“Thanks for being so helpful minutes after we agreed to try harder with each other.”
Bailey glared at Dev. “Because I know you won’t be open-minded either! You’d have the for sale sign on the property this morning if we let you!”
“Oh, please. Now that you’ve got your eyes on our new neighbor, you won’t be able to see reason.”
“I knew this was about Hawke! I didn’t do anything wrong; you are impossible to deal with.”
“Oh, like I didn’t see the flip of your hair? It’s your trademark move—you need some new material.”
“You’re vile,” Bailey whispered. “Completely—”
Pris stood up. “Enough. Get up and get ready—we’re all going out.”
“It’s too early for lunch,” Dev said, glancing at her planner. “I was going to catch up on some email and work before we left.”
“No work. I think we all need an activity guaranteed to bond us together.”
“What’s that?” Bailey asked.
“Shopping. I’ve got an American Express Gold I need rewards on, so it’s my treat today. Anything goes.”
Bailey paused. A gleam lit her eyes. “Anything?”
Pris smiled. “Anything. Dev?”
Her sister tried not to show her interest, but she was female. “You may regret that statement later.”
“Just remember—whatever we buy, we need to haul up and down those stairs,” Pris said.
That got Dev to grin. “I knew there’d be a catch. I’m in.”
“Let’s do this.” Satisfied that she’d managed to defuse the rising argument, Pris made her way into the bedroom to finish getting ready. Reaching into the back of the bureau drawer to where she’d stuffed her underwear, her fingers closed around a paper folded up in the back corner.
Frowning, she opened it up and began to read.
Dear R,
I feel like I’ve spent this summer stealing and trying to stop time.
I’m writing this a few days before I plan to leave, but I’ll never send it. I want to be able to revisit my words each time I come back to you, and remember we’ve always been meant to be together.
I know you’re right about me not dropping out of school to move here, but every moment spent away from you feels empty. How can I explain how much this summer meant to me? Aunt Silvia told me she knows about our secret but swore she wouldn’t tell my parents as long as I stayed in school. I think she believes distance will eventually break us up, but she doesn’t know the truth.
I can’t stop thinking about our night together. The way you greeted me at your house and cooked me my favorite dinner of spaghetti vongole. The way the rain beat against the window and locked us into a world of our own. The candles you’d lit everywhere and the soft music that played and the way you undressed me with hands that trembled. The way you whispered my name in my ear. It was like falling in love with you all over again, a slow, easy slide until I became part of you, and the ache inside me was finally filled.
I tried to memorize your face that night, stockpiling images so I could remember every detail when I was away from you. I wondered if I’d ever feel like a whole person again. Is the way I love you the greatest gift or the most awful curse?
You said you loved me but you’re still afraid I’ll leave you. I knew you were thinking of the girl who’d hurt you before, so I swore I’d always come back, no matter what. I promise you can trust me. I’ll prove this to you, my love. Every summer, I’ll return, until we’re finally together. Because you’re my soul mate, my other half, the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.
Until then.
Love,
Livia
Heart frantically pounding in her chest, she reread the letter and called her sisters in. “I found this in the drawer,” she said, her hands shaking. They both read it, then stared at one another in shock.
“This wasn’t a casual crush,” Bailey finally said. “This was so much more than that.”
Dev remained silent. Pris’s insides churned. This was proof there truly was a part of her mother she’d never known—a life she’d once dreamed of spending with another man, right here in Positano.
Dev shook her head. “Come on, let’s go. We’ll talk about it at lunch.”
They finished getting ready, each lost in her own thoughts.
chapter sixteen
Olivia
The second year of college got better.
I got a new roommate, Sonya, and liked her immediately. She ended up becoming my trusted confidante and the only one who knew about Rafe. She was also the only one to get me to go out and socialize, insisting that being true to one’s heart didn’t necessarily mean being isolated and alone.
I got to take more electives and found I had a love for art history. Slowly, I began to creep out of my shell and enjoy college, even though my heart ached for Rafe. I figured if I kept my high grades and my work-study job and dropped hints to Mom and Dad that I was getting more involved in group activities, they’d allow me to go back to Italy this summer.
Aunt Silvia had already confided that my dad wanted to have me for a good portion of my vacation so he could spend more quality time with me. It sounded nice, but I also knew my father was a workaholic, and it’d mean getting stuck at his tiny house with no friends and no car and waiting for him to get home so we could have dinner together. Then I’d watch him fall asleep on the couch way too early.
I had to change their minds.
I used Thanksgiving and winter break to plant the seeds with both of them, talking excitedly about my decision to switch my major to art history with a minor in business, and how my summer in Italy had helped jump-start my new passion. They both fought me at first, citing the inability to gain employment with a liberal arts degree, but I remained stubbornly persistent. After I talked to my art advisor about opportunities to study in Italy, he gave me a packet of information where college students can complete extra study credit. They assigned a few mentors to the students to help them transition from college life to reality. Basically, it was a clear path to create contacts in art work environments so when I graduated, I’d have a job waiting for me.
That was a language Mom and Dad understood, and they finally agreed to send me off again with Aunt Silvia.
Rafe and I continued to write letters and spoke on the phone. I’d hold the pen in hand, close my eyes, and picture the busy streets and packed restaurants in Positano slowing to a trickle from the loss of tourists. He’d been taking the boat out more with his father, but the fishing hadn’t been as productive this season. I’d read his words, hearing his lilting, husky voice in my ear while he talked about the books he was reading, and the hours spent hunkered down in his house thinking of me. I felt a bit guilty at my suddenly booming social life and packed schedule—sometimes there didn’t seem enough time to breathe—but then pushed away the thought. This was temporary. I’d work hard, graduate, and find a job in Italy. I never really thought past finally being together. My mind conjured up glamorous images of me working in an art gallery while Rafe came to visit me. Cooking meals together in our cozy kitchen and sitting outside watching the stars light up the sky. Sailing on his boat while I helped charm the tourist guests. It all seemed like a fabulous, passion-filled, romantic life, so different from the one I’d be trapped in within the States.