She's on the terrace, her silk robe tied loosely around her waist, a cup of coffee in her hand as she looks out. The morning breeze lifts her hair, and for a moment, I just stand there, committing the image to memory.
As I'm about to join her, her phone rings. She answers, and even from here, I can see the change. Her shoulders stiffen. Her back straightens as I watch. Shoulders tense. Jaw tight. She stands, then sits again, like she can't decide if she's staying or going. Whatever the conversation is, it's draining the ease from her body, replacing it with tension I can feel from across the room.
I finish dressing, giving her privacy, but I keep glancing toward the terrace. The carefree woman I've known since we arrived is gone.
When I step out onto the terrace, she's ended the call.
"Hey, beautiful," I say and give her a smile.
Nothing.
"What do you think about skipping the museum today and just staying in bed?" I ask more as a joke, just trying to get a reaction from her.
Still, she's silent. I study her face, looking for something. Anything.
"What is it? I can tell something's wrong."
She gives me a forced smile, and then it disappears.
"I, uh, have to go," she says in such a low voice, like she's pulling it out of her chest.
"What?" I ask completely shocked. "We still have three days."
She stands up and looks at me briefly before looking away. "Yes. A family emergency. I need to get back."
The words land like a punch to the face. My mind instantly starts calculating, running through scenarios. Did one of her brothers find out? Is someone hurt? Or is she lying? Is this her way of ending things? Pulling back before things get too serious?
"Just like that? What about the opera tonight? I thought you were excited about it."
She steps forward slightly. Her eyes fill with pain.
"I know. I'm sorry." She stops and looks down. "I just need to pack."
She then walks past me, making sure not to touch me.
What the fuck is going on?
I follow her inside. Emotions running through me.
She walks right into the room and immediately starts packing. I take a few deep breaths to calm down. Maybe something bad happened and she's processing it. She can't just be leaving because she doesn't want to be here. It's more.
"Let me help you," I say and start handing her things.
She stops, and I feel like she might crack, but she just continues tossing things into her suitcase.
"Will you tell me what's really going on?" I ask, hopeful.
"I can't," she says without even turning to me. "I just have to go."
Seriously? Nothing.
Being in the dark, my mind running, frustration flashes in me, and I step forward and turn her to face me, my hands cupping her face.
"Callista. I've never seen you like this. Not even when you almost missed your flight to Chicago and thought your brothers would figure everything out."
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do," she says, still not looking at me.
I run my thumb across her lower lip. "I disagree. We've been together long enough to know when something's really wrong."
