“Because you’re not helping. Forget Jason—what if seeing Marcellino, what if being in Italy, doesn’t snap me back into my old self? What if this whole trip is a bust?”
“How can it be a bust when you’ve managed to score ten million dollars for the ACC?” Annabelle asked.
“That’s just work,” I said.
“I’m sorry, but who are you and what have you done with my sister?”
“I’m serious. I want more out of my life.”
“Sunshine, you’re in Italy,” Annabelle said with a hint of exasperation. “So what if things don’t go as you hope with Marcellino? Maybe he’s like Jean Claude and not the man you remember. It doesn’t matter. They have gelato there, which can cure anything.”
I laughed, which was undoubtedly her aim.
“Chels, you have to remember, you’re not on this quest to find a man or a relationship. You’re on it to remember—”
“What it feels like to be carefree and happy and open to love. Yeah, yeah, I know.” I sipped my coffee. “But it’s been seven years. What if the new workaholic me has spackled on such a thick shell that I can’t scrape her off?”
“You wouldn’t be there if she had,” Annabelle said. “You’ve got this.”
“I hope so. If I could just not have my past bite me on the ass again, that would be helpful.” I paused for Annabelle’s chuckle and then asked, “How’s Dad?”
“Worried about you,” she said. “But not so much that he hasn’t found time to go to cake tastings, florists, and the big wedding expo.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that mathematician Dad and I would have an in-depth discussion about tulle,” Annabelle said. “It’s weird.”
“I can see how it would be, but it’s also good,” I said.
“Is it?” she asked. “Because he is full steam ahead on these wedding plans. We’re at T minus two months now.”
I felt ripples of panic begin to swell inside of me. My entire purpose for being here was to find the Chelsea that believed in love at first sight and happily-ever-afters. I’d found flickers of her in Ireland and France, but I wanted to be her again in time to attend my father’s wedding with full enthusiasm and joy, no matter what outfit I was asked to wear.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s good that Dad has you,” I said. I tried not to sound forlorn. “You’re the daughter he needs right now.”
“We both are,” she said. “And you’ll get there. The Chelsea you’re looking for is out there. I know she is.”
“Right.” I pushed the image of my dad marrying Sheri from my mind and finished my espresso, telling myself I could do this. Really, I could.
* * *
• • • •
IT WAS LATE morning when the bus stopped at the entrance to the Castello di Luce vineyard. I climbed down the steps, hauling my bag behind me, trying not to notice how nervous I felt, but truthfully, my pulse was pounding so hard in my throat that I feared I’d choke on it. It had been seven years since I’d been here, after all.
Since I’d made my decision to revisit my year abroad, Marcellino and I had emailed and texted and shared one phone call, which had been hard to manage because of the time change. While I felt confident that seeing him again would be a pleasant experience, there was always the possibility that I’d be wrong. It had happened before—witness Jean Claude.
The vineyard was built on the grounds of a castle, thus the name, and as I stood looking up at the huge beige stone building dating back to 1173, I was filled with the same awe and wonder I’d felt the first time I’d set foot on the vineyard grounds. The squared-off ramparts and high watchtower loomed over the surrounding countryside just as they had when they’d been built almost a thousand years ago for a family who’d reigned over the area for over four hundred years before being stripped of their wealth and property by the Medici family.
I tipped my head back to take in the stone ramparts, which looked as if a battery of arrows or hot oil could come down on the unsuspecting people below at any moment. As always, the bloody history of Castello di Luce made me shiver. Meticulously preserved, the castle had been owned by a family, the DeNicolas, when I’d come to work here during my year abroad.
They’d lived in the upper levels of the castle, letting the vineyard and olive oil