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She shooed the thought away.
And what about Italy?
Her absolute bitch of an inner voice wouldn’t let up.
But it was a legitimate question.
Tomás and Bess’s vow renewal celebration was days away.
Had she packed or prepared?
No.
She’d pushed the Italy trip out of her mind.
And why had she done that?
Neither Aria nor her husband had mentioned it.
When she’d pressed Landon about it last week, he’d blown off the question, then said he had to run to the bakery and grab a box of bonbons. Aria had agreed and joined the man on the outing, leaving her wondering what was going on.
Was she going with them or not?
She’d considered asking him point-blank when he returned with the chocolate treats.
But she hadn’t followed through.
A memory had percolated to the surface of her consciousness—a recollection that had kept her lips sealed.
A cold stoop. A granola bar and a creased envelope. A van disappearing down the street.
The little girl who was left behind.
“Donna and Damien’s outfits are a little over-the-top. Don’t you think?” Landon offered with a chuckle.
His words were a lifeline, bringing her back to the here and now.
And currently, her here and now included a life with Landon and Aria.
Focus on the good stuff.
She mustered a grin and studied the hosts’ theatrical ensemble. Sporting red shimmery berets and black and white striped shirts crafted with glittery sequins, the pair looked like the children’s coloring book version of a mime-inspired French couple.
“Are you telling me you don’t have a red bedazzled beret hidden in your dresser?” she joked, when a smattering of clickety clacking and high-pitched sniffling caught her attention. She glanced around the stage curtain and spied Bang Bang Barbie.
But there was nothing bang-bang about her. The blonde appeared distraught and deflated as she wobbled behind a scowling Vance.
Barbie wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of her wrist. “Vancey-Poo,” she blubbered, “my grandparents didn’t make macarons at their bakery. I never learned how to prepare them. I did my best.”
“You said you could bake,” Vance hissed.
And holy douche nozzle, she recognized the condescending tone of the pop poser.
Landon pressed his hand to her back. “They must think they’re alone,” he whispered.
She nodded. “Vance’s smiles are for show. He’s a real jerk.”
He was. Lazy, moody, and always looking for the easy out. How had she not seen it?
