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“Ahhh,” I moaned. “I never should have had that last macchiato!”

“That’s it over there! It’s a freakin’ castle!” Sabrina hugged the wheel and stared at the massive neoclassical villa clinging to a rocky outcrop above the glimmering blue waters of the lake. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that I’d make it inside before I embarrassed myself.

Thankfully, we pulled into the gravel driveway not sixty seconds later. Sabrina clicked on the child locks before I could hurl myself out of the still-moving vehicle. “I’m not letting you out until you repeat after me: I will not let that undeserving fuckboy touch me this weekend.”

“He has to touch me, Sabrina! He’s supposed to be my fiancé!” I groaned and wiggled in my seat. “Fine . . . I will not let Levi touch me this weekend. I won’t kiss him or think about kissing him, I won’t imagine his head or his penis or any other appendages between my legs. All good?”

“See, you have been thinking about it! Stop!” She unclicked the locks. “You may go now.” I shot out the car and raced up the stairs to the entrance where an actual butler was standing in front of the massive doors.

“Buongiorno, signore.” I tiptoed in place as I waited for the others to join us. Levi and Sabrina were already arguing. This weekend was promising.

“I wasn’t driving that fast,” Sabrina said as the mounted the stairs.

“You could have gotten in an accident!” Levi’s face was white and jaw tight as he practically shouted at Sabrina and I momentarily forgot how bad I had to pee when I saw how shaken he looked.

“Aren’t you a fighter pilot? Why are you scared of going a little over the speed limit?”

“A little over the speed limit? You practically teleported here!” Levi’s hand trembled, and before I could think better of it, I grabbed it.

“Hey, Levi, it’s my fault. I told her to go fast.” I sensed that this was bigger than this moment, that somehow all of this was tied to the anniversary that was approaching. Though neither of us had acknowledged it.

His eyes met mine and he nodded, but his normally sensual mouth was a flat colorless line. I turned back to the poker-faced butler, a reed-thin man with silver hair and black eyebrows. “Signorina Russo e signore Jasinski.”

“E voi due?” He turned his attention to Sabrina and Pete.

“Peter O’Malley.” Pete turned on his English charm and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I brought someone with me at the last moment. I hope that’s all right.”

“Would it be possible to go straight to our room?” I interrupted. “It’s rather urgent.”

Another member of the household staff led us up the arching stone staircase and down a long hallway, our footsteps echoing on the marble floors, to an enormous suite with a canopy bed and gilded mirrors.

As soon as he left, I raced into the bathroom and unbuttoned my jeans. “Turn on some music, will you?” I yelled.

“I’ve heard you pee before,” said Levi.

“No you haven’t,” I argued.

“Camping. I escorted you to the bushes,” he retorted but put on some classical music. Wagner’s “Thus Spake Zarathustra”—the drums banged and I finally emptied my bladder.

I took a minute washing my hands in the ornate marble sink and staring at my reflection—pale, hair frizzy around my temples, shadows under my eyes from not sleeping last night. I hadn’t been eating well. Stress always did that to me. And this time of the year was never good for me. I took a deep breath and stepped outside, gathering up the courage to face the elephant in the room.

Levi stood by the window, staring out at the lake and the pine-covered hills, like a lost little boy. An ache went through me so powerful it was like a knife slitting my insides.

“Levi, why were you so upset back there?” My voice was a whisper, and when he turned to face me, worry still lined his features.

“Because it was risky. The roads were wet. She could have spun out. You could’ve—”

“Had an accident?” I finished.

“Yeah.” He moved closer, so close I had to tilt my head back to look up at him. He put his hands around my shoulders. “You have to promise me, Indy, not to take any unnecessary risks right now.”

I waited. I wanted him to say it, to admit that he was as wrecked by the pending anniversary as I was. There were too many things left unsaid. Instead, he swallowed and pulled away.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” I asked.

He flinched. I didn’t have to say what “it” was. He gestured to the ornate room around us. “Do really think right now is a good time?”

“There’s never a good time, and we’ve never talked about it. Not since the day you left.”