“It’s just a silly college crush,” Pris said firmly. “We all keep memories of old boyfriends. She probably hid them from Dad and forgot they were even in here.”
Dev bit her lower lip. “This guy was from Italy! What about the house? And who’s Aunt Silvia?”
“I don’t know,” Bailey said. “It sounds like she traveled there every summer. Why wouldn’t she have mentioned this to us? Grandma and Pop Pop never said anything about Aunt Silvia either. Was she some type of secret? A black sheep or something?”
“Don’t know. But they both died when we were young so we never got a chance to ask,” Dev said.
Pris kept shaking her head and murmuring under her breath, like she refused to accept their discovery. “There must be an explanation. Mom is not the type to hide a secret life and an Italian getaway. It’s not possible.”
“Anything’s possible,” Bailey pointed out. “This must’ve happened before Dad, though. Do you think she looked this guy up after the divorce?”
Dev lifted a brow. “Well, Dad was the one who had an affair. Maybe she got back in touch with this guy for revenge? Or from loneliness?”
A strange sense of anger made Pris snap. “I think we’re overreacting and there’s a rational explanation. Let’s read another letter. The latest one. What’s the date?”
Bailey flipped to the end of the pile, careful of the ink on the crisp white paper. “No date.” She hesitated. Dev held her breath, sensing they were all caught on the precipice of knowing too much. Once they fell off the cliff, there’d be no turning back or pretending it didn’t happen. Did they want what they knew about their mom to change forever?
But it was already too late to turn back. They had discovered these letters, and Bailey had already begun to read.
Dearest Livia,
For too long, I was unable to accept your letters. It was best for both of us—to finally let go of a past that was too beautiful, it may have ended up destroying us both. I had done my best to keep those summers locked away. Even that one precious week when I believed you’d come back to me is a memory best not to revisit. I convinced myself our time together was a dream, but when I saw my name on those envelopes, I realized I alone could ruin a life that I’d rebuilt after you left. I couldn’t do that, dolcezza. Not even for you.
But now, I find myself at a crossroads. I still think about you. I still wonder what could have been. I still want to gaze upon your face one more time.
So, yes, I will meet you here for your 65th birthday.
R
Bailey dropped the pile of papers. They gazed at one another in stunned silence.
Dev’s mind clamored to understand, and she stumbled over the timeline. Her mom had passed in February. Her birthday was in May—which meant she’d died before this meeting could have taken place. After the funeral, her sisters had taken time to settle paperwork and the will, putting off the house to the last task.
Had this man been waiting for her in Positano on Mom’s sixty-fifth birthday? Did he know she passed? Or was this a secret kept from everyone?
Dev was the first to break the silence. “I think we need to read all these letters and figure out what’s going on.”
Bailey slowly nodded. “I think I’ll cancel my reading tonight.”
Pris gave a long sigh. “I think I’ll run out and get us some wine.”
chapter three
Olivia
On the last day of school the summer I was nineteen, I didn’t score a graduation party or new car like many of my friends; instead, Mom took me aside and asked if I wanted to go to Italy for the summer with Aunt Silvia, her sister, whom I rarely saw. At first, I thought she was joking, but the sour purse of her lips as she offered told me the truth. I knew then, it was bad at home. Either my parents were going to try to work it out while I was away for a last-ditch attempt to salvage their marriage, or I’d return home and Dad would be gone. My stomach hurt and I wanted to cry, but I was also pissed off with both of them. So, I barely hesitated to jump at my aunt’s offer. The next day, I met her at JFK Airport and we flew to Italy.
Aunt Silvia had a loud, vibrant personality. Her golden-red hair was long and thick, and makeup perfectly accented her high cheekbones, full lips, and elegant nose. She wore high heels, bright colors, and elaborate jackets with sequins, embroidery, or fur. At first, I was intimidated, feeling like a mousy teen with my plain face, dirty-blond hair, and too-thin frame that held no interesting curves. But she kissed and hugged me like we’d spent forever together, and chattered nonstop until I relaxed.
“Tell me about Positano,” I asked as I sipped my Coca-Cola in a large glass with ice. First class was an experience in itself. The seats were plush and reclined fully, and we were treated like customers in a fine dining restaurant.
Aunt Silvia sighed with pleasure. “Darling, you’re going to adore it. The town is on the Amalfi Coast, with spectacular views, beaches, and amazing restaurants. Tourists flock there for the season, so it will be very crowded, but perfect for a beautiful young girl ready for an adventure.”
I tried not to blush.
“Your uncle’s house is a pretty little cottage amid the hills. It was handed down to your uncle Richard and has been in the family for generations. I’m sure everyone was devastated when he passed and found I was the one to inherit, since we had no children. But who knows—if you like it maybe you’ll be my beneficiary,” she said with a twinkle in her golden-brown eyes.
I grinned. “It sounds amazing. Do you speak Italian too?” She impressed me when she rattled off a string of Italian words that I couldn’t decipher. “Wow, I’d love to learn. But I kind of suck at languages. I’ve been taking Spanish for three years now and I still only know the basics.”
“You need the immersion method, darling. When everyone is speaking the language around you, it’s easier to pick up. But everyone I know speaks English, so don’t worry. I will introduce you to all the neighbors and you will make new, wonderful friends.”
I pushed my parents’ troubles and thoughts of college aside. I intended to enjoy this summer as the experience of a lifetime. Maybe in Positano I’d gain some clarity in what I wanted to do with my life. I loved to draw and write. I loved art and history. I popped from subject to subject, gathered information, then moved on. But Mom and Dad said that was a failure of mine—a lack of focus and goals—and that I needed to pick one thing and stick with it.
I watched Aunt Silvia flip through a glossy magazine and hoped this summer would give me some answers I desperately craved.
I think I fell in love with Positano the first time I laid eyes on the gorgeous outline of brightly colored homes and terra-cotta rooftops sprinkled over the steep hills. We’d arrived by water taxi, and I soaked in the crowds on the dock, the lilt of rapid Italian peppering my ears, the pungent scents of damp earth, water, and a mixture of faint florals scenting the air. The sun burned hot on my skin, and I was overwhelmed by the significance of being away from home for the first time. Here I was in another country, with an aunt I barely knew, ready to spend an entire summer without having an idea of what was to come.