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Diana couldn’t believe Sergio was speaking so highly of her to Ryan. More than that, she couldn’t believe Ryan would tell her.
“Tell me,” Ryan said, “are you having the best summer of your life?”
Diana’s mouth went dry. There was something in his gaze, something that forced her to imagine the next few decades of her life.
She wasn’t so keen on daydreaming; she was the kind of woman who made lists and plans. Why, then, was her mind awash with imaginary pictures of her and Ryan, their bodies entwined by the river?
“I always think it will get better,” Diana said softly. “Once I get better at Italian. Once I master one of Arturo’s recipes. I imagine I’ll be stronger and smarter and…”
“But it never ends, does it?” Ryan asked. “That urgent desire to become something more.”
“Isn’t that life?”
Ryan beckoned for the server to bring them another round of drinks. Diana had finished her wine without realizing it. Her thoughts were woozy.
They moved on to other topics after that. Ryan talked about his tiny apartment, which sounded even smaller than Diana’s. He spoke about what he loved most about Rome, about the light on the river, about the crumbling history around them. And he genuinely listened when Diana spoke about her desire to travel the world and learn in kitchens from Japan to France to Mexico to Chile.
They didn’t hug goodbye that night. But Diana couldn’t sleep. She felt on the brink of something. She was either going to fall over that brink—or step away. She couldn’t figure out what would happen next. And that was unlike her.
Next week, under the light of the moon, Diana and Ryan walked along the river, watching lovers share bottles of wine and talk in gentle tones. Diana had bought a new dress from a flea market, and she loved the way the fabric flowed along her thighs. In her mind, she questioned if this was a date. What about Tori back home? Wasn’t Ryan still in love with her?
They continued to walk through the city until they reached the Trevi Fountain. Most tourists were back in their hotels, catching some shut-eye, which left the fountain empty and filled with ghosts. Ryan took two pennies from his wallet and handed one to Diana, saying, “Make a wish.”
Diana clutched the penny as hard as she could and closed her eyes. The wish she cast into the Trevi Fountain was one she would never repeat. It was important never to speak your wishes. She’d learned that as a girl.
When Diana opened her eyes, Ryan was looking at her. His lips were parted and wet. A moment later, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, kissing her with passion, with joy, with curiosity. Her heart thrummed in her chest. In the Trevi Fountain, her penny dropped to the ground and remained there to work its magic.
Maybe she was falling in love. Maybe this was what it felt like.
It took Diana nearly a week to get up the nerve to ask about Tori. When she did, Ryan waved his hand flippantly. “We broke up before I came here,” he explained.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Diana said, although she wasn’t. “Why did you break up?”
Ryan looked her dead in the eye and said, “She wasn’t the one.”
Diana felt as though she’d swallowed the moon.
Chapter Eleven
Present Day
Rachelle did her best to keep her head down over the next few days. She sliced, diced, sautéed; she flamed the crème brulee; she avoided the cameras. Still, they seemed to find her when she least suspected—bursting out of the dining room to take shots of her at the counter or in serious conversation with Diana.
Not once did Eddie or Rachelle make eye contact. Eddie had several days off toward the end of the week, and Rachelle found herself at ease during those shifts, grateful not to deal with her swirling emotions.
More than that, Rachelle was embarrassed about her phone call with Diana on Tuesday. She hated how “young” she’d seemed. She wanted to be seen as a professional, first and foremost—if not by the viewers at home, then by Diana.
The more she thought about it, the more it terrified her that television producers might have crafted Diana’s public persona. They had so much control.
Rachelle had Sunday off again. Estelle announced a family dinner at her place to celebrate the approaching summer season. Every day that week had reached seventy degrees, and tourists filled the hotels, hungry to lap up the gorgeous weather and wonderful ambience on the best island in the world.
Rachelle and Darcy drove to their grandparents’ house with the windows cracked and the radio on. Darcy glanced at Rachelle frequently, her face marred with worry.
“What?” Rachelle finally asked.
“You’re just so quiet,” Darcy said. “I’m worried. Is it about the show? Did something happen?”
“Everything’s fine,” Rachelle said.
