Page 166 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

Allison pats him on the arm. “Marketing ploy got you down?”

“I believe in truth in advertising.”

She tips her head back and laughs. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.” She points at the shopkeeper. “Please, ignore us. Let us begin the tasting.”

I look around at the others. Does anyone really want to drink from some unknown bottle in this group? I can’t be the only one thinking this.

But apparently I am, because Connor picks up a small glass of red wine and downs it with a flourish.

“I thought you didn’t like wine,” Isabella says, picking up her own glass.

“That’s Champagne,” Allison says. “Important distinction.”

Isabella wrinkles her nose and tastes her wine. “Oh, this is lovely.”

I watch her drink it, and when nothing happens, I pick up a glass.

“I thought we said…” Oliver mutters.

“When in Rome, am I right?”202

“When in Ravello.”

He picks up his glass and we clink them together. Only they’re plastic, so the sound they make is unsatisfying.

“Here goes nothing,” I say, and tip it into my mouth. The flavors are wonderful, and when nothing happens, I finish the glass and look around. “What’s next?”

“Shall we open the next bottle?” the shopkeeper asks.

“Bring it.”

An hour later, we’re all drunk.

Drunkity drunk, drunk, drunk.

Even Harper. Even Oliver.

This is what happens when you give a bunch of people who fear for their lives and/or are plotting murder unlimited alcohol during the middle of the day before lunch.

Day drinking.

Day murder.

Wait, that’s not a thing, is it?

Lord, I hope not.

Some of the wine is delicious, some mediocre, and some it doesn’t matter given how much we’ve all had. We’re supposed to be spitting it out after we swirl it around and appreciate it, but—and I mean this in the nicest possible way—fuck that.

I drink it all down, and so do the others, and I order a bunch of it to be sent to me in Venice (California, not Italy). Harper clucks her tongue at the price, but I tell her that you only live once and you can’t take it with you, and she rolls her eyes and laughs and we’re into the Champagnes now, so everyone but Connor is giggling.

Even Oliver, even Guy.

Someone’s about to say I love you, man when Sylvie tells us that our time is up and we need to climb some more stairs to the town square to meet the BookFace Ladies for lunch.

There’s a chorus of groans, but this is a good idea.

We all need to step away from the drinks and take a beat.

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