Chapter 54
In all the excitement, I’ve lost track of Keith.
“So this is the famous cookbook?” he asks. I turn to find him standing by my shoulder. He reaches out and picks up the cookbook. I don’t like seeing it in his hands. For some reason, I don’t want him touching it. He flips it open and riffles through the pages. “What’s the trick with this thing?”
I stiffen. “Sorry. Family heirloom. We have to be really careful with it.” I take the book from him and gently place it on the table.
“Well, you better get used to other people touching it if it’s going to be on the show,” Keith says. He looks annoyed. A few more raindrops hit the leaves of the olive tree above us with small, sharp popping sounds. I take the cookbook and tuck it in my apron pocket to protect it.
Keith narrows his eyes at me, then glances around to find Drew.
“Can I talk to you a minute?” he asks tightly.
Drew nods and they head down the stairs and walk to their car.
Everyone else is sitting at the table eating cake and chatting, sheltered from the rain by the ancient spreading olive branches above them.
I have no appetite. I feel buzzy, like there is a swarm of bees in my blood, and a little shaky too.
Being courageous takes a lot of energy. A little at a loss, I take the cookbook into the kitchen.
I have the sense that I need to keep it safe somehow.
As I slide it into its place in the drawer, I realize I can hear tense voices outside the open kitchen window.
It’s Drew and Keith. The wind is carrying their raised voices right to me.
I tiptoe closer to the window. I can hear their conversation clearly.
“I thought you told me you could handle her.” It’s Keith’s voice, tight with anger. “She wouldn’t even let me touch the damn book.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Drew’s voice, placating and a little worried. “Just give me a minute. I’ll talk to her, convince her. She’ll listen to me.”
My ears perk up. It sounds like they’re talking about me.
“We need that book. That’s the entire point of the show, Drew.
Not Juliana. Girls like her are a dime a dozen.
” Keith’s voice is dismissive. “We don’t need her.
We need that book. Do you understand? No book means no show.
And you’re skating on thin ice right now, pal.
After Desiree left us on the hook to do Dance Off , we need a fresh idea.
This is it. So either you get her to sign a contract giving us access to that cookbook or the entire deal is off, got it?
I’ve got plenty of options other than you.
I don’t need you. You need me, remember that. ”
I listen for Drew’s reply, but it’s too faint and mumbled for me to hear it clearly.
My heart drops with dismay. They don’t really want me.
They only want the cookbook. I’m just the inconvenience Keith has to put up with to get what he wants.
This feels like the last time all over again. What a rotten realization.
“I thought you said she’d do anything you want her to do.” Keith’s voice is filled with scorn.
“She will!” Drew’s panicked reply is loud and clear. “I can get Jules to agree. Just give me a chance. I can convince her.”
I gasp. Drew is using me, using our friendship. I swallow hard, tasting bitter dregs of my earlier espresso. I am being betrayed a second time by the man I thought was my closest friend.
They move away and their voices grow distant and indistinct.
I hear a car door slam, but I’m rooted to the spot.
All the blood seems to have rushed to my head.
I feel dizzy and unmoored. If I don’t go back out there, someone is going to come looking for me, and I have a sinking feeling that it will be Drew.
I want to see him out in the open, not alone in here.
I head out the door and across the gravel courtyard, trying to reach the patio where everyone is still eating cake and drinking espresso despite the gathering storm.
Sure enough, Drew stops me before I reach the stairs.
“Hey, Jules!” His tone is light, as though he hasn’t just bartered our friendship for his career.
I ignore him. The clouds are black over the lake now and racing fast across the sky. I think we may get really wet soon. A few raindrops splatter on the crown of my head.
“Jules.” He catches me by the wrist as I put one foot on the steps. He gently tugs me back to face him. “Wait a sec. I want to talk to you.”
I whirl on him, temper flaring. “Well, I don’t want to talk to you.”
He looks genuinely puzzled.
“I heard what you said to Keith,” I confront him. “I think you need to leave.” I’m so disappointed I feel sick.
“Hey, hey. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but let me explain,” Drew says, drawing me toward him. He reaches up and brushes a wisp of hair back from my eyes and tucks it in my headband. The tender gesture feels insincere. I jerk back. How can he use me like this? It’s so manipulative.
“I know what I heard,” I mutter. “Keith doesn’t want me. You’re just using me to get the cookbook.”
He shakes his head, his blue eyes wide and pleading. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. Keith wants the cookbook. I’m just using the cookbook so we can do a show together. Just like we planned. Come on, Jules. We can still do this. Isn’t this what we’ve always wanted?”
For an instant, I’m tempted. Even after all I just heard, it’s hard to look into those earnest blue eyes and not believe him. He’s been a good friend to me for a long time. He’s saying what I want to hear. Too bad I know it’s all false.
I glance over my shoulder, up to the patio table where my family is chatting and enjoying one another.
Violetta says something and Lorenzo roars with laughter.
Even Alex is smiling as she pokes at her slice of cake.
This is the end of our friendship, I realize miserably.
Even if what Drew says is true, even if he does want to do a show with me, he’s using me.
He has not been honest with me. He’s putting himself first, just like he has before.
It’s a pattern with him. I see it now, the slightest hint of trickery, the whiff of selfish interest. Drew takes care of Drew first. I know he probably cares for me as a friend, but he cares for himself more.
I see him now for what he really is, charming and fickle, sweet but self-centered at the core. He is not a man. He is still a boy.
“Jules, everything okay?” I look up and see Nicolo standing at the top of the stone steps, watching us, his dark eyes hooded and fixed on Drew. There’s something protective in the way he says my name. I feel an instant rush of relief.
I hesitate, then nod, glancing between Nicolo and Drew.
Nicolo doesn’t lie or deceive. There is nothing self-serving about him.
He has given up everything to come to aid Violetta, and he has stuck with it despite her difficult attitude and lack of appreciation for his efforts.
He has cared for Nonna and Lorenzo too, without seeking any reward for his duty and generosity.
The difference between the two men is starkly clear.
I turn back to Drew.
“It’s too late,” I tell him. “Go home. The answer is no.” I start to turn away and head for the stairs, but he grabs my wrist. I whirl on him, wincing as my ankle twinges sharply.
“Let go of me,” I demand. Raindrops splatter on the gravel at our feet, on our joined hands. I blink as grit flies in my eyes, picked up by the wind.
“No, Jules, wait. I can explain.” His expression slides toward panic and desperation.
“Ouch. You’re hurting me.” I struggle in his grasp, trying to get away. My wrist aches where he’s pressing the bones too tightly.
“Hey, bastardo!” Suddenly, Nicolo is there at my side.
Quick as lightening he lunges for Drew, twisting my wrist out of Drew’s grip in one smooth motion and punching him hard in the solar plexus.
Drew reels back with a grunt, clutching his abdomen with a look of astonishment.
His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish but no sound comes out.
Nicolo draws me behind him, shielding me with his body. “She said let go,” he growls through gritted teeth. He glances back at me. “Jules, are you okay?”
I nod, clasping my tender wrist, feeling perilously close to tears. This is all terrible, but the solid weight of Nicolo standing in front of me is reassuring. He’s come to my aid and now it looks like he’s prepared to fight for me. His whole body is tensed, on guard.
Drew gasps for air and stares at Nicolo, holding his midsection. “Why did you do that, man?” he wheezes. “We were just talking.”
“No, you weren’t,” Nicolo says bluntly. He starts to roll up his shirtsleeves in a calm, calculated way.
I’m aware the entire patio table has fallen silent and is watching us in fascination, like we are one of the episodes of the Italian soap operas Nonna likes to watch in the front parlor when she thinks no one can hear the TV.
“Let’s ask Jules,” Nicolo says conversationally.
He turns to me, his eyes scanning my face, a faint line of concern creasing his brow.
“Jules, do you want to continue talking to this pezzo di merda?” Nicolo asks me politely.
There is a crack of lightning from across the lake and the deep boom of thunder.
I jump, then glance at Drew. He gives me a pleading look.
He doesn’t know any Italian and so therefore misses the fact that Nicolo just called him a derogatory name.
I shake my head sadly, trying to keep my voice from wobbling. “No. I don’t want to see him ever again.”
There is nothing more to say. Maybe Drew is telling the truth about his motivations, at least as he understands them.
But I cannot be sure he will be honest with me, that he will put me first. And if I cannot trust him, really, what more is there to say?
He is no true friend, and it breaks my heart.
“Jules!” Drew tries again, pitifully.
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Nicolo says conversationally, but he takes a firm step toward Drew, who flinches and stumbles back a couple of feet.
Just then Keith hops out of the sedan, talking on his phone.
He stops short when he sees the confrontation in the courtyard.
He swears and hangs up the phone mid-sentence, then comes striding over to Drew and gives us an exasperated look.
“This is you handling it?” he barks at Drew, grabbing him by the shoulder and pointing him to the sedan.
“Get in the car. I’ll take it from here. ”
I almost feel sorry for Drew as he slinks dejectedly toward the car like a scolded child. Almost but not quite.