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“Whatever you want to do. Sell it. The business, the house, everything. Move away. Leave Chicago and start over. You’re so young, you have your entire life ahead of you yet.”
There are tears on the brim of her eyes, but she’s fighting like mad to not let them fall. I don’t know what she expected me to say. Part of me thinks she wanted me to tell her to move in with me, to stay with me, to be mine, but I know I’m just a distraction from the fact that her entire world just imploded. She’s drowning in a world of uncertainty right now, and I’m the only anchor she has to the world she once knew.
“You deserve better than all this, Em. You always have.” I close the door and she drives away.
13
EMERY
THREE MONTHS LATER…
Itighten the knot on my Hermes scarf beneath my chin as I look in the rearview mirror of the 1960 Ferrari 250GT Cabriolet I rented in Positano, Italy, my cat eye sunglasses and pink lips pulling the entire look together.
“Signora molto bella!” An older Italian gentleman blows me a kiss at the stoplight I’m at.
“Grazie!” I shout back before the light changes and I speed down the Amalfi Coast.
After spending a solid month in bed watching old Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly movies, I decided that I was done moping. I gave myself time to wallow in pity and momentarily drown my sorrows in a few expensive bottles of wine I dug out of our wine cellar and some cheap chocolate I loaded up on at the convenience store in town. But now, I’m ready to discover myself.
Mads was right. I have my entire life ahead of me. And for the first time, I have no expectations from others on how I’m supposed to live it. So I packed my bags and decided to spend a month in Europe between my family’s houses in Paris and Positano.
One realization that has been hard to accept was that I was young and naive when I met Dane and he most likely used that to his advantage. I don’t blame him for it; I had no idea who I was when I met him. I was still fresh off the pain of losing my parents, the two people who had told me exactly how to live my life every day for nineteen years.
I have spent several, if not most, nights over the last three months crying myself to sleep. Each week becomes a little easier, marginally. I still feel so lost, so out of control of my own life. I know that trying to make “sense” of why Dane chose to keep things from me, betray our trust and love, and cheat on me is pointless. There will never be awhythat justifies his actions. I know he loved me, I felt it, but I also know there’s so much more to our story that I don’t know about. Something inside me gnaws at me continuously, telling me that he didn’t kill himself because of a bad business deal. I knew him. I know he wouldn’t kill himself because of that… There has to be something I’m missing.
Something more.
Something deeper.
Something darker.
“Buon pomeriggio, Piero.” I smile and wave to the groundskeeper once I pull the car into the driveway of the house.
“Buon pomeriggio, bellissima!” He smiles, his eyes almost disappearing as he waves enthusiastically.
I’ve known Piero my entire life. He’s been our groundskeeper here since my parents bought this house when I was a little girl.
I was originally scared to travel alone. I thought that it would make me feel even more isolated and lonely, that I would just fixate on all of the good times that I have had with Dane or my parents, but it’s actually been quite cathartic. For the first time, I’ve felt close to my parents since their passing. Being back here, I’ve felt a kind of warmth that I felt when they were alive. And as for Dane, it’s been a step toward closure for me, allowing the memories we had at these places to drift away.
I pull the scarf from my head, letting my hair down and taking the stairs up to my bedroom. I stop in front of a large floor-length mirror, my reflection catching my attention. I run my hands over my floral summer dress, spinning slightly to take in my entire silhouette. I picked up this dress on a whim; the bright flowers and large green leaves called to me like I simply had to have it. Just six months ago I never would have considered buying a dress like this. It looks exactly like something Grace Kelly would have worn inRear Window.I even purchased a pair of bright-pink flats that perfectly match the dress.
I run my hand through my long hair, contemplating if I should follow in Audrey Hepburn’s steps inSabrinaandRoman Holidayand chop it all off but deciding that instead, a much more fun and liberating approach will be donating everything in my closet and starting fresh. Choosing clothes that make me happy, not someone else.
When Dane and I first met, his gentle suggestions at what I should wear were welcome. I was still a teenager and I had no style of my own. Wearing what he liked made me feel like I was being a good girlfriend and good wife. I told myself I liked the styles he chose, and I did for the most part, but if you were to tell me to pick whatever I wanted to wear, I wouldn’t have a clue. I would have stuck with the muted gem tones and simple basics that all the socialites around me wore. They love to call it the “old money look,” but I always referred to it as “sad and beige.”
My eyes drift down to my wedding set, something I haven’t yet stopped wearing. My chest feels tight when I look down at my hand. What once brought me so much joy and happiness now only brings me pain.
“Don’t cry.” I close my eyes tight. I’m so tired of crying, of not knowing how I should feel. I’m torn between grief from losing my husband, my best friend, and anger toward him for abandoning me and breaking my heart along the way.
I don’t have any best friends anymore. Once the funeral was over, it was like all those people in our life that attended all our anniversary parties and holiday events ceased to exist. One by one, they slowly stopped reaching out and even when I did, most of the time my texts or calls have been left unanswered. Part of me feels relief, that I can cut ties without feeling bad, and find people that I truly connect with and trust.
An image of Mads pops into my head. He’s the only person I think I can trust and even then, I’m not too sure. The night he put me in my car outside his club and told me to move on and start over was the last time I saw him. Even through my anger at him for not telling me what Dane was doing at his club, he has been a constant thought this entire trip. When I close my eyes, I see his looking back at me. When I touch my lips, I imagine what it would be like to feel his against mine.
My cheeks flush in the mirror at the thought of Mads’ hands on my body. Of finally tasting his lips against mine. And mixed with all the desire and lust I feel for him, the ever present guilt of betraying Dane simmers just beneath the surface. I know he cheated on me. I know he lied to me, but I’m not a vengeful person. The love I felt for Dane was real. Every emotion, every effort I put into our marriage was genuine. That doesn’t go away just because you find out the other person betrayed you.
I walk back downstairs, pouring myself a flute of champagne and walking out to the veranda that overlooks the Mediterranean Sea. This has been my routine each evening. Before dinner, I enjoy a glass of champagne, watching the boats on the water.
My thoughts drift back to Mads. I’ve kept the burner phone he gave me charged, but I haven’t used it. I’ve been tempted a few times after one too many cocktails, but I’ve managed to restrain myself. I can feel myself holding back when it comes to him. I want to explore the attraction I’ve always had toward him, but I’m not sure it’s reciprocated. I noticed pain in his eyes the last night I saw him, and I can only assume it’s from the guilt he feels for betraying the memory of his best friend and sleeping with his wife. The same guilt that has taken up residence in my own feelings.
