‘He’s in Nice, confessing his love to a girl called Eléa,’ I reply, looking down at the floor.
The room grows silent as I feel Sara and Paige exchange a worried look over the top of my half-done head.
‘And how do we feel about that?’ Paige asks slowly.
‘Fine,’ I lie through my teeth, shrugging. ‘Happy for him, even. He’s my friend.’
The last conversation we had that night in Milan solidified that.
‘I’m not going,’ he said.
His tone was so solid and sure, but he neglected to inform the rest of his face. It dipped with sadness at the notion that he could lose her, taking the last pieces of my heart down with it.
‘I can’t go. Not while we...’ He paused, grasping for words.
While we what? What did he thinkwewere? I never found out. Because as he grappled for his sentence, I was already in the process of fixing my armour back around my chest. I took a deep breath and a moment to check in on myself, laying out the facts at hand. He had a choice to make: spend time with me, or Eléa, and I couldn’t bear to break my heart waiting around for the answer.
‘You should go,’ I said firmly.
His face fell even more and everything in my bones begged me to take it back. But I had to stay cool. I couldn’t get my feelings hurt by him, if I hurt them for myself first.
‘But we were just—’
‘You liked her right?’ I cut him off. ‘And now she’s single, so why wouldn’t you act on that? It’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?’
I wanted him to push back. I desperately wanted him to say no – that he didn’t care for El and it’s too little too late, because the girl of his dreams was standing across from him. But he said none of that. Instead, he stood there with a tortured expression, desperately running through his options. I didn’t want to be anoption. I wanted to be the one. So, I booked a ticket to Verona and told him I’d meet him after Nice. That part, however, is still to be determined.
‘Am, baby...’ Sara says gently, breaking me from my thoughts.
A lump forms in my throat. Not only have I failed at travelling alone, but I also failed at keeping things platonic with my travel buddy. And now, I have my older sisters on an emergency visit because I couldn’t hackone weekcompletely by myself. I can’t let them pity me too. Adding pity to the mix only makes it more pathetic.
I dip my head, braids be damned, and expel the last of my external sadness with one long and dignified breath. Then I lift my eyes to Sara, a stone-cold resoluteness on my face.
‘What day shall we head to the Juliet Club?’ I ask. ‘I can’twaitto reply to the letters.’
She’s taken aback by my resolve, mouth opening to protest, before quickly shutting again as my stare grows more neutral. This is not the time and she knows it. She sinks back in her chair in defeat.
‘Whenever you want, Squeak,’ she sighs, reluctantly moving on.
. . .a final straw
Sara’s itinerary planning is either something to be praised or something to be feared, and I’m not sure which one. I’ve done more in these three days than I have in the entire three months I’ve travelled around Europe. We’ve toured the Arena and the theatre, perused an art museum in a medieval castle and walked through so many different piazzas that they’ve all started to blend into one. I’ve eaten my weight in gelato, focaccia and truffle pasta, and have frolicked through gardens so beautiful they made me feel ugly. She even organised a day trip to Lake Garda, taking Paige and me to the exact spot where Richard proposed to her. My thighs are sore from all the walking. My bunions have grown bunions. And I’m sick to death of stressing to my sisters that I’mabsolutely fine.
‘Keep up, Squeak!’ Sara calls to me as we march through the crowd of another vibrant piazza, mint gelato in hand.
I weave my way through the people and narrowly avoid a collision with a group of tourists who stop dead in their tracks for a photo. My ice cream wobbles as I halt, almost falling off the cone, but I swoop to catch it with my bottom lip. I can feel coldness spread to my chin and am suddenly starkly aware that my hands are too full and messy to search my bag for a loose tissue. However, Sara appears by my side in an instant, fresh napkin ready to dab at my skin.
‘Can’t take you anywhere,’ she says jokingly.
I tilt my chin further up, allowing her to wipe the remaining damage. She smiles when she’s finished, lightly waving thetissue in triumph before turning on her heel and continuing her stride.
We veer off the piazza to a narrower street, laden with stone buildings, painted in a variety of earthy colours. I stand still for a moment, glancing up at the wooden shutters and railed balconies as I feel a wave of excitement run through my body. It looks just like the movie.
‘I think it’s this one,’ Sara says.
She glances up from her phone to point at a humble apartment building to the left of us. It looks pretty unassuming, but the closer we get the more my heart patters at the thought of what I’m about to do.
‘Yep, definitely the one,’ Paige says.
