Chapter One
Aria rushedinto the living room, one shoe on, the other in her hand, as the TV played in the background.
“Ugh. Going to be late,” she mumbled.
Slipping the second shoe on with a hop, she heard the familiar music swell, indicating that her favorite scene was about to begin. Late or not, she was compelled to watch.
She mouthed the passionate words as she watched Mr. Darcy profess his love to Keira Knightley’s Elizabeth, her heart giddy as if it were her first time seeing it.
“You have bewitched me, body and soul. And I love... I love... I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”
Aria sighed and grabbed her phone from the coffee table, eyes widening when she saw the time.
“Shoot.”
Grabbing her purse and keys, she turned off the TV, tossed the remote on the sofa, and dashed out the door—no time for breakfast.
Forcing herself out of bed that morning had taken longer than usual, as did her makeup. Covering the evidence of the dreadful combination of insomnia and tears had proven to be a challenge.
One day I’ll feel like a normal person again.
She carefully drove down the narrow Italian streets, feeling an unfamiliar ache in her chest. A few short miles later, Aria parked her car before power walking down the street, rubbing her chest as if she could ease the pain.
Her favorite romantic movie usually brought a smile and a peaceful familiarity, but today, it stirred a different emotion.
Longing.
Pushing down that traitorous sentiment, she walked past the familiar vendors dotting the bustling street with their bright lemon yellow and cobalt blue printed scarves, tote bags, and housewares. She waved to those she knew. Pulling her colorful scarf around her neck closer to her to ward off the morning chill, Aria continued her brisk walk.
The smell of orange and lemon blossoms permeated the air. Their heady floral fragrance was one of Aria’s favorite things about living in Positano. She inhaled deeply as the perfumed air danced around her, bringing with it so many memories.
“I will not cry. I will not cry,” Aria whispered.
She’d come to learn grief had a way of stealing joy from even the sweetest moments.
Stopping in front of the aging white office building that housed her publishing company, Libri Stellari, Aria paused as she stood at the glass door. On a deep exhale, she pushed the door open and stepped into the lobby.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bianchi,” the security guard said as Aria walked past the desk.
“Good morning, Nico.” No matter how many times she asked him to call her by her first name, he continued with the formality.
Aria stepped inside the tiny elevator, grateful to be alone in the small space. Her nose wrinkled at the assault of stale air.
Pressing the button for the third floor, she slid off the silky scarf from her neck and began wrapping it around her wrist. She had been doing it since she was a teenager. It had been her attempt at finding a fashion statement all her own and was now an unconscious act.
Her fingers lingered on the patch of raised and discolored skin on the underside of her wrist, the knot in her stomach matching the one she made with her scarf.
The scar served as a reminder of the day her world fell apart. She normally didn’t hide it, but with her emotions threatening to bubble over, she thought it best, even though she knew it was pointless. Covering up the wound on her arm could never cover up the gaping one in her heart.
Steeling herself for another long day, Aria smoothed down her long hair when the loud ping announced her arrival. The elevator bounced twice before the door slid open, the temporary scare reminding her to start taking the stairs.
Aria stepped out of the elevator, pushing her purse and laptop bag higher on her shoulder as she walked across the Corsica tile floor to the office door. Noticing the growing water stain on the ceiling above it, she made a mental note to email the leasing agent again.
Libri Stellari occupied the entire third floor of the office building. The other two floors housed a few law offices and a few accountant offices.
Although her rent was reasonable for a location far from the coastline, she frequently scoured the real estate websites for an updated office space. Until she signed her most recent author, Michael Benson, moving was not even a possibility. It could take a year or more before she recouped what she had invested in him, but she couldn’t help looking.
She eased through the office door, greeting her employees with a strained smile, hoping not to engage in more than a “good morning” until she could calm her emotions in the safety of her office.
