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As Steven and Darcy talked about something else, Rachelle turned on her heel to survey the entire party. She spotted Eddie moving through the crowd like a predator. He was headed right toward her, but he couldn’t make eye contact and frequently tugged at his curls nervously. Why was he here? Who had told him about the party?
Rachelle felt that familiar pattering of her heart again. But she knew it wasn’t because she genuinely cared for him. She was just a victim of lust. Who wouldn’t be? His face and hair were practically perfect. He was like a model who’d walked from the pages of a catalog.
“Rachelle,” Eddie said her name when he got close. But he didn’t say her name the way he previously had—in that fake, sexy way of his that attempted to allure her. It offered respect.
“Eddie? What are you doing here?” Rachelle’s tone was hard.
Eddie palmed the back of his neck. “I heard Paul and Benny discussing it in the kitchen yesterday.”
Rachelle crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay?”
Eddie stuttered. “I know. I know I shouldn’t have come. I just had to talk to you.”
Rachelle wrinkled her nose. It felt like something out of a romantic dream.
“I wanted to apologize to you,” Eddie said, his eyes on the ground. He wasn’t flirting with her. Was this actually the “real” Eddie? The one who existed behind closed doors? When the cameras weren’t running?
“Everything got so out of hand.” Eddie shrugged. “I’ve always been like that. Needing attention. I mean, you must have heard about my reputation.”
Rachelle cocked her eyebrow. “I knew you dated around.”
“I know you do, too,” Eddie shot back with a very soft smile. “But I digress. I’m sorry I treated you like that while the cameras were running. You never deserved it. And now, I look like the worst guy in America.”
Rachelle laughed. “At least people are talking about you. Right?”
“You think?”
“You’re on a path, Eddie,” Rachelle assured him. “As am I. Looking back at this, I think we’ll both acknowledge this spring as one of the wildest of our lives. The one that changed everything.”
Eddie’s eyes glistened.
“We weren’t meant for each other,” Rachelle offered with a wry laugh. “But we were meant for something. And I look forward to seeing where you end up, Eddie.”
“You too, Rach.”
As Eddie turned to disappear into the crowd, Rachelle thought of the various ways this conversation might have ended had they been in a real romantic comedy. Maybe she would have thrown herself upon him as he turned away and kissed him with reckless abandon. Maybe he would have come to her window tonight, raised a boombox over his head, and played her favorite song.
But, as he headed out toward the edge of the backyard and disappeared around the corner, Rachelle realized this was the more practical ending. Two people who didn’t really have anything in common were parting ways.
It was romantic, in a sense, if only because it allowed them to build different stories—both within themselves and with other people.
Rachelle counted her blessings.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Rome restaurant in Trastevere hadn’t changed in twenty years. Diana walked through the entrance and felt like she had entered a time warp, as though she were twenty-three and hadn’t yet fallen in love with Ryan, signed any television contracts, or had her daughter. Everything was possible. The future was limitless. But when she dropped her chin and looked at her hands, she saw the aged, scarred hands of a forty-three-year-old woman who’d been through so much, was on the verge of a divorce, and now needed to make up a brand-new version of the rest of her life. Was this restaurant the key?
There were a few Italian line cooks—Fernando, Arturo Junior (who was not related to the original Arturo, for whatever reason), and a young woman named Gina. Gina’s eyes glinted as she spoke to Diana in perfect English about wanting to go to culinary school someday. Diana reminded her she could do whatever she wanted.
“We need more women in the culinary world,” Diana said. “And if you have the passion and the drive, nothing will get in your way.”
That night, after the line cooks returned home, Diana sat alone in the shadows of the restaurant and drank a Primitivo wine. Valentina was out with a new friend, the daughter of a friend of Diana’s, and she sent the occasional photograph of the two of them eating ice cream and laughing at random piazzas. Diana’s heart opened with the promise of her daughter’s happiness.
How had she ever allowed herself to drop Valentina off at a boarding school? Was she insane?
It was seven thirty in the evening in Rome, which made it ten thirty in the morning in Los Angeles. She took a deep breath and dialed Ryan as her blood pressure spiked.
Because he was a man perpetually on the go, she was surprised when he answered on the third ring. She’d expected to leave a message instead.
