Lucia Romano and Giovanni Barbieri Surprise Engagement.The headline from one of the Italian national newspapers that’s seared into my retinas after hours spent reading through too many online stories on the flight home.
These few weeks were supposed to be a career highlight for me; instead, every achievement I made has been lost in thestorm clouds of a publicity nightmare. I want to hide until it ends. My comfy sofa beckons as a safe haven, and I sink into it, pulling a throw around my shoulders.
After my meeting with my father, escaping to other countries for work seemed appealing at the time. But the reality is I couldn’t flee my problems. They’ve only become worse. Every muscle in my body is pulled tight with exhaustion, and I’m about to snap under the pressure. The hardest part is knowing that whatever decision I make—to marry or not—I’m going to disappoint my family or hurt my best friend.
Ant and Gio are barely on speaking terms after a massive argument, and it’s all over me. My eyelids slide shut, and like every other time, my brain buzzes with thoughts of how to fix this mess. I’m no closer to answering that question and, as a result, no closer to a proper night’s sleep.
It boils down to two simple facts. I don’t want to marry a man I don’t love, and I don’t want to be the reason the Barbieris lose controlling shares in their family company.
I’ve hardly spoken to Antonio after our first difficult call the night I arrived in London. He’s angry with his father, his brother, and probably me too. There’s nothing I can say at this point to help that, especially when we’re thousands of miles apart. We need to speak in person, not by text. Or even FaceTime.
The fragile emotional string I was initially hanging by has become a stronger tether, and with a decent sleep, I’ll be ready to face Antonio, Gio, and even my father. I begged Antonio for time during that initial call, and after he’d yelled and swore for a good ten minutes, he agreed. But now my time is up, and I need to be ready to make some decisions.
I kick off my heels, flipping my legs up to the chair and curling up into a ball. This really is the comfiest sofa, squishier than the firm mattress on my bed. A peaceful cocoon for me to replenishmy strength. But right as I tug the throw higher up to my chin, my cell buzzes with an incoming text.
With a loud huff, I stretch one arm out to snatch it up. Then, seeing it’s Ant, my stomach clenches around the lump of dread filling it.
Antonio:Can I come see you tomorrow?
Tomorrow? What day is it again?
Me:I just got home and am barely functioning, having not slept for 24 hours.
Antonio: Sorry, but I need to see you.
I’m huffing and puffing louder than an old steam engine, so over this arranged marriage disaster—or I wish I was. But nothing ever gets solved by ignoring it, and Ant is just trying to help.
Me:Fine!! I’ll see you tomorrow. But not too early.
My text reads as grumpy as he sounded the last time we spoke, so I quickly add,Please.
There, that’s nicer, even if it hurts my head to think. And if I could get it together, I’d ask for another day. But it’s easier to agree for now, and after a nap, I’ll message him to suggest a later time.
Later, that’s a good idea.My cell slips from my fingers, landing with a soft bump on the thick rug below, and I don’t bother to retrieve it. I don’t even lift my head off the cushion. All I do is close my eyes and drift off, not without another thought, but eventually to sleep.
Blissful, uninterrupted sleep. Until—
Thump, thump, thump.
“Seriously, what now,” I grumble, wondering if whoever is at my door will disappear if I ignore the banging long enough.
Thump, thump, thump.
“Luce. It’s me.”
Why is Antonio here?Already?I blink open my bleary eyes. Sunlight streaming through my terrace door assaults them, and I squeeze them shut again. He said he wasn’t coming until tomorrow.
Thump, thump, thump.
“Fuck,”I mutter, because sometimes swearing in English makes me feel better. And dragging myself out of my cozy cocoon doesn’t feel good. I pad over to the door, pulling it open.
“Calm down, you’ll wake my neighbors,” I grumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “And why are you here, anyway? We agreed on tomorrow.”
A frown creases his brow. “It is tomorrow. And it’s lunchtime,” he states, striding through the door the moment it’s open wide enough. “I doubt anyone is still sleeping.”
“Lunchtime?” I repeat, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“Yep,” he replies before stopping to look at me like he’s peering through a microscope at a previously undiscovered creature. “What happened to you?”
