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The heaviness morphs into a weighted blanket, settling over me, and I swallow.

She smiles, the whites of her teeth showing.

Her glorious hair, fastened into her usual low bun, is different this time. She let a few strands escape, and they frame her face perfectly.

Maybe she’s breaking free from the shadows.

Her eyes rove over my face as she murmurs, “Carpe diem.”

I cock my brow, knowing that’s what Mia used to say to her. But I thought there was resentment in that statement.

She shakes her head, like she knows what I’m thinking. “I’m mad at Mia, but I actually like her motto. Life is too short to live in misery, to surround yourself with trash. Clean it out. Do the hard thing. Try the scary thing. You only live once.”

Flour dusts her hair and her cheeks, getting onto her shirt.

She goddamn takes my breath away.

“And what about you?” I murmur, holding her gaze as the room fades away. “When will you deep clean?”And can I be there to help you?

Her pulse feathers her neck—the same lovely spot I still see a faded bruise she tried to cover with makeup.

My mark.

Heated blood pumps inside me, and I curl my hands around the knife and the cutting board, stopping myself from pulling her into my arms.

“They don’t even remember my favorite dish,” she replies, her eyes glistening with moisture. “You know, in my family, we don’t say ‘I love you.’ They ask me if I’ve eaten.Ni chi fan le ma?”

She rolls her lips inward. “But when they ask me that question, they always talk about Mia’s favorite food.”

I remember the outpouring of grief at Las Fallas. How she’s been trying, but failing, to be both Mia and Olivia. How her family doesn’t see her.

But I do.

“What is it, Olive? What’s your favorite dish?”

I’ll remember it, Olivia. Because I see you.

She doles out a wobbly smile. “Pappardelle al Cinghiale.”

“Wild boar ragu,” I murmur. “Can be gamey and earthy. Bold flavor.”

Bold—just like her.

“I ordered it one time we were out to celebrate a friend’s birthday. Mia grumbled because she wasn’t a big fan of Italian. I picked a dishI couldn’t pronounce just to do something interesting. I loved it. Mia thought I was nuts because she said it was gamey.” Olivia scrunches her nose.

Then she looks at me and gives me an impish smile. “I’d get it every time we had Italian if it was on the menu. It wasmyfavorite dish. Just mine.”

My heart flips. My little Olive trying to break free. I wish I were there to see it.

Slowly, I bring my fingers to her face, then I flick the flour off her cheeks.

She draws a sharp inhale and leans forward infinitesimally.

Sharp current ripples up my fingers from the tiny point of contact.

My eyes dip to her plush lips, drawn to them like a sailor spotting a lighthouse during a violent storm.

Click.Then a bright flash.