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When he’s eaten the last bite, he cleans his mouth with the cloth napkin, pushes back his chair, stretches his arms out over his head, and crosses one long leg over the other. “So, what was the good news?”
I jump right into it, spilling all the work I did for him this afternoon. “They still have a few small plastic bags of cocaine stored in evidence. I had them dusted for prints. Yours weren’t on them. Only hers.”
I don’t use her name, since he never does. The detective told me it’s Priscilla Price. Even her name sounds entitled and mean.
The color starts to drain from his face, his hand going to the back of his neck.
Unsure of why he’s reacting like this, I keep going. “We could press charges. Get your name cleared. The state would have to issue you an apology, compensation.”
Finally, he speaks. “What do I need with compensation? I’m a Bachman.”
“Still…”
He shakes his head. “I don’t care about her anymore. That was amazingly kind of you, to do all that research and work.” He reaches across the table, grabbing my hands in his. “It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. But I want to leave the past in the past.”
It takes every ounce of my self-control to agree. And not call Dad to put out a hit on Priscilla Godzilla. I’ve never, ever thought about doing anything like that, but in this family, I could if I wanted to.
Right?
I stare into his eyes. He doesn’t want me to do anything. He wants me to forget it too.
And so, I will.
“Moving on.” I pick up my glass, taking a deep sip of wine. “What was that phone call about?”
He breaks our eye contact. He gazes out over the ocean. “It was Giovanni Russo.”
My glass hovers in the air, midway between my mouth and the table. “Oh?”
“He wants you to come to Italy. Tomorrow morning.” Still staring at the ocean, he drums his fingertips against the tabletop.
I can feel the smile falling from my face.
I thought we had more time. I was looking forward to this little vacation. I was enjoying my time with him. What have I been doing this whole day? Sunning, swimming, playing with him. And my goodness, what we did before today. My room in the Hamlet. Our time in the cabin.
All the sexual things we’ve done.
Then setting up this date.
He was right. He warned me. He told me not to let him kiss me. He told me to protect my heart.
Giving your heart to the wrong person is way worse than losing your virginity to the wrong person.
What if you’ve given both to the same person? And they aren’t the one you’re supposed to be with?
Tomorrow, I meet the man I’m supposed to marry.
Paisley…what have you done?
Finally, his eyes meet mine. “Our plane leaves at dawn,” he says.
twenty-eight
One week later
Paisley
I stand in the turret of the castle, feeling small and insignificant as I gaze out at the vast expanse before me. The glass window is cranked open, a breeze flowing through, filling the room with fresh air and the scent of freshly cut grass. The green hills roll like ocean waves, reaching down toward the river that snakes its way through the valley. And nestled at the base of the hills across the way is Romano Winery. I can’t see its sprawling estate from here, but its fields of grapevines fill my view.
