“She is heading south?” Daniel sat up straighter. And she has a sister. What about her mother? Maybe that’s where her mother was, not in Malcesine.
“Apparently. So you can come back here and follow her posts until she and her sister arrive at their final destination. Then you can fly to wherever that is and ruin her holiday there.”
“Why are you telling me this if you despise her so much?” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, utterly puzzled at his mother’s behavior.
“Because, for some reason, Amanda and everyone here are quite taken with her.” She cleared her throat. “And Daniel, I really didn’t mean to chase her away. I just want you to make a careful choice of a life partner, that’s all. I was surprised. Perhaps I didn’t give Julia a chance. I apologize. Please, let’s not make this holiday an unpleasant one.”
He was stunned. His mother apologizing? For being rude and a snob? That was a first. “Can you put Mandy on the phone, please?”
“Do you accept my apology?”
“Yes, I do. Thank you. And it wasn’t you who chased her away. It was my words that distressed her. I appreciate your help.” He got out of the car and paced while waiting for Mandy to get on the phone. So Julia was heading south. Where? Rome? Naples? How was he going to find her there?
“I heard the entire conversation,” Mandy said in a bright voice.
“What did you threaten her with to get an apology out of her?” Daniel asked.
“Nothing major. Never seeing her grandchildren again.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” He chuckled.
“Oh, yes, I did. She had no right to insult a guest in my house. You finally find someone to love, and she utterly ruins your chances.”
“It’s not her fault. Julia left because of what I said, not because of what Mum said. I have to apologize to Julia. I have to fix it.”
“Come back here, and we’ll follow her on Instagram until we find out where she went.”
“Did you see those photos?”
“I did.”
“How did she—” Daniel hesitated. “How did she look?”
“Do you mean did she look heartbroken and aggrieved? No, she was happy, Daniel. She is traveling with her sister. Did you know she had a sister?”
“I didn’t. I think she may have found one here, in Italy.” He sighed. “I miss her, and I want so badly to talk to her, Mandy.”
“I know. Come back. We’ll help you find her.”
“Are you all sure she is heading south?”
“She posted a photo in Bologna, then in Civita di Bagnoregio. She is obviously driving south.”
“No, I’m not coming back.” He shook his head. “I’m going after her. It’s only two hours south of where I am now. I can’t stop and do nothing. My car is fast. I won’t be too far behind when I find out where her final stop is.”
“You are like a lovesick puppy, aren’t you?” He heard Mandy laugh.
He grimaced in distaste. “Mandy, my broken heart is not a laughing matter. Goodbye.”
“You go get Julia. We’ll be here. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Julia’s Instagram was beautiful. Why hadn’t he thought of looking for her there? She’d been taking pictures all this time. Of course she’d posted them on Instagram. He couldn’t believe it took his mother to find the solution. Daniel’s heart ached looking at the photo of Julia standing at a stone wall overlooking the sea, next to a woman slightly taller but with the same shape of face, same blue eyes. They might have been twins if not for the posture and the different clothes. Her sister looked younger, but not much.
How marvelous for Julia to find her family here in Italy. He wanted to know the entire story. He couldn’t wait for her to tell him, to meet her sister, to share their journey. They were two hours away and stopping to take photos, so it wouldn’t take long for him to catch up. Perhaps he’d find her before she disappeared in Rome, although he had a feeling he would find her anywhere she went. Daniel could feel her now, an invisible string connecting the two of them always, pulling him to her.
The phone rang as he approached Rome. He glanced at it. Roger. It was time to face this.
“Where are you right now?” Roger asked.
“On the way to Rome. What does it matter?”
“Too bad. I hoped you were closer to Milan.”
Daniel was taken aback. “Milan? I am nowhere near Milan.”
“I don’t know what you’ve done in Rome to impress the Italians so much, but I just received a call from the owner of a large hotel chain in northern Italy who is currently looking for an architectural firm to remodel his hotel in Milan and another in Bologna. And guess who he specifically asked for?”
Daniel cleared his throat. “Roger, you must listen to the message I left on your mobile yesterday.”
“I won’t listen to any nonsense messages from you. I think you’ve been drinking too much Chianti, if you ask me. So what do you say? Hotels all right with you?”
“Why me?”
“He said you came highly recommended by Signora Pisciotta, one of the board members of the museum in Rome. He was told you had a unique ability to keep the original character of the building yet modernize the interior and create a sustainable architectural design. They were looking for an architect who is good at architectural preservation. Now, let me ask you a question—since when do you specialize in architectural preservation?”
“I suppose since yesterday?” Daniel rubbed his forehead, still puzzled at this new opportunity.
“I’ll be frank—I was surprised. You are a master of modern design. But if that’s your thing and it will make the firm money, who am I to stand in your way? So when can you head to Milan?”
He felt quite lost for a moment, then decided to answer. “I have something to do in Rome first.”
“That’s fine. I’ll have Olivia text you the information and schedule a meeting in a few days.”
“I’m speechless.”
“You are never speechless, mate. Oh, and if you will be handling more projects in Italy, you may want to consider working out of our Milan office for a while.”
Milan office. He had forgotten all about it. “Thanks, Roger. I might like that.”
“I expected you might. Closer to your sister and all. I’ll have Olivia make some arrangements. Take a few days off. Sounds like you need it. Then get in touch when you can.”
“Roger?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
His friend laughed. “Of course. Send me a bottle of your sister’s wine.”
Daniel hung up and pulled in at a service station. So he wasn’t quitting after all.
A job in Milan. Architectural preservation. More buildings he could save instead of demolish. No more hideous glass cubes.
He would be closer to Mandy and Gian and Mia and Lucciano. No matter how long this could last, he’d take it.
His finger refreshed Instagram, hoping to see photos of Rome. No photos at all. Not good. Not good at all. Where was she? He couldn’t possibly lose her now.
He refreshed again. Nothing.
He went to her sister’s profile and saw nothing new but a photo of a large pizza, with no location tags.
They could be eating pizza anywhere in bloody Rome.
A text flashed across his screen from Mandy.
—Napoli—
—What are you talking about?—
—They’re in Napoli. The pizza—
—They might be anywhere eating that—
—Not pizza marinara, Napoli thing—
His heart beat wildly.
—Are you sure?—
—100%—
He set the phone down and got back on the motorway. Napoli it was, then.
Chapter 31
The pizza in Naples was just as good as Julia had always imagined. Perfect crispy crust, delicious mozzarella di bufala, and a sauce to die for. Her sister ordered a plain marinara, a Naples specia
lty, and snapped yet another picture of them for Instagram. Julia had never met anyone previously who was this attached to her Instagram account, not even her high school students back in Texas.
But she really didn’t mind, even though she rolled her eyes at Alessandra a few times. The truth was, she had come to adore her sister. Her laugh, her stories, her ability to argue loudly with everyone they met on their trip. Her sister’s fiancé couldn’t take the day off today—some important meeting to take care of—but promised to fly into Sorrento tomorrow morning for at least a day. So she and Alessandra took turns driving, her sister pointing out the sights.
It wasn’t until she saw the sign for Sorrento that her stomach began to do somersaults, and not because of Alessandra’s driving. They’d put the top of her sister’s white convertible down about half an hour before, and slowed their speed, the deep blue surface of the Mediterranean sea sparkling at Julia for some time now. But the beauty of nature wasn’t enough to calm her nerves in anticipation of meeting her real father.
“What if he doesn’t like me?”
“What father doesn’t like his daughter?” Alessandra waved her fingers in dismissal.
“Thousands of fathers.”
“Only in America. Italian fathers all love their daughters.”
“Why does he live all the way here?”
“Why not? It’s beautiful here. All this sunshine and sea.”
“It smells like lemons.” Julia wrinkled her nose.
“All the Amalfi smells like lemons, and this is going to get worse.” Alessandra made a few turns and stopped in front a three-story yellow building with balconies shaded with striped yellow-and-white canopies. “Here we are.”
“This is it?”
“Did you expect something better?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just everything is so yellow,” Julia said.
“I told you—lemons.” Alessandra parked the car and got out, looking around. “We can walk from here to the center for dinner. And our friend Luca’s villa is very close, only five minutes from here.”
Julia took a deep breath. “I guess it’s time.”
Alessandra took her by the arm. “He is a nice man. Mother loved him. You will love him too.”
It didn’t smell like lemons inside, but rather like pasta, cheese, and fish. Alessandra pinched her nose until they reached the second-story apartment, and Julia hesitated only a moment before pressing the doorbell.
There was no answer, and Julia looked in dismay at her sister.
“Give him time,” Alessandra reassured, leaning against the wall.
Julia pressed the doorbell again.
No answer.
“What if he is asleep?”
Alessandra shrugged.
Julia pressed again. “Could be he is out to eat?” she asked.
Alessandra was about to knock on the neighbor’s door when a young couple came up the stairs. Julia leaned against the railing and listened as her sister engaged in conversation with the couple and they explained that the man in 1B did live there, but only on Sundays and Mondays. The rest of the week he was mainly in Positano, where his gallery was.
“Galleria d’arte?” Julia asked.
“Si. Galleria d’arte,” the young woman smiled and confirmed.
So her father really was an artist. “Grazie,” she said.
“Come, let’s walk and have dinner then.” She pulled her sister along.
“Don’t you want to go to Positano?” Alessandra asked.
“Yes, but not tonight. Tomorrow morning is fine. Your fiancé will be here, and we’ll drive all together, right? Let’s relax tonight.”
“Yes, of course. Positano tomorrow, then. The land of lemons tonight. Let’s go find my friend’s villa. It’s ours for a few days to do as we wish.” She pulled out the keys from her purse and jiggled them on her index finger.
As they drove through the city, Julia understood why Alessandra insisted on calling Sorrento the land of lemons. Everything was either yellow, decorated in the shape of lemons, or smelled of lemons. The small shops sold lemon-shaped soaps, towels and aprons printed with lemons, and bottles of Limoncello. Lemon trees lined the streets and alleys.
When they arrived at Villa Cristina, Julia sighed, “Of course,” when she saw an alley formed of lemon trees in front of the main entry. “So why is everything lemon around here?” she asked, getting out of the car.
“Lemons grow very well here, and Limoncello makes good money. Tourists like lemons, so…” Alessandra shrugged.
“Makes sense, I guess. You bank on whatever the tourists like, if it makes the region money.” Julia looked around. “Wow, you’re friends with these people? This place is gorgeous.” She walked around the side. “There’s an infinity pool. How rich are your friends?”
“Antonio’s friends,” Alessandra corrected. “Come, let’s drop off our bags, and then we go eat. They have the best frutti di mare in Sorrento. I could come here just to eat.”
They walked down to the center, and Alessandra bought Julia a pair of rosebud earrings made of local coral, and a lemon soap just for fun. They took a table in the middle of the Piazza Tasso, closed to cars this late at night, and ate plates loaded with thick strands of pasta and seafood, sauce running down their chins.
“I’ve never eaten anything this delicious before,” Julia said, her mouth full, struggling to speak.
“I told you, it is the best in Italy.”
“You weren’t exaggerating.”
“Tomorrow, in Positano, we’ll eat at Ristorante La Cambusa. It has a view of the beach, and they have a really good risotto alla pescatora. It’s like a rice with seafood.”
“If I keep eating like this, I will need an entirely new set of clothes by the time I return.”
“Oh, yes, we must go shopping in Positano. You will love all the clothes.” Alessandra’s eyes lit up.
“I’m a teacher. I don’t know how much teachers make here in Italy, but I can’t afford to shop in Positano.” Julia sighed and relaxed in her seat. It was a beautiful night, and the sea air felt refreshing after the stuffiness of Tuscany. She had made a great decision to leave Greve. It became clearer to her every minute.
“Alessandra, check out this couple over there,” she said. “He is going to give her a hickey.” She pointed to a man bending over a woman in a narrow street on the side of the square. He had her pressed against the wall and was working quite thoroughly on her bare chest with his lips.
“What’s a hickey?” Alessandra asked. “Oh, I think I guess. Poor woman.”
Several other diners at the tables noticed them looking and began to watch as well. “Get a room,” an American college kid yelled out from the street, and both the woman and the man turned suddenly, the man waving dismissively at the observers.
Julia laughed and looked back at Alessandra. Her sister was pale as a seashell as she stood up, her face a stark contrast to the darkness of the evening.
“What’s the matter? Is it the food? Do you need to throw up?”
“Stronzo! Bastardo!” Her sister collapsed back into her chair.
“Who is bastardo?”
Alessandra pointed at the empty space where the couple previously stood, having left in a hurry. “That was my Antonio, my fucking fiancé.”
“What? That man giving a hickey? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Alessandra slammed her fist on the table.
“I’m so sorry,” Julia whispered. She came over and gave her sister a tight hug. “What an asshole. Who was the woman?”
“I think it’s someone he works with. Her face was familiar. I’m so stupid. I thought I could get him to stop cheating. I believed he was good. I blamed the women. Always the women. But it was him. His fault.”
“So he’s done it before?”
“He has. But he promised to stop. When he asked me to marry him, he said there would be no more. I believed him. I’m so, so stupid. Can we leave, please?” Alessandra gulped do
wn the rest of her wine and got up.
“Of course.”
They paid and walked up the hill to the villa, Julia looking nervously for any sign of Antonio necking with anyone. But it was dark and quiet on the way. Alessandra picked up rocks and threw them at the bushes. “I hate this lemon city,” she griped.
“It’s not the city, and it’s not the lemons. It’s your cheating bastard of a fiancé that you hate,” Julia said.
“And the puttana he is cheating with.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Kill him.” She threw another rock.
“That’s certainly one choice.”
“That’s the only choice. Buy a gun and kill him.”
“You’d do well in Texas.”
“Do men cheat in Texas?”
“They cheat everywhere.”
They reached the villa and sat by the pool, staring at the calm turquoise water. Julia found a bottle of wine in the fridge and poured them each a glass. “How about you talk to him tomorrow when he comes here?”
“I can’t talk to him ever again. I’d claw his eyes out.”
“He deserves that.”
“I don’t want to talk to him. I leave him a note.”
Julia stood up, came closer, and gave her sister a hug. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m sure you are hurting terribly inside, no matter how angry you seem. I know how much it hurts. I’ve had a guy cheat on me.”
“He is not just a guy. He made me a promise. We have a wedding in six months. I paid for the deposit. I have a dress being made in Milan by my favorite designer.” Alessandra curled up in the chair and began to cry.
Julia sat next to her and stroked her arm. “Men are shit, absolute shit.”
“Si,” Alessandra said through the sobs.
“You can’t ever trust them.”
“No. Never.”
“They ruin all your plans. I know.”
“Like that man you told me you met in Roma?” Alessandra asked, sniffling.
“Don’t worry about it. This isn’t about me, it’s about you.”
“I’d rather talk about your bastard than cry about mine.”
“Well, at least I didn’t buy a wedding dress,” Julia said.
The House by the Cypress Trees Page 22
