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When I finally venture into her room, I find out why. She hasn’t returned from her night out. Further explorations of Mount Etna will have to wait. Suits me. A slow day is exactly what I need.
I spot Zoe on her terrace, stretched out on the lounger with large sunglasses covering her eyes.
“Hey, Zo. Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all. Though, I’m too tired to talk,” she says, yawning.
“Same here.” I put up the umbrella to avoid the full sun and recline on the other lounger. “You went out last night?” I ask.
“Hmm.” Is all the answer I get.
I wonder if she had another wild night with Mateo and Romeo. She does have that certain glow about her. So much for not having sex for a while. I knew she’d never last. I’ll find out more later.
We’re quiet for some time, dozing as the light breeze cools our heated skins. Zoe really must be exhausted. She hasn’t even asked me where her sister is, which is most unlike her. Two full nights of sexcapades will do that to a girl.
“Let’s order breakfast,” Zoe eventually suggests. “I need food.”
“Great idea. I’ll have an omelet. Can you check if they can make it with capsicum, parsnip, and kale?”
“Who has parsnips in their omelet?” she murmurs under her breath.
I admit, parsnip in an omelet is unusual, but my dad and I always loved it, and it’s my way of remembering him.
“It’s your turn to order,” Zoe mumbles. Neither one of us wants to get up.
I don’t even open my eyes to respond. “Not true. I called room service in Palermo.”
“Bugger.” Zoe yawns loudly. “Let’s play rock, paper, scissors. Best of three,” she proposes, lazily rolling onto her side to face me.
“Fine,” I grumble. She’s clearly forgotten I always win this game, and after only two rounds, I do… with a bright smirk on my face.
Zoe moans but gets up and slowly heads inside. She walks carefully and only seems to take deliberate steps.
“Don’t forget my licorice tea,” I call after her.
I hear Zoe inside, placing our order. Joyful sounds drift in from all around, but when I glance over to the other balconies on either side of us, they’re all empty. There’s no sign of life—no towels hanging over chairs or umbrellas open. It’s strange because the balconies above and below seem to have plenty of activity.
When Zoe returns, I ask, “Have you noticed that we seem to be the only ones on this floor?”
Surprised, she has a look around. “Hmm,” she says sleepily while gingerly laying back down and shutting her eyes. “Maybe they’re doing some renovations?”
“In peak tourist season? That would be stupid.”
“Does it matter?” she asks, yawning some more.
“I guess not. At least, it’s nice and quiet,” I say, following her example. Closing my eyes, we doze until there’s a knock.
“Food is here. I ordered, you get the door,” Zoe mumbles, still half asleep.
We eat in silence until halfway through breakfast, when an exuberant Rhia appears in the balcony doorway.
“I want to get married,” she announces without a hello.
That gets Zoe’s attention. She spits out the juice she was drinking. “What?! Are you crazy?” she nearly yells.
“That’s wonderful,” I say at the same time. “What brought on this change?”
She sits down next to me, excitement radiating off her.
