And neither would have fared well if found alive.
“I didn’t,” I say. “And I’ve tried plenty of times myself.”
“Your father won’t be happy to hear about that,” Marisa mutters. “God, I hate being the messenger.”
I chuckle. “I’m sure that’s a shared feeling between you and everyone else who answers to him.”
Marisa laughs. “Okay, sweetie. Well, have a great flight, get some rest, and I will see you soon!”
“Thanks, again, Marisa. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” And it’s true. She’s my closest girlfriend. My only one, really.
“Likewise!” she sings. “Love you!”
“Love you, too.”
I end the call and settle back against the couch cushion until my phone pings again with a text from Marco. I pull myself up with a sigh and grab my things. When he appears next to me wearing a warm smile, holding out his hand for my violin case, I shake my head.
He shrugs. “I’ll always try.”
“And I’ll always decline, but I’ll still be grateful you cared enough to ask,” I reply with a wink.
We walk toward the gate which is, of course, at the opposite end of the terminal, and since I don’t have sneakers stuffed into my handbag, it’s slow going. I smooth down the front of the I Love Palermo t-shirt I’m wearing as we trudge to the gate. I’d better rethink this whole change of clothes thing while I’m on break.
My eyes flit in all directions, but Antonio’s face never appears in the crowd. I bite down on my lower lip, a dull ache in my belly.
He’s gone.
And I made it so.
A pang in my chest jolts me since I thought I’d already come to terms with my decision. The thoughts popping between my temples tell me otherwise.
He was the first person to take interest in me as a person, not as a famed musician.
He told me I was beautiful with no angle or agenda.
He handed over a prized possession, asking nothing in return except my time.
Is it really his fault he looks the way he does and that women want to lick him up and down?
Hell, I know I do.
A frustrated sigh escapes my lips.
I slapped Fate in the face a little while ago and basically told her to fuck off when I sent Antonio away.
I thought she gave me a gift…that being a glimpse into what I want for my life.
Not the person I would share it with.
But Antonio left a mark, one I can’t seem to erase, and that makes me think I let him go too soon.
Before tonight, I didn’t think I wanted more out of my life. I thought I had it all. A perfect bubble of a life where things are safe and organized and free from angst and drama.
Perfectly boring.
And all it takes is one tiny prick to see it all explode, seeping out into the unknown.
That used to scare me.
Now I crave it…I mean, him.
Fate isn’t the real bitch.
Irony is.
I made the wrong choice.
I awaken the next morning, snuggled under my plush comforter, breathing in the scent of lavender, courtesy of the essential oil diffusers I set up once I got home last night. My muscles were tight from the short flight, my feet aching. I fell into my bed, resisting the temptation to set my alarm, and slept peacefully with no regard for a schedule or commitments. For the first time in months, I felt free.
And I like it.
I take a deep breath, letting the sweet scent infuse my senses. Sunlight streams in through the slits in the full-length curtains hanging over the windows in my bedroom. The whole room is decorated in soft cream with hints of gold accents. It’s bright and airy and soothing, more so with the morning light glimmering along the surfaces of my furniture.
I peek over at the clock on my night table and let out a moan, stretching my arms overhead.
Eleven o’clock. And I’m starving.
I pick up my phone and see that the texts from Mama started to come in a few hours ago. I smile, knowing full well what kind of lunch spread will await me at my parents’ home. If my mother has been texting for hours, she’s been cooking for just as long.
And who am I to make her wait?
My mouth waters just thinking about it. I can almost smell the fresh basil-infused gravy bubbling on her stove.
A loud rumbling in my stomach makes me grin.
Yes, it’s definitely time to wake up.
I shoot off a text to Mama letting her know I’ll be over soon. Papa and I have a lot to discuss about the foundation — appearances I will make, lessons I will give, and music schools I will visit while I’m on break from my tour. It’s always been close to my heart because I remember how much my parents sacrificed to help me grow as a musician and do what I loved. There are so many children out there who have the love and the raw talent but don’t have parents who can sacrifice a single cent for their future. Those are the kids I want to help. They have the desire, they just need the means.
I scrub my face in the bathroom, seeing Antonio’s face float in front of me when I told him about how much my parents had given up to help me achieve my dreams. I remember his words…how genuine and heart-felt they were.
“Argh!” I yell into the towel. I let him go! Is this the universe out to torment me for making a shitty decision? Will I ever be able to forget the way his eyes melted my insides and awoke a swarm of butterflies in my belly that I hadn’t even known were taking up residence because they’d been still for so long?
For forever, basically.
I pull my hair into a low ponytail, pull on a pair of black leggings, and an oversized sweatshirt. We’re finally moving away from winter, but there’s still a chill in the air that requires layering of clothes. I send a text to Carmine, my driver, and moments later, he replies that he’s out front.
I hate to drive, especially here in Rome. People are insane, maneuvering their cars to dart in and out of lanes, swerving all over the congested roads. I was in a bad accident once, not long after I got my license. My car was railroaded by a guy who’d had a few too many glasses of chianti, and I was hospitalized for almost a month with internal injuries. By some miracle, my hands were completely unscathed. Once I recovered, I swore I’d never get behind the wheel again. Papa got me a driver soon afterward, and I’ve been very happy ever since then, riding in the backseat of an expensive car as opposed to driving it myself.
I flash a bright smile at Carmine, who holds open the back door for me and my violin.
I never travel without it.
And Mama always loves when I play, so I figured I’d bring it and give her a sample of the new set I performed in Palermo.
I slide into the backseat and lean against it, my eyes fluttering closed. The leather is so soft and buttery under my fingertips, and the temperature is a perfect twenty-four degrees Celsius.
Not that I’m a princess or anything.
“How did you sleep, Miss?” Carmine asks. I’d practically been comatose when he dropped me off last night.
“Like a rock,” I say with a laugh. “And I didn’t set a single alarm. It was bliss!”
We make small talk about the tour as the car zips down Via Nazionale. Horns honk and cars cut off other cars around us, but Carmine keeps his cool.
I, on the other hand, am close to suffering an anxiety attack back here.