Page 77 of Something Like Fate

My eyes widen. “Shit. You’re right. I didn’t even think about Caleb at all. Is that horrible of me? I’m a terrible person, aren’t I?”

It’s strange how something can feel so right in the moment. While we were dancing and kissing, it was like we were in our own world. Nothing else mattered. Last night, I didn’t have feelings for Caleb. Last night, Caleb wasn’t the person I was supposed to be with. And, dare I even think, last night Caleb wasn’t my soulmate.

She shakes her head. “No! You’re not technically together, even if he is your soulmate. And let’s not forget, he’s the one who ditched you in Florence.”

Before we hang up, Bianca tells me all about the time she slept with another guy while on a “break” from her then boyfriend and how it was justified. “Similar situation,” she assures me, letting me off the hook.

She’s right. Logically, I know I didn’t cheat or anything. Caleb is technically out of the picture right now. But it still feels wrong. Like I’ve both betrayed my destiny and messed up my most valued friendship in the process.

I’m grateful when we meet up with Loraine, Nettie, and a couple other guests for today’s activity—truffle hunting. Having other people around takes the pressure off. On the bus, we choose seats opposite each other on the aisle. It’s a subtle shift, as we’ve always sat next to each other.

We stop at a rustic farmhouse and are greeted by a burly farmer named Antonio. He’s gracious and welcoming, but speaks so softly, we can barely hear him. As it turns out, truffle hunting isn’t as glamorous as it sounds. In reality, it’s just digging around in the dirt with a basket and a rusty spade. The only consolation is the cool shade of the forest.

I spend most of my time petting Antonio’s loyal truffle-hunting dog, Mimi, a Lagotto Romagnolo. Eventually, Antonio politely requests that I refrain from petting her. I’m distracting her from her job.

I catch Teller digging around in the dirt under the shade of a huge tree. We haven’t said more than two words to each other since this morning, and it’s starting to wear on me. I have to fix this. Now.

“We’re okay, right?” I ask, unable to stand the silence any longer.

His gaze meets mine. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we be?” he says after a long pause.

“Well, we did have sex.”

His eyes widen. “We did?”

I back up a step. How could he not remember? We were both entirely sober—at least I was. “Wait, you don’t remem—”

Before I can finish, his face breaks into a wide, goofy smile. “I’m just kidding, Lo. I remember it. Trust me.”Trust me.

There are so many ways I could interpret that statement. But at this point, I don’t really trust myself to interpret anything about Teller.

“This doesn’t change things between us, does it? Like, we can just forget it ever happened, right? Go back to being totally normal? Just us?” I’m technically asking him, but really, I’m asking myself. Can I forget when the night is emblazoned in my mind? Unlikely.

A beat. Two beats. “Yeah. I mean, if that’s what you want, we can agree to never speak of it from here on out. It’s just casual vacation sex, remember?”

“Right. Casual vacation sex.” I try to say it confidently, even though it feels like anything but.

Thankfully, the best distraction comes at dinner.

At least we’re back on speaking terms. It’s taken a while to get there, but I force it through a series of inappropriate jokes and unnatural conversation, and things are much improved from this morning. Hopefully, by the time we go to Amalfi tomorrow, things will be back to normal.

Neither of us wants to return to our room, the scene of the crime. So we stay on the communal patio long after our dinner plates are empty. The conversation flows: about the food, the beauty of the villa, memories from the trip. But there’s a weird energy hanging between us. Normally, Teller is one of the only people I can tolerate long stretches of silence with. But tonight, it’s like he’s desperate to fill any lull.

“Hey, did I show you Doris’s Halloween costume from last year?” he asks, pulling his phone out to find a picture.

I smile politely, leaning in to look again. “You showed me that one a few weeks ago. The ladybug one your mom made?”

A flash of disappointment flits across his face, and I can tell he’s racking his brain for something else to talk about.

“What do you think Doris is up to right now?” I ask.

“She’s most likely holding court on my dad’s lap.”

I laugh, though I’m desperate, internally combing through various potential topics. When I come up short, I start tearing my napkin into shreds. This is it. This is the end of us. In my panic, I blurt, “Have you finally figured out how to express Doris’s anal glands?” I am clearly not okay. Send the police.

Teller’s eyes go round. He’s horrified. Before he can respond, the villa owner’s daughter approaches, as though she knew we needed saving. I assume she’s checking if we want the bill, but instead, she leans into my ear and whispers, “There’s someone at the front desk for you.”

I look at Teller. “What?”

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