Page 43 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“Just bring me some carabinieri,” Shek says, already into his second glass of house red. The top of his half-bald head is shining under the overhead lighting, and his cheeks are tinged with red. He got here “directly on time,” he announced when Harper and I arrived, then looked pointedly at his watch.

“He means carbonara,” I say to the waiter, not sure why I’m explaining for him.

Shek has one of those bellies that protrudes from his body like he’s pregnant, so I think he knows what kind of pasta he likes.

“He thinks it’s funny.”

“Uh, yes, miss. We don’t have that on the menu…”

“What? Your fancy chef can’t whip some up? For the amount we’re paying…”

I hold up a hand. “You’re not paying for anything, Shek. Just go with the flow, all right? It’ll be a cultural experience.”

His face flushes a darker red, and he mumbles something about “not needing any cultural experiences, thank you very much.”

I tell the waiter he can bring things out at whatever speed they planned, and to do the full wine pairing as well. If I have to sit through this three-hour meal, then I might as well get good and shit-faced.

Connor orders a Negroni, his signature drink. He told me once, in a vulnerable moment, that wine makes him feel jittery, and he can’t drink anything in the Champagne family at all.

How sad.

“How many courses is it?” Emily asks, sipping from her glass of Prosecco. She speaks with the flat accent of a Manhattanite, and she’s wearing a black cocktail dress that shows off the cut of her collarbones. She’s in her late twenties, very thin, and her thick black hair is in a blunt cut at her shoulders. She looks more like a model than an author.60

At least my kind of author. No wonder everyone always thinks Harper’s the famous one.

“Not sure,” I say. “Ten, maybe?”

“Ten!”

“They’ll be small. Don’t eat it if you don’t want to.”

She turns up her nose, and I feel a twinge of sympathy. You can only be that thin through genetics or starving yourself, and I’m guessing she’s chosen the second.

“Congratulations on all of your success,” I say, raising my glass. I catch a startled look from Oliver,61 who’s been quiet since I sat down. “Here’s to you and your book. May you stay on the list for as long as possible.”

“Oh… um, thank you. Yeah, it’s been a whirlwind. But you know what that’s like.” She looks at Connor as she says this, but he’s busy talking to the Canadian girl. Isabel? No, Isabella.

“You should enjoy it while it lasts. It can all go away in an instant.”

Emily puts her glass down carefully. “That won’t happen to me.”

“That so?”

“I won’t let it.”

“Well, good luck with that.” I look at Oliver now. He’s wearing a dark blue suit without a tie, and his white dress shirt brings out the tan on his face. He’s always cleaned up nicely.62

“Have you read her book, Oli? You might like it.”

“Oh?” The side of his mouth is twitching.

“Isn’t When in Rome your favorite book of mine?”

“Ohmygod! You wrote When in Rome?” Isabella says. “My mom loves that book.”

“Thanks.”

“No, like, seriously. She’s ob-sessed. She has all your first editions in this little nook… Connor! Why didn’t you tell me who Eleanor was.” She gives him a playful whack on his shoulder. “My mom is going to freak when I tell her I met you. Can we get a selfie?”

---