I’m laughing.
“Don’t be a wanker,” she swears.
“I’m not. I’m not trying to be. Listen, Jana, she is younger than you yes, and you are both very beautiful, strong women. But you are nothing alike. So don’t think that she is the same version of you. She isn’t. She is who she is, and you are who you are. And you are happy, aren’t you? Are you not still with William?”
“I am. And we’re happy.”
“So, what does it matter about us?”
Silence falls over the line.
“Claudio,” she says after a beat. “I don’t want to lose my son.”
“You won’t lose your son,” I say tiredly. “He will always be your son. That will never, ever change. But…please. You saw how happy he was when he saw you. He loves and misses you. You need to be here more. Call him more. Be more involved in his life. Being a mother doesn’t mean you get all the privileges for doing none of the work. You still have to work at being in his life. It’s not fair to anyone otherwise, especially not him. You love him; show him that by being there.”
She lets out a huff of air. “You know, you’re right.”
“I know I am.”
“I should do more…no excuses.”
“Good. Because he needs you, and I need you to be his mother.”
“But, eventually, he’ll want to be with Grace.”
“You will always be his mother,” I tell her sternly. “And Grace, she will one day be my wife. But we can all make this work together.”
“You’re going to marry her,” she says, more of a statement than a question.
“I will. When the time is right, and when she’s moved in, and the dust has settled. Yes. I’m going to ask her to marry me. Jana, I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“Oh bloody hell. That makes me a matchmaker, doesn’t it?”
“Did you send her here hoping she would meet me?”
“Hell no.”
“Then you can’t claim that. But if it weren’t for you taking an interest in her talent and her writing and the state of her mind, then no, perhaps we wouldn’t have met.” I wait a beat. “Speaking of, you know you really need to talk to her and apologize.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. She has been worried sick these last couple of days, thinking you’re going to drop her as a client.”
“Oh, come now. I’m not going to drop her as a client. She’s gold.”
“She is gold. But she doesn’t always know that. Or she chooses not to believe it.”
“Writers,” she mutters under her breath.
“You can say that again.”
“So I suppose we have more than Vanni in common now,” she muses.
I grin into the phone. “That we do. And I know we both care a lot about her. So please, call her and talk to her and let her know that everything is going to be okay.”
“I will call her tonight. How about that?”
“Good.”
“Claudio,” she says.
“Yes?”
“Make sure she finishes that book, okay? I really think it’s going to change her life.”
“I hope so,” I tell her. “Because she’s already changed mine.”
Later that night, Grace gets the phone call from Jana. She goes into her office chapel for almost an hour, and when she returns, she’s looking relieved. She heads straight to the bar and I mix her up a Negroni. We take the drinks to the patio and watch the sun set. In the distance, Emilio is inspecting the lemon trees, filling his basket full. We will soon have lemons for days.
“So how was it?” I ask Grace.
She gives me a wide, breathtaking grin. “Good. Really good.”
I take a sip of my drink and wait for her to go on, delighting in how beautiful she looks and how good she must feel.
“I read some of the book to her on the phone, then I emailed the rest. She’s going to read it this week to give me feedback on it, plus I’m going to send some to that author friend I told you about, Kat Manning? I’m going to see if she’ll be a critique partner. Obviously Robyn was mine before, but now I need someone else.”
“That’s a great idea,” I say encouragingly.
She nods, has some of her drink. “Aye. And Jana said that she has a good feeling about it. She’s going to contact the editor today and tell her that the genre changed but that we can still sell it as women’s fiction, if needed. Just because it’s women’s fiction, doesn’t mean it has to have a miserable ending.