Her voice was small and defeated.
“Georgie…”
“Just leave!” she bellowed, shoving past me and wrenching the door open so wide it collided with the wall behind it. She reached forward and shoved me, hard. “JUST GET OUT!”
That time, I listened.
“ARGH!”
I tossed myself back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to call him a selfish cow and go on about how he’d led me on and forced me to fall for him, but the words felt hollow. He was kind and loyal, with the rare brand of devotion that didn’t just run skin deep. He was the sort of man who’d do anything for those he loves and more than anything, I wanted all of that—but for me. That’s what hurt—the fact that I’d fallen so fast for a man who’d warned me away from the start.
“Idiot,” I groaned, covering my eyes with my hands. I wasn’t being melodramatic. I’d been stupid, and now I was paying the price, holding up a solitary candle at a vigil for my dearly departed heart.
He told you not to fall in love with him.
He said he still loved his wife.
You told him you could do no strings.
I was still lying there in a puddle of soggy tissues and self-loathing when Katerina turned up with two bottles of wine and takeout from one of the sandwich shops down in the square. My stomach couldn’t handle food, but I greedily accepted the bottle of wine, uncorked it, and sipped straight from the bottle.
“I’m sorry, G.”
I peered at her over the wine bottle. There was no mistaking the pity in her gaze.
“I take it you know Gianluca and I have been sleeping together?”
She frowned. “I guessed there was something going on a few weeks back, but I didn’t want to jinx it.”
“You didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, you mean.”
She looked away. “I honestly wanted you to prove me wrong about him being unsalvageable. It’s not like you’d have listened anyway, right? The heart wants what it wants.”
“What exactly would you have said to me?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you found out we were sleeping together, would you have told me to go for it with him?”
She looked down and twisted her thumbs.
“Be honest,” I goaded.
“No. I would have told you to go for any other man in Vernazza. Gianluca doesn’t know how charming he is; he doesn’t realize how easily women fall for him. He probably thinks this thing between you two could stay casual and easy, but I doubt any woman on Earth would be able to casually sleep with a guy like Gianluca without developing, you know…”
“Stronger feelings.” I swallowed down my tears.
“Right. It’s why I kept my mouth shut. You wouldn’t have wanted to hear that.”
“And what if it’s too late? What if I’m already half in love with him?”
“Be thankful for the half that’s not. As for the half that is…I suppose I should have brought more wine.”
…
I managed to stay away from Gianluca the next day. I woke up before the sun and took the train into La Spezia. I sat facing the window, watching the sea whip in and out of view. The sun poured in and heated my legs. I leaned my forehead against the warm glass and enjoyed the sensation. I ended up missing my stop and had to double back, finally forcing myself to step out. Compared to Vernazza, La Spezia might as well have been New York City. There were proper grocers and tons of restaurants, fast food chains I hadn’t seen in months. I stopped in for breakfast and took my time, trying to fill my day with as much activity as possible so that by the time I returned to Vernazza, I’d only have time to brush my teeth and collapse into bed.
I walked through the streets, dipping into shops that seemed interesting. There was a stationery shop with old calligraphy pens and parchment paper. I snatched up a few postcards and dawdled at a café, writing to my brother and sister-in-law. I hadn’t started to miss my family until that moment. They’d have known how to comfort me…well, perhaps not, but at the very least, they would have distracted me with their own problems. I wrote to them and told them how much I loved Italy, how I’d choose never to leave if I didn’t have to. I wrote that I intended to explore other destinations soon, but for right now, Vernazza felt like home.
It was a lie. Vernazza didn’t feel like home. Gianluca felt like home. Our relationship, the ease and beauty of it was the comfort I craved. He was so lovely. I thought back to a perfect day a few weeks earlier and realized there had been nothing extraordinary about it. We’d been painting one of the upstairs bedrooms, working together. Gianluca would come up behind me and touch up the patches of wall I’d been working on, never pestering me about my sloppy technique. He swore I was a brilliant painter—the Michelangelo of Vernazzan bed and breakfasts. He never sought out conflict over inconsequential things like painting plaster walls. Instead, he encouraged me and said I could make a real job of it if I wanted to.
I didn’t want to be a painter and I told him so. He grinned and wrapped his arms around my waist, tugging me against his chest.
“That’s good, because you’re pretty shite at it.”
I laughed. “For all you know, I’ve just been making intentional errors so you feel as if you’re contributing.”
He squeezed my hips and spun me around, bending low to kiss me softly. “Fair point. So let’s do something where we both contribute.”