Chapter 1

ONE

Francesca

“ I do.”

The pair of words couldn’t be said enough on this trip, apparently. Which made sense. It was a wedding, after all.

But since my brother, Matthew, and his new wife, Nina, had declared their intentions not two hours ago in a fourteenth-century Italian church, they seemed to be using that particular phrase for just about everything.

Would you care for a refreshment, signore ?

I do.

Nina, do you want someone to save your bouquet to dry for the future?

Why yes, I do .

Matthew, do you want to dance with your new bride?

Yes, I fuckin’ do .

Every time, the crowd went even more wild. Like right now, when approximately fifty people were laughing like hyenas after Matthew shouted it, profanities and all, across the Piazza Guglielmo Marconi , this time in reply to the bandleader of the jazz quartet who’d asked him if he wanted them to start playing so he and Nina could dance later. Every person at the party cheered as my brother then leaned down and delivered yet another long, drawn-out kiss to his bride.

I should have been happy for them. A perfect little family that had fought for so long to come together this way. Matthew was ecstatic. His wife was aglow. Her daughter, Olivia, was practically a sunbeam.

And I was the rainiest rain cloud there ever was.

A Mary Bennett compared to the rest of her vivacious sisters, antisocial and irritable. My kinship with Elizabeth and her Darcy was long gone.

It was a lovely autumn night. The forty or so of us who had made it to the destination wedding indulged in wine, pasta, hand-pulled mozzarella, and the last of the season’s tomatoes beneath a canopy of strung lights, courtesy of the trattoria hired to cater this lovely affair. The little band kicked off a selection of jazz standards that only added to the overall ambience, especially when some of the locals and other tourists made use of the dance floor hastily erected atop the cobbled square. No one seemed to mind—if anything, the impromptu dancers lent even more romance to what was already a near-elopement.

The sunset gleamed off the Mediterranean waves.

Plates of trofie noodles steamed in front of every carefully set place.

Guests joked and chatted while enjoying the bountiful food and wine.

And I was heartbroken, lonely, and sick as a freaking dog.

“God, just look at them,” my sister Kate muttered. “Disgusting, aren’t they?”

Matthew swept Nina up from her chair, abandoning their food to start waltzing in the middle of the square. My brother was old-school in ways that included a penchant for vintage suits and our grandparents’ dance moves, but he never cared for propriety. Not when it came to his Nina. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was abandoning tradition to dance with his new wife just as soon as he damn well pleased. And if Nina’s glowing smile was any indication, she liked that impulse just fine.

I couldn’t help staring as the nausea in my belly was temporarily replaced by envy. They were elegant together, yes. Nina was possibly an even better dancer than Matthew, an impressive feat given the fact that all of us had been subject to Nonna’s “lessons” when we were growing up. The two of them moved so naturally to a jazz version of “Someday My Prince Will Come” that they could have been doubles for Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, especially when his dark head touched her bright blond hair.

But mostly, it was their closeness that made jealousy gnaw at my empty stomach. Nina had changed from her couture wedding gown into a simpler off-white dress that fluttered around her calves, and Matthew had long since eschewed his tie and jacket, making do in shirtsleeves while he wrapped one arm around Nina’s waist and used the other to tuck her hand against his chest so that they were truly dancing cheek to cheek.

His lips moved, whispering some silent, sweet nothing into her ear. Nina only nuzzled him further, then allowed him to engage her with yet another kiss in which they were obviously the only two in the entire town, guests and villagers be damned.

It made me want to retch.

Or sob.

Maybe both.

“Hey, you two, the first dance is supposed to be after dinner,” Marie, one of my younger sisters, called from the other side of the table.

“Let them be,” I chided, even though watching them was so painful, I wanted to shriek.

That was supposed to be me.

Or maybe it could have been.

For one short summer, I had been so, so close. Eight weeks ago, I’d been in love too. I had a man to dance with, and my daughter, Sofia, had a father at last. When Xavier Parker, dashing London restauranteur and prodigal duke, had strode back into my life with the force of a gale, I certainly hadn’t intended to fall in love with him all over again. Honestly, I’d barely expected him to like me after what I did. Hiding the fact that you had a man’s baby and not telling him for five years isn’t exactly a direct path to his good side.

But somehow, the love and attraction and, well, the outright passion we’d shared all those years before had prevailed. Which was how Sofia and I had come to spend the summer in England with Xavier—both so she could continue building her new relationship with her daddy and so he and I could determine whether what we thought we had between us was real.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

They say love conquers all.

“They” would be dirty rotten liars.

It took all of two months for the pressures of Xavier’s job, title, and uptight conniving family to rip our tenuous bonds to shreds and decorate them with tinsel. I had left almost as suddenly as I’d arrived, chased back to Brooklyn with every intent of returning to my simple life as a third-grade teacher and single mom.

Life, however, had other plans.

Specifically in the form of a positive pregnancy test.

Again.

“God, this is so good.” Kate inhaled from her bowl of trofie al pesto and couldn’t help but moan. “Nonna, don’t kill me, but I think this might be better than yours.”

Our grandmother just turned from the next table where she was enjoying a fifty-years-in-the-making cigarette with her sister and several cousins. She held her fingertips together as she gave a little shake of her hand, then went right back to gossiping with her family.

“That’s how you know she’s had one too many,” Kate joked in my ear. “Won’t even argue with critiques of her cooking.”

I offered a weak smile. The twists of pasta were famous in this town, but to me, they looked like someone had lost their lunch on my plate.

“Look at her,” Kate continued. “The cigarette, the wine, the big, big hair. She’s so Italian right now it hurts. It’s like watching a salmon return to its spawning grounds after the long migration.”

I was supposed to laugh, but suddenly all I could sense was the flavor of Kate’s breath, tinged with red wine, basil, and garlic.

“Jesus, Katie,” I gasped, trying and failing to breathe only through my mouth.

“What?”

I pushed back from the table and made a beeline for the restaurant, weaving in and out of the crowd, flapping my hands at stray relatives who wanted yet another kiss to the cheek, and barely finding my way to the tiny bathroom in time to lose every bite I had just taken into the toilet.

I retched again.

And again.

To the point I thought it might actually turn my body inside out.

But eventually, the nausea faded away, leaving me sweaty-faced, clammy, and exhausted when I emerged from the stall, only to find Kate leaning against the sink with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Thought you might need one of these,” she said, offering me one of the hand towels. “And also someone to talk to.”

My stomach dropped again, and this time it wasn’t because of too many aromatics.

“What’s going on?” Kate demanded.

I leaned over to wash my hands and splash my face with water. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Frankie, come on. You were about as green as a lima bean out there. I thought you were going to hurl all over the table.”

I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. Sweat gleamed around my brow line, and deep circles were pressed under my eyes, but my makeup wasn’t too badly ruined. My green eyes were a bit brighter than before, but at least they matched the color of my dress.

“I almost did,” I admitted.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Kate checked her updo in the mirror, then her sleek black dress, which was almost certainly vintage, as if making sure I hadn’t splattered on it through the door. “That’s the third time I’ve seen you sprint for the bathroom today. Please tell me it’s just a virus. Or maybe food poisoning. Because the last time you were like this, you were…” She trailed off, clearly cut off by the look on my face. “Ah, shit.”

I gulped and managed to stand up straight so I could look myself over. There was no use hiding it from her. Not when she knew me better than anyone else. Unfortunately, this also meant the cat was out of the bag. Kate was reasonably discreet, but there was no way this was going to stay a secret for long now.

I turned from side to side. I wasn’t showing yet. Not really. The hunter-green dress I wore wasn’t exactly form-fitting, and the only other discernible difference was my boobs, which were more than filling out the bust. Before, I could write it off as weight gain in Europe. Too many scones, not enough fresh air.

I sighed, then grabbed one of the complimentary bottles of water on the counter to swish around and cleanse my mouth. “Don’t tell anyone, Kate. Please. I don’t want to mess up Mattie and Nina’s special day.”

My sister just looked me over, pity written across her delicate features. We looked so much alike, but Kate was always the stronger of the two of us. Taller, of course, but it was more than that. She had the no-nonsense sensibility of someone who had never lived in the throes of an existential crisis. She’d always known exactly who she was.

I sank onto an upholstered bench in the corner to wait for my face to return to a normal hue. Kate sat down with me and rubbed my leg.

“Is it bad?” she wondered.

I shrugged. “About like last time. My boobs are pretty tender, and the nausea comes and goes throughout the day. Most of the time it’s all right, but now and then, it hits me, and…”

I trailed off. No need to explain that .

Kate glanced down, obviously looking for a bump. “Does he know?”

I didn’t have to ask whom she was talking about.

I sighed. “I sent Xavier an email a few days ago. He hasn’t responded yet. He must have read it, though. He checks his email like once an hour. Or at least Elsie does. His assistant, I mean.”

My chest squeezed again at the thought of the kind, middle-aged woman who had taken Sofia and me under her wing all summer. In a way, she’d become a part of our little family too. England hadn’t been all bad…

And for maybe the hundredth time since I’d gotten on that plane, I wondered again if I’d left too soon.

Right before I remembered Xavier’s lips on someone else’s.

Nausea struck again for an entirely different reason.

Kate grimaced, like she knew exactly how hard this was for me. Life was certainly repeating itself in the worst possible ways.

Once again, I’d fallen deeply in love with Xavier Parker over the course of a few weeks.

Once again, he’d broken my heart with his involvement with another woman.

Once again, I was left single and pregnant.

Fate certainly had a funny sense of humor. Stupid cow.

This time, however, the father knew. He just hadn’t said a word. And it was killing me anyway, as if he’d never known in the first place.

“Everyone’s going to flip when you tell them,” Kate remarked.

I looked at her. “Why do you think I want you to be quiet? I’m not really interested in every Zola on the continent gossiping about how I’m going to hell while my brother is basking in marital bliss.”

She blinked like she was surprised just imagining it. “I don’t mean like that. We all know you’re a good person, babe, not to mention a killer mom. I just mean, they are going to flip the fuck out at Xavier. Mattie’s probably going to fly to England to kick that posh Brit’s ass. Joni will post all about him on social media, which you know will blow up. And since the press over there seems to think you two are a tasty treat, I’m sure you’ll have them at your door in no time, which means?—”

“Which means you and everyone else need to keep your mouths shut,” I said sharply. “And not say anything before the wedding is over. I’m not kidding, Katie. Shut it.”

She mimed zipping her mouth with a lock and throwing away the key. I quieted with her. Kate was the one Zola kid I knew could keep a secret. With the others, I might as well just send a press release to the New York Post . When Nonna found out, she’d be dragging me to confession for days.

Kate looked down at my hand resting on my belly. “I assume you’re keeping it. Again, I mean.”

I gave her a look. “Are you really asking me that?”

“How can I not? Don’t get me wrong, Frankie. A woman’s got a right to choose and all that. Of course. But can we take a second to really think about this choice? Raising Sofia on your own has been hard enough. You’re a third-grade teacher who’s been broke all her life and sleeps in a stairwell. I know Mattie gave you the house, but what are you going to do to support two kids alone? How are you going to take care of yourself?”

“It will be different this time,” I replied stubbornly. “For one, I’m not doing it completely alone.”

“I thought you said he hasn’t responded.”

I sulked at my hands. “He hasn’t. Yet.”

“So how do you know he will?”

My scowl literally hurt my face, it ran so deep. “I just…do.”

Kate did not appear convinced. I wish I could say I was.

“Mattie’s gone,” she reiterated. “And I know I’m not moving to Brooklyn. I love you, but I can’t. Marie’s in Paris, Lea’s got her own henhouse to attend to. So that leaves, what, Joni? You want ADHD Tinker Bell taking care of your littles?”

I just sighed. She was right. I knew she was right. With Xavier living in the UK, it wasn’t like we’d be able to trade custody nights or anything like that. If he ever did respond to my letter, the most he was probably going to do would be to send some money. Not unhelpful. But not the same as actually being around.

“I’ve thought about it,” I admitted. “A lot. But here’s the deal: I always wanted a family. A sister or brother for Sofia. Maybe not this way, but it seems to be what fate has in store. Better my kids have the same father than get pulled between three different households, you know?”

I sighed, shoving a hand into my hair, which was already noticeably thicker. One of the lesser benefits of pregnancy, I supposed.

“Besides, this time Xavier knows,” I insisted. “Or will know. Or something. We might not have worked out, but he’s not a deadbeat dad. Once he gets his head around this little surprise, he’ll support his kids. We won’t be destitute. Not even close.”

“I sure as shit hope not. The guy has more money than God.” Kate looked at me for a long time and tapped her fingers on her knee. “What about your heart, though? Is that going to be destitute?”

That part I didn’t like thinking about. “Maybe I’m not destined for some great love affair, Katie. Most people never get a happily ever after, and that’s okay, you know? I may not be someone’s perfect match, but I can be a great mom. I can have a family on my own terms, this time. Maybe that’s good enough.”

We watched each other in the mirror for a few minutes, our twin green eyes and dark hair speaking to the generations of other Zola sisters who had come before us, maybe not even that far from where we were sitting.

They’d gotten through times like these.

So would I.

Kate pursed her red-stained lips and sighed. “Okay. But when we get home, you have to spill the beans to everyone. You might be living on your own, but you still have your family to support you. We can, I don’t know, get a babysitting train going or something. I could give you a few Friday nights a month so you can do a yoga class. Or get laid.”

“You’re the best,” I told her honestly. “I don’t know what I would do without any of you.”

I pulled her into a tight embrace, but just as we released, the bathroom door opened, and Marie and Joni came bouncing in. It was quite a feat, considering Joni was on crutches after having surgery to fix a knee injury. It had been almost two months since Marie had left for culinary school in Paris, but they were as inexplicably inseparable and as different as ever. Even in their choice of dresses—Marie wore a plain blue frock that brushed her toes and completely covered her arms and shoulders, while Joni’s bright pink confection pushed the limits on what was socially appropriate with a neckline cut halfway to her navel and a lace skirt that barely covered her butt.

“What did we miss?” Marie asked, looking between the two of us as she pushed her glasses up her nose.

“Nothing,” I said with a warning glance at Kate. “Absolutely nothing. Just, you know, overcome by all the wedding joy.”

“Well, nothing is about to become something,” Joni said eagerly. “We came to find you, Frankie, because there is a super hot-as-frick man asking for you outside. One Sofia just called Dad. Yes, please , by the way. I remember him being yummy, but dayum, Daddy!”

“Ew, Joni, that’s Sofia’s father,” Marie said, elbowing her in the ribs.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t be Frankie’s daddy too,” Joni said with a wink.

I reared. “Xavier’s here ?”

Marie nodded but elbowed Joni again. “Yes. And don’t be gross.”

“Don’t be celibate,” Joni retorted, then hobbled forward with a conspiratorial grin. “Seriously, though, sis. Do we need to go out there and kick his ass for you? I might have a bum knee right now, but I still got thighs of steel. I could squeeze the life out of him, then kick him across the square if you want. Or we could just sic Mattie on him. He’s so wound up with sexual tension, he’d probably tear Xavier a new one for cheating on you the way he did.”

Kate just gave me another look, this one of the distinct I told you so variety.

I stood up, checked myself in the mirror, then turned toward the door.

“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s necessary,” I told my sisters. “When it comes to Xavier, I can take care of myself.”

Maybe if I said it enough, I’d really learn to believe it.