his head at me, smiling. It seems like he’s testing the waters, but I’m in no mood.
I show him my phone, cued up to the latest headline about my new locale. His smile fades. “Is this—?”
“Everywhere,” I say. “So much for anonymity.”
Benito’s silent for a moment, staring at my phone and struggling to find his words. “I know this is not what you wanted,” he says. “But maybe it’s good. Maybe it’s a weight off your shoulders?”
My stomach twists. “No. It’s not good,” I say.
“Don’t you see? Someone is watching me. Someone is reporting my every move.
Someone is waiting for me to fuck up again so they can tell the world.
” I take my phone back and start pacing, my brain spinning with all the possible scenarios if someone had caught me and Benito kissing the other day.
I’d be ridiculed again. Izzy Rhodes ran off to Italy to make out with her new flavor of the week the minute she was done with Congress.
This is who she is. She’s the girl who puts love first. She’s the girl who’s willing to sacrifice everything else for a boy.
“This,” I say, pointing between us, “cannot happen again.”
Benito’s eyes narrow. He shakes his head. “I was going to tell my mamma about Sutton tonight. It absolutely can happen again.” He stands and meets me mid-pace, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder. “This has to happen again.”
“What about your father?” I ask, dodging out of his grasp so my logical train of thought is no longer influenced by his touch. “You said you need Sutton to help in your war against him. What happens when he finds out you cheated on her?”
“I did not cheat on her.”
“In the narrative you’ve been spinning with your family, you technically did!
” I shout. Benito’s eyes quickly move to the door and back and I lower my voice.
“Oh god.” I put a palm to my forehead. “This is just what I need. Someone takes a photo of us, Sutton goes public, and now I’m a homewrecking whore.
” My breathing quickens and I try to box breathe.
It’s how I kept myself from having a panic attack every time an unreasonable colleague made my blood pressure go over the normal limit.
In one, two, three, four. . . hold two, three, four. . . out two, three, four. . .
“Izzy.” Benito reaches for me, but I hold up my hands in protest.
“Don’t touch me!”
Benito relents. “Ok, it’s ok.” He waits while I take another deep breath.
“I’ll keep up appearances with Sutton until I can get my father off my back and you and I will just have to.
. . wait.” I take another breath as Benito watches.
Waiting. I’m familiar with the concept. “That’s what we’re doing, right? ” he asks.
I put my hand on my heart, willing it to beat slower. “What?”
“We’re waiting until the time is right. You’re not. . . you’re not saying no forever. Right?” He steps closer, his fingertips just inches from the edges of my hips.
I think back to that cold morning after with Levi. How he’d held me and kissed my head, telling me now wasn’t the right time, but the right time would come. I know now not to hold my breath when someone makes such a promise.
“Ok,” he repeats. His calmness is making me calm. Annoying, because I find spiraling energizing and I could stand to finish another chapter of Anna Karenina—well, a chapter of Anna Karenina. “What are we doing, then?” he asks.
I study his expression. His eyes are soft and the creases in his forehead are relaxed. He looks so harmless, it’s disarming. “I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, the other day—I wasn’t expecting that, and I wasn’t thinking about what comes next.” Besides more kissing.
Benito laughs. “Me neither. The other day, I wasn’t thinking logically. When it comes to you, I’m never thinking logically.”
My heart squeezes. Goddammit. This is the last thing I need.
Another crush that unravels my entire life.
Even if the vicious news cycle surrounding my reappearance slows, I still don’t know if I can let myself fall as much as I want to.
I was supposed to find a no-strings-attached Italian stallion, not a man who talks about waiting for me and is looking at me like.
. . well, how Levi used to look at me. Like I’m important, like I matter, and like everything I want in this life is possible.
Couldn’t he have come in here with two glasses of vino and lured me into bed like a normal person?
Why isn’t anyone ever trying to use me? Other girls get late-night u up texts and all I ever get is to freaking yearn.
“So, Sutton,” I say. “Is she sleeping in your bed with you?” The thought crossed my mind the second I saw her at lunch, but I was too scared to ask. If the answer is yes, I might hurl.
“No,” Benito says. “Oh god, no. She told my mother she needs very specific conditions in order to fall asleep and took a guest room on the first floor. Not a lie, by the way.” A shiver runs down my spine to remember that even if they’re not sleeping together tonight, they did regularly sleep together at one point not that long ago.
“Good,” I say. “I mean, I guess it’s technically none of my business what you do.” I look down at my floor. “The last time a guy said he was waiting for me, he ended up stealing my job, so. . . I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have a job.”
Benito’s eyes flit up to me. “I would never do that to you.” He latches his fingertips into mine.
“Maybe waiting is the wrong word. We’re just. .
. on pause.” I smirk at the Housewives universe reference to when one of the titular wives is let go from her duties for at least a season or two.
I wonder if he watched with Sutton. I will bring up Teresa Giudice to her and see if she reacts.
“We’re on pause,” I repeat.
Benito squeezes my hand. “I’ll be right next door if you change your mind.”
Benito leaves and I check my phone, which has now blown up with countless messages.
I go to flip it onto Do Not Disturb but a phone call from Kate, my former campaign manager, comes in before I have the chance.
She’d never call if it weren’t truly important and if she hadn’t exhausted every other option, so I answer.
“Hey, kiddo.” Kate’s voice is like an instant balm on my soul.
She’s in her late 40s but she was like a second mother to me throughout both campaigns and my time in Congress, always grounding and taking care of me, shoving food into my mouth or texting me at 2 a.m. to tell me to go to bed.
“Sorry to bug you, but I’m getting inundated with requests for comment.
I guess since your chief of staff and press secretary work for Cross now.
” Traitors. “I’m the last line of communication and I’d ignore it, but I’m genuinely worried they’d ship a news crew to Umbria. ”
“It’s ok,” I say, though my palms are slick with sweat at the idea of commenting publicly about anything. “What do we do?”
“We can say nothing if you’d prefer, deny any requests for comment, but I think you should keep it simple. Confirm that you’re in Italy but reiterate that you’re a private citizen now with an emphasis on private.”
I sit back on my bed and fiddle with the edge of my comforter.
No matter what I do, it doesn’t change the fact that people know where I am now.
It’ll probably die down with the next international crisis, but either way, I’m in the news for the next 24 hours—and so is La Musa.
“Actually,” I say. “I have a different idea.”