Page 86 of The Best Wild Idea
Chapter 40
Juliet
The letter.
How could I have forgotten the letter that would be waiting?
We’d gone straight to Nonna Lisi’s house from the airport. I hadn’t even thought about the letter that was waiting for me at the hotel all afternoon. A cold wave of guilt crashes through me, like ice rushing to my core.
“Thank you,” I stammer, then grab Grant’s letter off the counter, suddenly avoiding Silas’ gaze.
He’s frozen beside me.
I lick my bottom lip before biting down, staring at the envelope in my hands.
My mind’s blank, like a dank fluorescent light that’s about to go out, buzzing loudly, ringing harshly in both ears. I feel stupid and embarrassed and angry with myself that just the sight of Grant’s letter makes me feel like I’m gasping in the dark beneath the weight of it.
Silas quickly swipes the keys off the counter. We somehow make it to the nearby elevator and begin riding up in silence.
We should have stopped at that Bed and Breakfast.
We should have allowed ourselves to just live in that moment, consequences be damned. To be simply two people with no past and no future, making one uncomplicated memory on a sidewalk in Italy together.
If only it were that easy.
I pretend to stare down at my feet the whole way up to our suite, but instead, I’m watching his hand hang empty by his side and I scream at myself to just grab it.
Hold it.
Hold on tohimbefore he retreats back into himself, too.
Nothing has changed from just a moment ago. I still want him. And I hope he still wants me. But I don’t move.
The elevator door chirps cheerfully when it slides open, directly leading into our penthouse suite on the top floor.
He clears his throat and holds out his arm, to let me out first. I walk a few feet into the suite, then close my eyes before planting my feet, not going another step further.
All the way back to the hotel, I’d kissed Grant’s best friend while his next letter was waiting for me behind the counter here.
Three hundred and seventy-some days now, just waiting for me to pick it up.
What kind of woman am I?
The kind of woman that’s chosen to go on, a light voice answers back in my head.
Nonna Lisi’s words echo next.
You find the best things in the most messy parts of your life.
The elevator door slides shut behind us.
Heavy silence fills the room.
Without a word, Silas walks toward the gilded bar in the corner near a pile of our luggage to pour himself a nightcap. He looks stressed, exhausted, like just seeing that letter has torn him up just as much as it has me.
“Want one?”
He holds up a glass, but doesn’t wait for an answer. Grabbing a crystal decanter filled with some type of alcohol, he splashes a good amount inside, then offers it to me.
