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“But then I can’t sit next to my daughter. You have to understand. I need to sit next to her.”
“Do you think you can switch seats?” Sarah asks me.
“But … that’s my seat,” I say lamely. “I reserved it.”
“But I need to sit with my daughter,” the woman says.
Sarah sighs, putting her hands on her hips. “Well, someone needs to move.”
All eyes turn to me. I want to object, but I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself, so I nod and turn to the woman. “What’s your seat number?”
Her eyes shine with glee as she rattles it off. And that’s how I end up at the back of the plane, in a middle seat, stuck between a man wearing horrible aftershave and a woman who insists on talking to me, even though all I want is to be left alone with my book.
* * *
LA is surprisinglycold when I land. It’s the winter, after all, but without all the snow, looks are deceiving. I wrap my jacket around myself, waiting for Emilia and Marco to pick me up. I wait and wait and wait.
Checking the time, it’s well past the hour they were supposed to come for me. I try to keep my tears back. I’m just exhausted after traveling and dealing with all the people. It’s so draining for me.
When another half hour passes, I decide to just get a taxi and head for Emilia and Marco’s house. It takes another hour to get to their place, and once I see the familiar Spanish-style mansion, I feel instantly better. I can’t wait to snuggle into my new bed with a good book about Greek sculptures.
I knock on the door when I arrive. A middle-aged woman answers. “Yes?”
“Uh, I’m Francesca. Is Emilia and Marco home?”
“Yes, they are. May I ask your business with them.”
“I’m Emilia’s sister,” I say with a frown. “I’m here to stay with them for a while.”
She motions me inside. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”
After a couple of minutes, Emilia comes down the stairs, looking happy but confused. “Francesca.” She’s heavily pregnant at eight months. It’s her first baby, which means I’ll be an aunt for the first time. Even as pregnant as she is, she still manages to look effortlessly beautiful, with her golden hair and glowing skin. “What are you doing here?” She hugs me. “Are you ok? You’re not in danger, are you?”
I pull back. “Uh, didn’t Mom tell you I was coming? She wants me to stay with you for a while. At least until you can help me find a suitable husband.”
“Did she now?” Emilia shakes her head. “No. Mom must have forgot. I didn’t know you were coming. Trust me. If I had, I would have made sure to pick you from the airport.”
“She made it seem like she’d called to ask you guys.”
“You know Mom. She can be forgetful. But no worries. I’m happy you’re here. We have plenty of space. Stay as long as you want.” She grabs my back from me.
“Should you be carrying that?”
Emilia waves her hand. “I’m pregnant. Not dead. You should hear Marco. He thinks I should rest in bed all day. Like that’s going to happen.” She grunts as she heads up the stairs. “Let me show you to your room.”
Marco’s mansion is just that—a mansion. It’s huge, with long twisting hallways and hundreds of rooms. I keep offering to carry my bag, but Emilia keeps insisting she can do it.
The room she puts me in is decorated with soft rose gold hues. It’s cozy enough for me to read in, which is perfect.
“Who was that at the door?” I ask.
“Our housekeeper, Hannah. She’s great.” Emilia grunts again as she lifts my bag onto the bed. “Now, I think we should chat and catch-up. I want to know how you’ve been.” She places a hand on her low back as she lowers herself onto the bed.
My mind immediately goes to Franco slapping Mom, but I can’t get the words out. What I saw terrified me. I’m not ready to speak about it just yet.
“The usual,” I say instead.
Emilia pats the spot next to her. “Tell me more. What book are you reading now?”
