Chapter 29

I curl intothe seat as much as possible, sobbing. Next to me, the poor American man hands me two mini bottles of alcohol he's dug out of his carry-on at his feet. "Here, take them. I think you need them more than I do."

"Thanks." I sniffle and down the bottle. I shake my head and down the second, hoping it will ease the pain. Usually, I wouldn't take drinks from strangers, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I hand him back the empty bottles and turn away from him as I blow my nose.

"Uh, okay, I'll just throw these away." He stuffs the bottles into the seat pocket in front of him. "I'm going to put my noise-canceling headphones on. Tap me if you need something." He pats my shoulder and opens his laptop.

I'd be really embarrassed if I weren't so fucking sad. That word doesn't even come close to describe what I'm feeling. I'm devastated. I miss Ren so much my heart feels like someone ripped it from my chest, balled it up like a piece of paper, and shoved it back in, crumpled and barely beating.

I didn't want to get on this plane. Walking through the airport, I could only hear the beat of my heart, people a blur as I passed by them. I moved on autopilot, handing my passport and ticket over to the agent. She barely looked at me as she directed me down the gangway to the airplane. I wanted her to stop me and say this is all a big mistake. That I must stay in Italy and I wasn't needed back in California. But she didn't. No one stopped me.

I kept looking for a tall, handsome Italian man with greenish-gray eyes and chocolate-brown hair to yell out my name and tell me he loves me, rescuing me from this black abyss of sadness, but he never showed.

So here I am, curled in a ball like a little hedgehog, sobbing my eyes out next to this poor man, who has a wife and two kids three rows up, and I'm drinking the last of his alcohol. I want to rock myself and scream into a pillow, but I don't want to scare the other passengers. If I do that, it will get me kicked off this plane, and then I'll have to stay in Italy…probably in a holding cell. Cara would strangle me.

I ruminate over my conversation with her. She's always been my voice of reason—I don't fault her for that. She was right to tell me to return. It was the appropriate decision. I can't run away from my responsibilities back home. I have my job there, my townhome, and, of course, Barbara. She's the one who taught me when life gets rough, you run. I'm not Barbara, though. Not even close.

Family. Famiglia. That's what the Rossis are…were to me. Even though I only knew them for three short months, they had become my family. So much more than Barbara ever was. They welcomed a complete stranger into their lives with open arms, and I willingly walked into their fold and let myself think I could be a Rossi.

Perhaps Nina was right…I am a con artist looking for my next fix, but it wasn't the Rossi fortune I was after. I craved their love and acceptance and stability.

I didn't get to say goodbye to Nonna. I wonder what she thinks about me now? The bird who flew away onto her next adventure. If only she knew the truth…that this bird is tethered to an unforgiving cage. I didn't get to thank her for everything she did for me. I didn't squeeze Fiore or Stella into a fierce hug and thank them for making me feel like I was a part of the family from day one. I won't get to listen to Raffaelo talk sports with Lorenzo or talk shop about the farm during Sunday lunch ever again. I even miss Razzo and his mouse offerings, Angelo's affinity for all things yellow, and Nina's snarky observations.

I left, just like Nonna Rossi reprimanded me for doing. I didn't listen to my heart. I look at the translation I looked up on my phone for the hundredth time. The words that Ren told me before he left. I run the pad of my finger over them.

Rimani qui con me. Non andare. Ho bisogno di te. Tu appartieni a me, piccola gatta randagia.Stay here with me. Don't go. I need you. You belong with me, my little stray cat. Tears drop on my screen, blurring the type.

The flight attendant approaches our aisle with her cart, smiling. "Hi, would you like something to drink? I have water, soft drinks, juice, or cocktails."

The man next to me takes off his headphones and orders a mini bottle of Chianti. He hesitantly glances in my direction, and I shake my head. He whispers to bring a bottle of water and some tissues. The flight attendant takes one look at my puffy eyes and gives me a pitiful smile. A few minutes later, she returns with our drinks, two mini green bottles, and a basket.

"I thought you could use a little sustenance. Don't tell anyone, but I snagged these from first class for you." She smiles warmly, setting down a basket of French bread with the bottles. "Our movie tonight is an oldie, but we love playing it on the way home, so it might make you feel better. It's Under the Tuscan Sun." She winks like she's doing me a huge fucking favor before she moves down the aisle.

I peek at the Rossi Olive Oil bottles tucked in next to the bread and hysterically wail as I bury myself into the blanket and pillow I have wedged against the window. Of course, they have mini bottles of Rossi Olive Oil on the plane ride home. Nonna would have called it un segno. I call it a cruel fucking twist of fate.

My seatmate quickly gets up to talk to his wife, giving me some space to compose myself. I'm sure he thinks I'm a complete lunatic, but I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. It's a dangerous place to be.

Throwing the Rossi bottles out of my sight, I snag his bottle of Chianti and chug it, hoping the alcohol will do its job and numb the pain. When I wake up a couple hours later, the bottles and bread are long gone, and the movie credits are rolling.