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“Do you mean boys?” she asks in a silly voice, teasing me.
I laugh and blush because, yes, I do mean boys. Neither Connie nor I have ever had a boyfriend. For one, Papa wouldn’t have allowed it, and two, life has felt so surreal since Mama died. It’s just been the three of us trying to live the new version of our lives without her in it while attempting to cope with our grief. It hasn’t been easy, for Papa or for us. But more and more lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like to flirt with a boy and go out on dates, maybe even have sex. I feel ready. I have done for a while, and not just because I’ve reached a milestone birthday. Raphael is the only boy I’ve ever kissed—just once, to find out what it was like—and that was five years ago! We haven’t done it again since; it felt wrong, like kissing a brother or cousin!
“Maybe,” I reply with a coy smile.
“Don’t let Raphy hear you say that; you know how possessive he gets. Nobody infiltrates the three amicis,” she says in a mock-serious tone.
“Maybe we should find Raphy a girlfriend,” I suggest. “He could get married to her and we could be bridesmaids and wear beautiful dresses! And then he wouldn’t have to live with his parents anymore. He’d definitely be happy to get away from them.”
“I know. Poor Raphy. He often says he wishes his father was kind, loving and supportive like Papa.”
I nod, feeling sad for our old friend and his family troubles. I think about my own family; Mama may be gone but I still have such a lot to be thankful for, and I’m going to make sure I appreciate every moment of this trip.
“I’m going to unpack!” says Connie after a moment and she heads back inside, leaving me alone on the wraparound balcony of our corner suite. Our bedrooms both have double doors leading onto it, with our living area in between. I already know the living area will become our makeshift dressing room as we try to decide which outfits to wear over the next few days, and there will probably be arguments about who wears what. But that’s the nature of sisters, especially those as close as we are.
“Cecelia!” I turn as I hear Connie shout my name.
“What is it?” I ask as she reappears on the balcony holding her phone, flushed with excitement.
“Raphy’s just messaged from next door. He says to get ready—Papa has chartered us a private yacht for the whole afternoon!” She jumps up and down, happy and giddy, and I can’t help but do the same.
An hour later, Connie, Raphael and I are being welcomed aboard Eleni by her crew. After exchanging handshakes and accepting flutes of champagne, we climb to the upper deck and take our seats in a circular seating booth, its central table covered with a spectacular grazing platter consisting of fruits, meats, breads, cheeses and sweet treats. I can barely contain my glee; I may be a petite Italian woman, but I cannot resist good food.
“I trust this is all to your satisfaction, Señorita Cecelia?” asks Raphael.
“Very much so!” I exclaim. “As you well know.”
“To you. Happy birthday, to our Cece,” he says, raising his glass.
“Yes, happy birthday, my darling sister,” says Connie, doing the same.
We all chink then drink and take our seats, talking animatedly about the food, the yacht, the days ahead as we eat and enjoy each other’s company. The three amicis, always together.
“So, Raphy…” I say. “Tell me, what other surprises do you and Papa have planned for us all?”
He takes a sip of his champagne, looking at me with a mischievous glint in his green eyes. “Oh no, Cece, you know I can’t tell you anything specific, otherwise they wouldn’t be surprises. However, I will say one thing: expect the unexpected. Other than that, you’ll just have to wait and see.”
I groan. “But you know how impatient I am! Connie, do you know anything?” I target my sister who is busy helping herself to more prosciutto. She lets go of the tongs and holds her palms up.
“I know nothing, I promise! You know I can’t keep secrets from you.”
I narrow my eyes at her, but I believe her. It’s true; there are no secrets between us.
Before she gets a chance to turn her attention back to her plate, Raphael spears her meat and shoves it into his mouth in one go. She squeals in annoyance, playfully hitting his arm. I splutter a laugh as I watch them, my two favorite people in the world: my beloved sister and the brother I never had.
The butler appears with more chilled champagne and as he tops up our glasses, I excuse myself to go to the little girl’s room. Although a full tour of the yacht is scheduled for after lunch, I want to have a sneak peek at the luxurious interior now. I make my way into the belly of the vessel, opening doors and peering inside rooms as I go. The design showcases cream leather and dark wood throughout, with silk and velvet cushions and Persian rugs adding texture. The neutral palette screams taste, class, and money, and I smile in appreciation. Despite Papa being an incredibly successful businessman, he’s brought us up to not take wealth for granted, to understand how privileged we are to live the life we do. And if the past few years have taught us anything, it’s how quickly and unexpectedly life can change.
Feeling like I’ve snooped enough for now, I go into the next bathroom I find and use the toilet. After washing my hands, I splash cold water onto my flushed face to calm down the two spots of color on my cheeks. This always happens when I drink champagne and I hear Connie’s voice in my head reminding me to stay hydrated.
“Okay, okay,” I say back to the voice, then giggle at myself. As I do, I catch my reflection in the mirror and for a moment I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me. The happy girl. The girl who’s now all grown up. The eighteen-year-old woman who’s made it through the past few terrible years and is now ready to start her adult life, here in Naples, today.
I tuck my long, curly, dark hair behind my ears and smooth down my red striped sundress before exiting the bathroom, intending to head straight back to Connie and Raphael. I must take a wrong turn somewhere because instead of emerging into the lounge which leads out onto the deck, I end up at the stern of the yacht. Although the area isn’t as large, there are two big, squashy sofas and a raised hot tub back here and I make a mental note to suggest we all take a dip at sunset; the panoramic view would be spectacular. However, right now there’s another yacht in my eyeline, swiftly approaching. And this other yacht really is something else.
As it sails nearer, I take in its sleek gray exterior, its three decks, its helipad, and the two jet skis on the bow. I also notice something else, or rather someone. A man, wearing sunglasses, facing towards me. His arms are braced against the stanchion and he’s standing as still as a statue. As the distance between us closes and the superyacht glides past mere meters away, slicing the mirrored water smoothly, he removes his sunglasses in one fluid movement. He’s close enough that I can see his features, take in his slicked black hair, his prominent nose, his pock-marked skin and the predatorial look in his dark eyes. I forget to breathe for a moment, feeling the weight of his static stare like a physical entity.
“Cece! There you are!”
The sound of Raphael’s voice startles me but I’m relieved to hear it. I exhale and smile at him.
