One Hot Italian Summer

by Karina Halle

  “I know.”

  “I mean it. She has been worried sick these last couple of days, thinking you’re going to drop her as a client.”

  “Oh, come now. I’m not going to drop her as a client. She’s gold.”

  “She is gold. But she doesn’t always know that. Or she chooses not to believe it.”

  “Writers,” she mutters under her breath.

  “You can say that again.”

  “So I suppose we have more than Vanni in common now,” she muses.

  I grin into the phone. “That we do. And I know we both care a lot about her. So please, call her and talk to her and let her know that everything is going to be okay.”

  “I will call her tonight. How about that?”

  “Good.”

  “Claudio,” she says.

  “Yes?”

  “Make sure she finishes that book, okay? I really think it’s going to change her life.”

  “I hope so,” I tell her. “Because she’s already changed mine.”

  Later that night, Grace gets the phone call from Jana. She goes into her office chapel for almost an hour, and when she returns, she’s looking relieved. She heads straight to the bar and I mix her up a Negroni. We take the drinks to the patio and watch the sun set. In the distance, Emilio is inspecting the lemon trees, filling his basket full. We will soon have lemons for days.

  “So how was it?” I ask Grace.

  She gives me a wide, breathtaking grin. “Good. Really good.”

  I take a sip of my drink and wait for her to go on, delighting in how beautiful she looks and how good she must feel.

  “I read some of the book to her on the phone, then I emailed the rest. She’s going to read it this week to give me feedback on it, plus I’m going to send some to that author friend I told you about, Kat Manning? I’m going to see if she’ll be a critique partner. Obviously Robyn was mine before, but now I need someone else.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I say encouragingly.

  She nods, has some of her drink. “Aye. And Jana said that she has a good feeling about it. She’s going to contact the editor today and tell her that the genre changed but that we can still sell it as women’s fiction, if needed. Just because it’s women’s fiction, doesn’t mean it has to have a miserable ending. But she has a feeling they might be up to the romance. I hope so. It would be nice to have a publishing company stand behind it and back that genre up. She says people will definitely read it. I might even need to make it a wee more sexy.”

  “More sexy?” I question. “How is that even possible?”

  She shrugs. “I can always try.” She gives me sly eyes and looks me up and down. “Besides, I have the best inspiration right here.”

  I puff out my chest and grab my dick. “That you do.”

  She bursts out laughing, spilling some of her drink on her dress. She stares down at the stain and then shrugs. I’m sure she has a replacement dress somewhere.

  “So, I know I’ve asked you this before, but do you have a name for your book yet?” I ask.

  She beams. “Yes. I’ve finally decided on one.”

  “And so? What is it?”

  “When Tomorrow Comes.”

  I frown. “Okay. What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know…but it sounds good.”

  I laugh. “That’s what counts.”

  At least when it comes to us, we know what tomorrow will bring.

  More of this.

  More of us.

  Epilogue

  Grace

  One Year Later – London, England

  “I have to tell you, I’m your biggest fan!” the girl standing in front of me says, clutching a copy of When Tomorrow Comes to her chest.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, though in the back of my head I’m trying to understand how she could be my biggest fan if she’s only read this one book.

  “I’ve read all of the Sleuths of Stockbridge series a million times,” she goes on, sounding panicky. “You really can write it all.”

  I slowly hold out my hand for the book. “You mean, you’ve read everything?”

  She nods violently, handing it to me. “Yes. It’s all so good. Sorry, I’m shaking.”

  I stare at her for a moment, letting it sink in. I’ve been signing books for an hour and it’s been so perfect so far, really everything I could have dreamed of. I’m signing in Waterstones off Piccadilly in London, there’s a line of people, my romance released to both critical success and sales. Maybe not as many sales as my publisher hoped for, but this reader aside, readers don’t always follow you when you switch genres.

  And yet, through all of this, I’ve had that imposter syndrome snaking through my veins. Whispering in my ear.

  You’re not good at this.

  This was a fluke.

  You only got this because of your agent.

  No one will read your backlist.

  Robyn should be signing with you.

  And some of this is true, of course. My agent did help me land this deal, most people won’t read my backlist, and Robyn should be here.

  But sometimes I find myself wondering if Robyn and I were meant to write together forever anyway. It’s hard to speculate after someone dies, because you really don’t know what direction their life would have gone in. There are so many choices we have to make along the way, each choice pushing us down a different path, as slight as it may be. It’s like my poorly worded Dr. Ian Malcolm analogy from Jurassic Park. A butterfly flaps its wings in Scotland and suddenly our world is different.

  I still think, though, that Robyn would be with me at this signing if she were alive. Perhaps we would have branched out on our own at this point, but we would have remained the best of friends. And she would be here, either hovering over my shoulder, running outside to get me Starbucks, or hiding in the back row, watching me with a smile on her face. In fact, sometimes when I look up, I swear I see her. I feel her, at any rate.

  And she’s proud of me.

  The reader is still staring down at me expectantly, shaking slightly, and I snap back into it. I can’t afford to let my thoughts drift when I’m signing books, I can barely afford to talk. I’ve spelt quite a few names wrong because I’ve been distracted.

  I open the cover and look at the dedication page.

  To Robyn, my muse.

  Because she really was my muse all this time. Someone’s whole life can inspire you, even after they’re gone.

  My throat grows tight with suppressed tears, and I quickly flip the page back and sign my name just below the title, When Tomorrow Comes. I’ve looked at that dedication page over and over again today, but right now, right now it really hits.

  I take my time making sure my writing looks neat (it doesn’t) and then hand the book back to the reader. She gives me a funny look, perhaps worried that I have tears in my eyes, but then again, she has tears in her eyes too, just for different reasons.

  Then she comes around the table and we smile for a picture that Claudio takes of us.

  “Say formaggio,” he says, grinning his perfect white smile as he peers into the girl’s iPhone.

  “Formaggio,” the reader says, giggling. I just smile, staring more at him than the lens. As you can imagine, I have been saying formaggio all day. Claudio really needs to mix it up.

  “Thank you so much,” the reader says. I remind myself that the name I signed was Sarah, and that I’ll try to remember her later, but of course my absent-minded brain probably won’t comply.

  “Wait, wait,” Claudio says, switching to his phone. “One for us.”

  The reader looks thrilled as she poses with me again, smiling. “Formaggio!”

  It was Claudio’s idea. He thought that we should document every person that comes to the table and put the pictures on my website, or maybe a scrapbook or something. I don’t know anyone who makes scrapbooks anymore (I certainly don’t have the time), but the intention is good. He said since it’s my first solo signing, that in some ways,
it’s my first one, and that we have to capture the memories.

  Little does he know that I’ve been mentally capturing the memories for a year now. Before I go to bed at night, I take out my journal and I write down moments from the day. Every moment with Claudio, every second, is so precious to me, I can’t afford to lose any of them.

  I am so in love with you, I think, staring at him with doe eyes as he steps back and lets the next person in line come through. I can’t wait to be your wife.

  Ah yes. Aside from my book finally being published (publishing takes eons), another big change has happened since Claudio and Vanni found me naked in their swimming pool. We’re getting married!

  He proposed only a month ago, so it’s all very fresh in my mind. It wasn’t much of a surprise, because we already knew we’d get married when I agreed to move in with him at Villa Rosa. But because of Vanni, because Claudio had been married before, we agreed to take it slow.

  Even now, our wedding isn’t planned for at least another year, which is fine by me. I’m in no rush. Plus, after my book tour is over, I’ve got two books to finish by the end of the year…and it’s already August! So planning a wedding will have to take the backseat for a bit.

  Though I don’t think I’ll be doing much planning, to be honest. Carla, who works at the gallery, has become one of my good friends and she, along with Maria, have joined forces and taken over the whole wedding planning thing. Sometimes Nina, my future mother-in-law, tries to get in on it too. Once a week they try to get me to answer some questions about the wedding: where do you want it to be, how many people, when do we start looking for the dress, what color scheme do you want, and so on, and so on.

  Even Jana will occasionally email me things she saw in Brides magazine or something. You know, when she’s not sending me emails wondering where the book is and if I have to ask for another extension.

  Some things never change.

  Speaking of Jana, while I’m nodding at the next reader while they talk to me, trying to figure out the spelling of their name, I see Jana squeeze along the side of the line, Vanni in tow. She had just taken him to a museum, I’m assuming, because he’s carrying a huge bag that says The Science Museum, which I am sure is crammed with things I won’t understand.

  They go right up to Claudio and start talking, and Vanni opens the bag to show his father what he got.

  My heart swells at the sight. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy coming into a fractured family like this, but if anything, we’ve all grown closer because of it, and Jana has gotten more involved with Vanni. I’m sure there’s a part of her that feels intimidated by me, which is a weird thought, since I’m usually intimidated by her, as both Vanni’s mother and my powerhouse agent. But Claudio’s theory is that she feels her role in Vanni’s life might be slipping, which has spurned her on to be more attentive.

  That’s not true, at all. She’s not slipping. I’m not trying to replace her, and I think everyone knows that. I’m just an addition. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have to act like a mother half the time. I get along with Vanni like he’s a younger brother, and I adore the kid, but I do have to put my foot down from time to time and attempt to do some parenting. Luckily, he doesn’t give me much pushback about that, although sometimes he’ll pull that “but I thought you were my friend” thing.

  At any rate, Jana comes and visits us once a month in Lucca, and sometimes we’ll all come up here to London, like we’re doing now, or we’ll all go up to Scotland to see my mother.

  The book tour kicks off here and then all of us (except Jana) are on the road for a few weeks. With Vanni on summer vacation still, it’s the perfect time to travel as a family. Thankfully, Jana is taking care of Vanni tonight, so that Claudio and I can have some alone time and celebrate my first signing.

  In fact, he went and got us a “pre-honeymoon suite” at The Ritz. I’m not sure if the hotel calls it that, but Claudio does, and even though I’ve been having fun signing, I can’t wait to stop talking and being social and enjoy some alone time with my husband-to-be.

  I wave at Vanni and Jana, and then Claudio comes back to take some more pictures. Jana and Vanni wait for a bit, watching me. Jana looks very proud. Vanni looks…very bored. They only watch for about five minutes before I can tell Vanni is complaining about dropping dopamine levels or something.

  Jana quickly comes around my table to me, crouching down. “Do you need anything?” she asks me. “How are they treating you? You don’t have any more coffee, do you need a coffee? They should be offering you coffee.”

  I laugh. “It sounds like you don’t need any more coffee. And I’m fine. I have Claudio.”

  “Okay,” she says warily. “But the bookstore should be stepping up. They should realize who you are. Grace Harper, bestselling author.”

  “I think they know who I am,” I say, gesturing to all the signage around the store, pictures of the cover, and also my blown-up face from the one headshot I like.

  “Oh but I did all that,” she says. And then she points to the rows of bookshelves. “See? I got you end placement on all those rows. For a romance, that is rare.”

  Jana has been telling me all the things she’s gotten for me for months now, so I’m always aware of how much power she has. I’m also very appreciative.

  “I see. It looks great.”

  “Good,” she says, getting back up and giving my shoulder a squeeze. “I’m going to take Vanni to the zoo now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Pause. “Remember to have fun!”

  I give her a big smile to show her how much fun I’m having.

  “Wait, wait,” Claudio says, whipping his phone out. “Jana, go back there.”

  Jana sighs and dutifully comes back beside me and we both smile for the camera. I know she acts like she doesn’t like photos, but she secretly loves it.

  Then Vanni waves goodbye to me and off they go.

  I watch them leave, then turn my attention to the line.

  Holy moly, did it just get bigger?

  I take a quick glance at my phone. Just another hour. My hand is cramping up from signing and my mouth hurts from talking, but I get back into the zone, and welcome the next person in line.

  “So where do you want to go?” Claudio asks me as we leave the bookstore. He’s holding my hand, but doesn’t know what direction to take me. “We could go to Buckingham Palace, Camden Market, walk in the steps of Jack the Ripper in Shoreditch.”

  “Claudio,” I say to him with a sigh. “I’m Scottish. I’ve done these things. Let’s go back to the hotel. This is our last chance to be alone before a month of travel happens. We should take advantage of it.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, and we head in the direction of the hotel, which isn’t too far.

  When we get there, we have a drink at the swanky bar and I take a few moments to just breathe and decompress and enjoy the quiet. Claudio keeps his arm around me, making me feel safe, but doesn’t press me for conversation.

  My mind is sluggish but keeps trying to go over the day. How lucky I was to have that signing, how fortunate I am that the book actually got finished and published, and that (most) people love it. And how amazing it is that I have Claudio by my side, that we’re going to be married one day, and that I will love him forever.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks me quietly, his fingers playing with my hair. We’ve sat in silence for a long time.

  “Everything,” I tell him. “But mainly you.”

  He angles his face toward me, smiles his beautiful smile, and then kisses me on the cheek. His lips are soft and lingering, causing a thrill to run up my spine.

  I pick up my glass and finish my cocktail. Aperol Spritz, naturally, even though it’s not as good as the ones Claudio makes for me back home.

  Home, I think, and it makes me sad for a moment. I’m excited to travel, and to do these events, but I’m going to miss Villa Rosa. It really is the best spot on earth, a place that both inspires me and makes me feel
grounded. A place to belong to.

  Though, when I think about it, a part of me will be there even when I’m not. The marble statue of me with the roses sits just beside the bar downstairs. It was Claudio’s joke to have her guarding the wine.

  I think it’s funny, but also she’s beautiful. She’s like me, but she isn’t me, and every time I pass by her I’m reminded of his days sculpting me, and how we got together. It will remind me of the beginning of our love for the rest of my life. He named the statue, “Your Precious Heart,” taken from the lyrics of an INXS song.

  “Let’s go back to the room,” I tell him.

  He wags his brows at me. He knows what I mean. He finishes his cocktail and then we’re going up the elevator to our room near the top floor.

  Our room is pretty swanky and happens to have a balcony overlooking London. It’s a funny city in that when you’re at street level, things kind of feel like a maze, but when you have a chance to be up high, then the city really opens up.

  Right now it’s shining and golden and beautiful, matching how I feel on the inside. Like anything and everything is possible and I can’t wait for what’s next.

  While I’m staring at the view, Claudio closes the door behind us, and then grabs me by the elbows spinning me around into a kiss.

  I sink deeply into his arms, falling into the kiss, our mouths opening against each other with tenderness that will soon morph into hunger. We fit so well together, it’s amazing we’re even able to come apart. My hands go to the small of his back, pulling up his shirt so that I can slide my palms over his smooth, hot skin. I love the feel of him, that even after a year, I never get tired of this. It’s like I need this connection with him to feel alive and whole.

  He pulls away, cupping my face, his head resting against my forehead. “I am so proud of you,” he murmurs. “You did so good today.”

  “Because I had you there.”

  “No,” he says. He gazes deep into my eyes and I am lost in the dark depths of his. “Because you are you, Grace Harper. This is who you are. Who you were born to be. I merely showed you this. You were already there.” He places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Musa. And now, you inspire so many others, not just me.”