Chapter 22

Ashaft of warm light lit up the cobblestones as the heavy wood and wrought iron front door opened.

Alfonso nodded toward it. "Go ahead. I'll bring your suitcase and instrument along."

I was greeted by a woman around my age. "Good evening, come in."

A shiver went up my spine when she closed the door behind me. "My luggage."

"Alfonso will take it up the back way."

I nodded as I dug my nails into the soft leather of my purse, trying to keep my gaze forward and not gawk at the elegant entranceway like some ingenue who was unaccustomed to such luxury…like me. My father had money, but he mostly spent it on himself. Only the rooms that he or his guests occupied in our house were properly decorated for his status and wealth. The rest of the house had seen no decor updates since my mother disappeared.

The woman interlaced her fingers and held them before her, rocking back and forth on her heels. It was a minor comfort to realize she was feeling the awkwardness of the moment as much as I was.

Finally, she said, "The others aren't here."

I nodded, too exhausted to come up with any more lies or excuses.

After another painful pause, she said, "Sorry. We didn't know you were coming. Matteo said you would arrive later in the week."

My cheeks burned. It was on the tip of my tongue to say neither did I, but I just gave her a tight-lipped smile.

She clasped her hands behind her. "The housekeeper, Rosa, is visiting her sister, and Don Cavalieri is with Amara at her cottage."

Again, I nodded sagely, not sure if I was expected to know who those people were or not. I was pretty sure Don Cavalieri was Barone Cavalieri, the head of the family who ran the winery. Amara must be his new girlfriend, who gossip said he met when she was a server at his son's doomed wedding.

She tilted her head to the side and gave me a questioning look. "Did Matteo tell you when he was expected to dock later tonight? I just want to know so I can be prepared for his arrival. I'm here waiting for him."

Porca miseria. That was probably something a fiancée was expected to know.

I winced. "Sorry, he didn't."

She gestured to the purse I clutched like a life vest in a storm. "Maybe you could call him and ask?"

I nodded slowly as I tried to think of a response. I threw my arm up as if upset. "Yes. That would be a great idea except that my mobile died."

She returned my nod. "Oh."

Another long, painful pause.

Peering around her toward the impressive staircase behind her, I asked, "Maybe you could show me to a room?"

Her face lit up. "Yes, of course. How silly of me. This way, please."

"What's your name?"

She flashed a smile over her shoulder as we ascended the stairs. "Lucia. I'm named after James Joyce's daughter, who died in an insane asylum. My mother is Irish, but my father was Italian."

"Wow. That's definitely unique."

Lucia wrinkled her nose as she smiled. "I sound a little loony myself whenever I say that, but I can't help it. I blame a childhood full of kids assuming I was named after Lucrezia Borgia, with mean boys clutching their throats and pretending to die after asking me for a bite of my school snack."

I laughed. "Kids suck, especially boys."

Her nose wrinkled in that funny way again as she sighed. "They do, don't they? It's such a shame they grow up to be sexy men who torture us with their charming smiles and arrogant bullshit."

An unexpected stab of hot jealousy pierced my chest.

Her seemingly nervous chatter.

Telling me she was waiting for Matteo.

Just how well did this woman know my fiancé? Crap, I meant my sister's fiancé.

Was she some kind of girlfriend on the side, despite his new situation?

"Rosa allowed me to choose which guest suite to prepare for your arrival. I chose my favorite one which is above the library and has a view of the private enclosed garden. It's also decorated in the most gorgeous emerald-green and golds," Lucia continued in her same animated fashion.

I followed her down the impressive hallway, which was decorated with clearly priceless artwork and various small half-moon tables topped with statuettes and expensive vases.

Listening to her animated chatter, my momentary unease left me. It was silly to have even thought of it. It wasn't like I was the one marrying Matteo. Right?

As she paused at a set of double doors, she asked, "What's your name? Sorry, but Alfonso only told me to expect Matteo's fiancée. When I called Rosa to ask for instructions, she mentioned it, but I forgot."

I placed my hand over my chest. "How rude of me. My name is Antonella." Following her lead, I said, "Unlike your interesting story, I, unfortunately, was just named after my father."

"Yes, that sounds familiar. Although now that I think of it, I could have sworn Rosa said it was Antonia. I'll have to let her know."

This time, the spike of unease punctured my heart, draining every drop of blood from my body… or at least that was what it felt like. I forced a laugh past my stiff lips, which sounded more like a gruff bark. "Did I say Antonella? Sorry, that's my twin sister's name. I'm Antonia."

After opening the doors, she turned toward me, brow furrowed. "Um… okay."

My fingers pressed into my temples. "I'm just so worn out and tired, I barely know what day it is, let alone my own name."

Her face softened. "Oh! Of course. Sorry for prattling on."

"No, it was nice to meet you."

"The villa is usually this crazy hive of activity and noise, but the family are all away for the night so most of the servants took the evening off. Until you arrived, it was actually a little creepy being here all alone."

I could totally picture that. Despite the darkness, it was hard not to appreciate the massive ancient villa or the surrounding buildings and home that made up the Cavalieri estate.

According to an architecture and decor article I found online, it was updated back in the fifties when large house parties were all the rage. It was converted from twelve bedrooms down to six, plus a massive main bedroom. Each room was supposed to have its own ensuite bathroom, living area and even a fireplace.

Not that I cared or anything.

It then hit me what she was saying. I bit my lip. If the villa was usually the hub of the winery, then this might be my only opportunity to snoop around.

Lucia crossed to the glass doors leading to a private balcony and pulled on the gold rope tassel which held the emerald taffeta curtains back. The heavily lined fabric swooped forward, covering the doors and enveloping the room in cozy elegance, especially with the cheery fire already lit.

A glance to the right showed my luggage, as if by magic, was already on a luggage rack across from the bed and near the bathroom entrance. And my cello case was leaning against the other far wall.

I was the lowest form of a snake for even thinking of spying around the villa.

What if something looked like it was disturbed, or someone noticed that a file I took was missing?

They would blame poor Lucia, who was going out of her way to be so kind.

"Do you need anything else for now?"

"No, you've been more than kind. Thank you."

She nodded and left, closing the doors behind her.

I raced over to the coffee table and dumped the contents of my purse, as well as Toni's crumpled note, onto the surface. Snatching my phone and the coiled-up charger, I plugged it in and pressed the power button. A groan left my lips as the stupid outline of the battery with its red stripe appeared.

"Come on, come on. Charge."

Like the phone would listen and hurry for me.

Finally, there was enough juice to allow a phone call. I pressed the favorite button for Antonia so hard my nail turned white.

I had to call three times before she answered.

"Buonasera, Ella."

"Don't you buonasera me. How could you?"

She spoke in that annoying baby voice she used with Father's older associates. "Don't be mad at me Elly-bear," she whined, using a nickname she hadn't called me since we were kids.

"It's not my fault," she continued. "I panicked."

"Orva di l'occhi! You're lying through your teeth. It's not panic when you clearly planned this all along."

"I couldn't be sure you'd keep your word and go … and really, this is all your fault, not mine."

I paced back and forth as much as the phone charger would allow. "My fault!" I yelled, then glanced at the closed door.

I lowered my voice in case Lucia was not telling the truth and there was someone else in the villa listening, while I jammed my finger into the center of my chest. "How the hell do you figure this is my fault?"

"You said you would take my place and then you said you wouldn't. What was I supposed to do?"

I stared up at the ceiling, praying to the Madonna for patience. "Well, the first thing that comes to mind to start with is"—I pulled the phone away from my ear, and forgetting my earlier caution, shouted into it—"not drugging your twin sister!"

She let out a long, drawn-out groan. "This is getting tedious. Besides, I have to go. Alessio is taking me to the movies."

"I'm sorry. Is my relating how I was drugged by that goon you used to date boring you?"

She snort-laughed. "Tomasso really is a goon, but a useful one."

I clenched my jaw. "I'm not staying here."

"Oh yes, you are!"

"No, I'm not."

"You don't have a choice. If you leave now, it'll be an enormous embarrassment for Father and he'll never forgive you."

I frowned. "What about Father? Hasn't he asked why I'm in Abruzzo and not you?"

She was silent.

"Antonia?"

There was a dramatic sigh. "I might be wearing your stupid, ugly clothes and I might have dragged out your old stupid cello and pretended to play it."

Wow. So much wrong.

"First off, put my cello back."

It was the one my mother first got me, and I'd be devastated if it was harmed in any way. Not that I could tell Antonia that. She always enjoyed using my favorite toys and stuffed animals as leverage against me when we were kids.

"Second, you can't seriously tell me Father is falling for it?"

"It's not like he pays attention to us when his friends aren't around for him to parade us in front of."

True.

"He didn't think it was weird the cello you were playing was super tiny and meant for a child?"

"God, only you would know something that lame, Ella."

Me and millions of people who were even only vaguely familiar with the instrument, but okay.

"And speaking of your stupid cello, why aren't you thanking me?" she protested.

My jaw dropped. "What exactly for?"

"For including your stupid cello with the luggage."

Called it. I knew she'd expect me to be grateful. It was like a kidnapper expecting a thanks for giving their captive water.

Raising the pitch of my voice until it was high and dripping with bitter sugar, I said, "Oh, yes. Thank you so very much, dear sister, for including my cello in your kidnapping kit."

"You're being very dramatic. It's not like you're in Naples. You're staying at a luxury villa. I'm the one slumming it in Sicily."

"You want to trade places?"

"Ha. Ha."

"Seriously, Toni. I can't stay here."

"You won't have to. I'm seeing my boyfriend in two weeks and?—"

"Two weeks! You can't leave me here for two weeks."

"There is nothing I can do. He's on vacation with his wife right now."

I closed my eyes. "Your boyfriend is married."

"Duh."

"Is this the same man who got you pregnant?"

"I know what you're thinking, and it's not like that. He loves me. He'll totally want to marry me once he finds out about the baby. His wife doesn't understand him or his needs. No competition."

"What is Father going to say when he finds out about all this?"

"Who cares. Besides, my boyfriend is way better than some stupid horse farmer. I'm sure I'll be able to convince Father of that, later—when it's too late."

I absently wondered what Matteo, a billionaire with generational wealth and prestige, would think about being referred to as a stupid horse farmer.

I slumped down onto the chair close to the fire. "You really are a selfish bitch, you know that?"

"Flattery won't get you anywhere. Come on, Ella. Just pretend to be me for a few tiny weeks… like you promised."

Before I could respond, there was a soft knock on the door.

I rose to answer it.

Lucia stepped over the threshold, holding a tray of food with a small glass carafe of red wine. "I thought you might be hungry. I'm not as good of a cook as Rosa, but I made you radicchio con pancetta e parmigiano reggiano."

I looked down at the roasted boat-shaped leaves of radicchio which were covered in salty pancetta and partially melted cheese. My stomach growled.

"Hold on, Toni." Speaking to Lucia, I said, "That was very nice of?—"

My sister cut in. "Tip the tray."

I held up my finger to Lucia and mouthed, one moment as I took a few steps back and whispered into the phone. "What?"

"Knock over the tray."

"No."

"Do it."

"Absolutely not. That's rude."

"Precisely. You're me, not you. Remember the time I dumped that bowl of soup over Maria's head when she brought it up to my bedroom when I was sick?"

"Yes. You were mad at her for tempting you with food when you were hoping to lose ten pounds from the stomach flu like that chick from The Devil Wears Prada."

"So tip the tray."

I looked over at Lucia, who was staring at the floor, probably trying to pretend that how I was acting wasn't super weird.

Antonia ground out, "Tip the fucking tray, Ella! They have to think you're me."

The acid in my stomach roiled as I stepped closer to Lucia.

"Do it," growled Antonia into the phone.

Taking a deep breath, I raised my arm and slammed it down on the edge of the tray. It flipped out of Lucia's grasp and landed face down on the Persian carpet.

For a moment, we both just stared wide-eyed at one another as if neither of us could believe what just happened.

I swallowed past the choking dryness in my throat and channeled my sister. "If I wanted something, I would have asked for it."

Antonia cackled into the phone.

Lucia swiped at a tear on her cheek as she kneeled to clean up the tray. "You're right. I'm so sorry for presuming. I'll clean this up."

This was too much. I couldn't stand there and watch her cry as she picked up the tray.

Forcing an edge to my voice, I said, "Just leave it and get out."

Lucia lowered her head and nodded before rushing out of the room.

I slammed the door after her and leaned against it. "I really hate you," I whispered into the phone as my own tears fell.

"Whatever."

She hung up.

I lowered to my knees and gingerly picked up the shattered glass and pieces of pancetta.