To Sicily with Love (Meet Me in Italy #4)

Chapter One

One

I pulled up to the curb and stared at the familiar Cape Cod house. Bright white. Black shutters. A light dusting of snow covered the usual thriving flower and vegetable garden. Two wicker rocking chairs on the front porch held grinning snowmen cushions. Leftover lights from Christmas still wrapped around the railing, the only bright spot in the dreary winter evening. Holding back a sigh, I shoved the endless buzz of thoughts and tasks and ideas igniting my brain to the side and got out of the car.

It was time to see Mom.

I squared my shoulders and tried not to dread my visit with each step. I was horrible. I loved my mother. But these consistent check-ins were beginning to grate on my nerves, especially when each second was precious. As I told my clients regularly, dreams don’t work unless you do. And damned if I didn’t have a ton of both to conquer.

I walked inside and found her in the kitchen. “Hi, Mom.”

“Aurora! How are you, sweetheart?” Guilt hit again as she lit up and hugged me like it was the first time we’d seen each other in ages, instead of only two days. Have mothers always acted like puppies, with a warped sense of time?

Maybe I’d have children one day and find out.

“Good. Really busy. You said you needed help with something?”

She made a sound of annoyance and began waving her hands in the air. “It’s the TV again! I tried to save money by switching to the app instead of the cable box, but it doesn’t work. I called the company and they said no one could come out because I was doing it wrong.” A frown creased her brow. “I’m not an idiot. I know it’s broken.”

Frustration simmered, but I fought it back. This wasn’t an emergency I should be running over to fix, but no matter how many times I explained my schedule, Mom said she understood and wouldn’t bother me. Then did. “Let me look at it. The bedroom?”

“Yes. Thank you. I don’t know how your dad dealt with all this tech. Are you hungry? I made a quiche and salad. Why don’t you stay?”

“Can’t. I’m meeting Jason for dinner.”

Her silence was answer enough, but I refused to let her piss me off on my date night. It took me less than five minutes to work the two remotes and click on the app causing the trouble. “Mom, come here. You were hitting the wrong button.”

“No. That’s impossible.”

I half closed my eyes. God, she was stubborn. Probably the most stubborn person on the planet. Dad used to laugh and say she’d tire out a mule, but there was no better quality when it came to sheer grit and staying power. “Look, I’ll show you.”

Her gasp would have made me laugh if I hadn’t been so stressed. “I can’t believe it. Thank you. Have some water. I bought the vitamin stuff you like.”

I was about to tell her no, but the look on her face made me pause. The flicker of longing in her dark eyes, as if she craved company. Crap. Why did she have to feel so lonely? Why couldn’t she find some pursuits to fill her time instead of depending on me? It had been five years since Dad passed. She was in her mid-fifties, not her seventies. Was it wrong that I expected more independence from her? I forced a smile. “Sure, Mom.”

She practically ran to the kitchen and presented me with the bottle proudly. I took a sip, studying her in the fading light that beamed from the window.

My mother was still beautiful, retaining a timeless elegance. Her rich dark hair was her best asset, with only threads of gray she kept under control with dye. Big brown eyes dominated her face, with lush lashes that any woman would envy. A classic Roman nose, full lips, and heavy slanted brows gave off an earthiness that matched her curvy figure. I’d encouraged her to begin dating, knowing she’d easily attract men with her looks, but Mom refused. She said Dad was the love of her life and she wasn’t interested in finding another.

I’d have been happy to see her score a dinner date.

Though we looked alike, we’d always been different. I had the same thick dark hair, though I’d cut mine years ago, to my mother’s distress. Now the strands were smooth and curled under my chin in a stylish cut. People always commented that we were like twins. I always wished I’d inherited my father’s light blond hair, hazel eyes, and trim build. Instead, I got stuck with too many curves, a too-large nose, and an excess of body hair.

But behavior-wise? Yeah, I was completely my very English dad. I looked at the world in crisp blacks and whites and had laser-sharp focus on tasks that furthered my goals. Rest was my nemesis, along with messy emotion. I’d managed to turn my practicality into a career but lacked the patience my mother held when it came to listening to rants or endless whining. I didn’t believe in “poor me.” I believed in fixing it.

My mom exuded a warm, nurturing persona that sucked in everyone who craved a listening ear, a hug, or a favor. She loved cooking, naps, gardening, and long conversations that had no real point.

We were opposites who couldn’t seem to understand each other. It had made for some epic fights when I was a teen, during which Mom had surprised me with her legendary Italian temper. Dad always said when she reached her limit and snapped, no one wanted to be near the explosion.

Too bad I was an only child. It really sucked not to have any siblings. Mom had multiple miscarriages after me, so they’d eventually decided to stop trying. Both my parents were also only children. I’d grown up without any type of extended family. I literally had no grandparents, cousins, or aunts or uncles, which was a bummer around the holidays, but at least I got full attention and all the presents.

Unfortunately, presents no longer mattered, and I was the sole target of my mother’s scrutiny.

Lucky me.

“What are you up to this week?” she asked.

I shook my head at the thought of my schedule. “It’s nonstop. I’m booked with client appointments, and I want to get a handle on the new season of the podcast. Plus, I fell behind on the book, so I need to get some writing done.” I chattered on about the other responsibilities on my plate, hoping she’d get a sense of how busy I truly was.

She nodded, but a tiny frown caused her brow to crease. “When was the last time you saw Hannah or April?”

“I don’t know—six months, maybe? I had to cancel our last meet-up. But they’re doing well.”

The frown deepened. “Honey, I don’t understand why you lost touch. They were your best friends all through college. It’s like you’ve suddenly dropped them.”

And here we go.

I tried not to get irritated. “Mom, we’re all busy. They have young kids now and I’m building a business. Things change.”

“Some things should be prioritized,” she said gently. “Like good friends. Work can’t take the place of relationships.”

“Meaningful work can,” I shot back. “Plus, I have Jason. We’re getting serious and that’s my priority right now.”

I could tell she wanted to say something but held back. The irritation grew into anger, especially when I spotted the gleam of disapproval in her eyes. Not only for Jason but for my choices as well. For the work I put my heart and soul into that she didn’t understand.

For my entire life.

Why couldn’t my mother be happy with her own life instead of trying to manage mine? She always wanted something from me. A call, a text, a visit. Poking at my choices, consistently telling me I needed to slow down.

I’d finally invited Jason to Sunday dinner, hopeful Mom would see all the wonderful things I did. Instead, there was an underlying tension that hung heavily over the dining room table.

I hated the way she’d immediately judged his muscles and good looks. She never said a word of criticism, but I knew. It was obvious in her gaze as he politely refused most of the food that contained carbs and spoke about ambition and doing better than our parents. His passion steered the conversation as Jason explained his future plans of running a fitness empire. When she revealed the torta setteveli seven-layer cake she’d spent hours baking, he refused, joking that sugar was the hidden demon causing weight gain and diabetes, giving me a wink as if we were on the same team.

I’d squirmed with embarrassment and resentment in my seat, hating that I still sought her approval like I was a needy child. There was no reason for her to question Jason or my choices in relationships. Afterward, we’d had a fight and I’d walked out. We hadn’t mentioned it since, but the words flung back and forth still hung in the air between us, like a cloud of pollution, dark and heavy and poisonous. Now we were circling back to this conversation.

“I see you making choices with your head, not your heart. I only want you to lean in to all the wonderful surprises out there. Not close yourself off because it doesn’t make sense or meet a certain goal. Do you understand?”

Yes. I did. That was the terrible part. The disconnect between us was growing and I was getting tired of her criticism. Of her judging my life based on ideals I could never accept or understand.

Slowly, I put down my water bottle and gave her a tight smile. “Sure, Mom. I gotta go. I’ll check in next week.”

I gave her a quick hug and headed for the door.

“Wait—I’ll see you Sunday, right?”

I stiffened. “Probably not. I have a lot of work, Mom.”

Her hands flew up in the air. “All day Sunday? Honey, it’s our only chance to spend some quality time together. Just come and eat. You’re too skinny—you need a good meal without constantly scrolling through that phone. All that social media isn’t healthy.”

“I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Fine. Text me. I love you.”

I muttered it back and hurried out, sending a quick text to Jason that I was running late. As I sped away, I let out a breath. Finally, I’d get back to my real life.

On cue, my phone belted out Carrie Underwood’s song “The Champion,” which always pumped me up, and I quickly put my earbuds in to answer. I held strict appointments with all my clients but was always available for emergencies. Being on call for the people who depended on me was important and had helped expand my life-coaching business quickly. Referrals and reviews were key.

“Hi, Millicent. How are you?”

A deep, depressive sigh. “I need help, Aurora. I wrote down all the goals I’d like to achieve, but when I got up today I felt overwhelmed. So I made breakfast and watched Netflix and had a chat with my sister—who never makes me feel good—and now I’m on my couch.”

I winced. The couch is the place where success goes to die. Since she was a new client, I knew I’d need to give Millicent a little more hand-holding to retrain her mind. I launched into my step-by-step routine to bring the woman out of her immediate funk, forcing her to move her body.

By the time I reached the restaurant, I had her pumped up and in the right mindset. I got out of the car, hitched my purse higher on my arm, and spoke into the empty air with all the passion I could muster.

“Millicent, you’ve forgotten the most important step in changing your life. What did we speak about yesterday? Repeat it to me.”

My hands gestured wildly in the air, a genetic trait from Mom’s Italian heritage I couldn’t seem to break. My client’s hesitation told me she was desperately trying to remember the motto I drilled into every person’s brain, including my own.

A short silence hummed over the line. “Action?”

“That’s right! Nothing changes unless you do.”

I pushed open the door to the restaurant, nodding to the hostess as I threaded my way to our usual corner table. Jason raised his hand to signal me over, then dropped it when he realized I was in work mode. I shot him an apologetic look, but he smiled and went back to perusing the menu. He was used to my packed schedule and never resented it when work seeped into our time. Another reason he was the perfect boyfriend.

“Now, give me the sound of victory!”

I winced at the loud hooting but was satisfied with the enthusiasm. “Get to work, Millicent. Make your dreams come true!”

“Thanks, Aurora—I am unstoppable!”

I gave my own hoot, said goodbye, and removed my earbuds.

Jason shot me an amused look. “Owl power?”

“Very funny. Sorry I’m late—I had to stop at Mom’s.”

“You’re worth waiting for.” He reached over and took my hands. “I think we should go with the mahi-mahi. Abe said it’s fresh from the market and the pineapple salsa is homemade.”

“Done. I’m too tired to make decisions.” I smiled and studied him from across the table. Jason’s thick blond hair was kept short but with just enough surfer wave to give him a boyish look. As a fitness trainer and nutrition guru, he kept himself in peak health. At a towering six three, he possessed eight-pack abs, bulging biceps, and thighs the size of tree trunks. Blue eyes held both intelligence and an intensity that had attracted me immediately.

Not sexual intensity, though we met each other’s needs nicely. Jason ate, breathed, and slept work. But not just work to be busy. He was obsessed with meeting and smashing through goals, with achieving perfection with not only his body but his mind and emotions as well.

Jason was the male me. And the moment we’d met, I knew he was meant to be my partner. People told us all the time we were couple goals, and whenever I posted anything of us together, my social feed interaction doubled and I got a ton of new subscribers and followers.

Our waiter, Abe, came over, his gentle face wreathed in a smile. Jason and I had been coming regularly to Riverview restaurant for six months and he knew exactly what we liked. “So nice to see you again. Have we made our choices for the night?” His clean-shaven head gleamed and his dark eyes shrewdly glanced at the table, noting the candle was lit, the linens were pressed, and our water glasses were full.

“Thank you, Abe. We’ll both have the mahi-mahi. Grilled, no butter,” Jason said.

“Very good. Asparagus instead of the potato?”

“Definitely.”

“House salad? With olive oil, lemon juice, and a dash of sea salt?”

Jason glanced at me, hesitant, and I took the reins. “Let’s switch it out for arugula with some fennel tonight.”

“Perfect. Shall I bring the Saratoga sparkling water now or with dinner?”

“Now, please,” Jason said, thanking him. I relaxed in the chair. The first time Jason and I had dinner together, I was struck by his commitment to health, and he’d helped fine-tune my body to a lean, green fighting machine. My energy doubled, which meant I could double my workload. We were a power couple, each pushing the other consistently to be and do better. Only on our weekly dinner date at Riverview did we allow ourselves to take a few precious hours to relax. The rest of our time was dedicated to achievement and enough sleep to recharge.

“How is your mom?”

I hesitated. “Frustrating,” I admitted. “She called me twice this week to fix something in the house, then guilted me into staying for a longer visit. I don’t mind if there’s a real problem, but she doesn’t respect my work schedule. Plus, she still gets upset if I don’t come over for Sunday dinner.”

Jason regarded me thoughtfully. “Babe, I know you love your mom, but it’s time for some tough love. How long has your dad been gone now?”

“Five years.”

“You can’t keep feeling responsible for her happiness. Maybe these Sunday dinners are harmful. She learns to keep being dependent on your company, and you get upset. I hate that she can’t see how your work changes people. She minimizes the importance.”

I sighed. “Yeah, she just doesn’t get it. I’ll cancel this Sunday and give us both a necessary break.”

“That’s my girl.” His smile warmed me. “What do you have going on this weekend?”

I sipped my cocktail slowly and savored my Friday night indulgence. “I begin my new season on the podcast, so I’m doing some research on my guests. I’ve got some powerhouses who agreed to come on the show, which will definitely help preorders of the book.”

He nodded. The lights shimmered and highlighted the golden strands of his hair. Those sky blue eyes fastened on my face with a sense of urgency. “Did you finish writing it yet?”

I tried not to wince. “I’m close. I just need to work out these last few chapters.” Actually, there were more than a few left, but I’d blocked out serious writing time to finally get to the end. Jason didn’t need to know how much I had left, so it wasn’t really a lie. I shifted in my chair as heat prickled on my skin in a warning.

Dammit, I shouldn’t have stretched the truth.

When I was young and got nervous, I broke out in an allergy: hives would suddenly appear and itch like crazy. Any type of lying always initiated the breakout. After testing, the doctors had agreed it was stress and recommended a psychologist.

My parents dismissed the suggestion, citing that I was perfect and I’d outgrow the rash. I suffered through school, freaking out over dates or public speeches, not knowing when it’d crop up and humiliate me. But I’d spent the last decade transforming the shy, nervous girl I was into a powerhouse and despised when weakness slunk back in. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs from the diaphragm; imagined a bright white light washing over my skin with healing; then slowly released.

The prickling eased.

I focused back on Jason. “You need to make that your first priority,” he said. “How are your clients doing?”

I gave a half laugh. “They’re making progress. I’m proud of them being dedicated to change. I know firsthand how hard it can be.”

Jason looked at me with a spark of pride that made me squirm in my seat with satisfaction. There was something about his approval that made me feel invincible. “But you didn’t even need life coaching. You were strong enough to do it all on your own.”

I remembered after my dad died how it was as if I’d reached a crossroads. One path held ongoing agony, depression, and grief. The alternate path was filled with action and a chance to transform. Mom had spiraled, and I’d recognized one of us had to be strong. So I fought through my messy, weak emotions. I relied on sheer grit and an actionable plan to get to the other side and re-create myself.

“Well, I read books and attended some life conferences. No one ever does it alone,” I said mildly. I thought of the list of mentors I’d listened to, how I dug deep inside myself for the change I encouraged in others. My breakthrough was a realization that I was here to guide people like me who were struggling to find their true selves. I took classes and was certified as a life coach, then began to create my own philosophies and share them on social media. It took a while, but eventually my followers grew and I began doing a podcast. The past two years, I finally became profitable. My podcast was highly rated on Spotify, my life-coaching business was flourishing, and I’d signed a publishing contract for my first self-help book. I was living my dream and thriving under pressure.

Nothing worthwhile was easy, but I loved how Jason believed in me. He only made me want even more for myself, for him. For us.

Jason’s face softened. “I love that you’re humble in your success. I remember after I opened my first gym, everyone told me I could finally relax. That I’d done it. But it was just the beginning for me. Unfortunately, most of those people dropped away. I needed to surround myself with people like us. People who don’t get lazy or give in to an emotional mindset of negativity.”

The busboy stopped at our table and dropped a basket of bread between us.

I stiffened, afraid to even breathe as a little puff of steam rose from the linens, carrying the scent of freshly baked dough to my nostrils. Like a recovering smoker, I tried to suck in the delicious smell before it disappeared forever. Sometimes, I had no shame.

Jason picked up the basket and handed it quickly back. “No bread, thank you,” he said firmly. “Carbs will kill you.”

“Oh, sorry,” the guy mumbled, racing away.

I cleared my throat and took another sip of my cocktail. That was a close call.

Jason kept talking like the incident had never occurred. “I’m running the half-marathon next Saturday. Did you decide to join me? I already registered you.”

Running wasn’t my favorite thing in the world. I’d worked like crazy trying to tame my generous curves, which I’d inherited from Mom, and found the perfect combination of food/sugar avoidance, weights, and kickboxing. Something about running bored me to tears. I think it was all that empty time with nothing to do but think. But Jason thought running was the bread and butter of exercise, so I tried to compromise.

“I can’t, babe. I’ve got clients, writing, and podcast research. I’ll need to pass this time.”

“Understood. My gym is sponsoring the event, so I probably won’t be around that whole day.”

Tamping down a sigh, I pushed thoughts of my family out of my mind. The fish was delivered and we feasted on dinner. We traded work stories and upcoming calendar events and discussed the newest nonfiction books we were reading. I finished my cocktail, sucking down the precious last drops, and smiled.

Jason tilted his head. “What is it?”

Satisfaction sung in my veins. “I’m happy. With me. With us. With everything.”

He smiled back. “Me, too.”

I stared into his blue eyes. He’d mentioned long-term commitment a few times, but we still hadn’t exchanged the big I love you s yet. I never pressured him. I wasn’t the type. I’d turn thirty-five this year but was in no rush for children. Nowadays, I had plenty of time and options for a family. It was as if my life were on the edge of a breakout, from my love life to my career, and all I needed to do was keep pushing and manifesting and working my ass off. I’d finally have it all.

“Want to go back to my place or yours?” Jason asked.

“Let’s do yours tonight.” I hadn’t cleaned for a while and he hated a messy home.

“Great, let’s get the bill.” He lifted a finger and Abe appeared with the leather portfolio, sliding it in the middle. Most of the time, we split the check, but this time Jason took it, shaking his head when I reached for my purse. “My treat.”

“Thank you.”

We went back to his place and I spent the night. I woke up with a sated body, a fire in my belly, and a brain buzzing to get the day started.

Until I got the phone call.

Years ago, when I received the news that my father had died in a car crash, I believed it was the most defining moment of my life. I believed if I rose to the challenge and conquered that tragedy, the rest of my future would play out the way I hoped.

Now I knew different.

I guess God had bigger plans for me.

Because my mother had been found by my neighbor, collapsed on the kitchen floor.

She’d had a cardiac arrest.

And she was gone.