Page 56 of Wasted On Us

“I’m sorry, Eden, it’s that big client I told you about. He’s insisting on seeing me today.” I pause, searching her eyes. “I really don’t want to leave you right now, but this is something I can’t ignore.”

Her eyes soften, and she nods, understandingly. “I know. Business calls. Just call me as soon as you can, okay?”

I lean in, giving her a gentle and lingering kiss on the back of her hand. “Of course. You’re my priority. I’ll make it as quick as I can.”

With those reassuring words and another glance at her smile, I finally head back to the dealership, feeling both the pull of professional responsibility and the longing to be with the woman I love every second of the day.

Once I have him squared away, I spend the rest of the afternoon messaging Eden back and forth in between all of my other work. I let her bounce ideas off of me, throwing out dates and places with so much enthusiasm it makes my head spin. I’ve never seen her this excited about anything. It seems like she’s constantly typing up a storm, messages coming in faster than I can read them. I’m willing to take a backseat on this and let her plan the entire thing. This is her wheelhouse, after all.

There’s only one place I insist on going. Verona. Home of Romeo and Juliet. Because if anyone seems to be a modern-day pair of Montagues and Capulets, it’s us. I can feel Eden’s hesitation at the comparison. They were a tragedy after all.

But that story was written over four hundred years ago, and the guy who wrote it is dust by now. I don’t see why we can’t come up with our own ending instead.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Eden

I shove against my suitcase and groan, my heart rate accelerating.

I may not have been entirely truthful with my parents about our trip to Italy.

They were more than happy to agree to being guinea pigs for my new tour company. It helps that I found them extremely good rates for the airfare and hotels, and they’re just happy I’m finally finding some kind of direction in my life. If this business really takes off, then I’ll be out of their house and their hair faster than either of them can sayarrivederci.

I’ve given them a complete breakdown of our itinerary. They know exactly where we’re going and when, every single step of the way. I’m not a monster—I made sure they’re aware that a friend is coming, along with their parents, to help give me a better sample size of guest feedback.

I just may have left out the identity of said friend. It’s not that I meant to lie, not exactly. It just never came up. And my parents were so happy for me that I couldn’t find it in my heart to tell them the truth. On top of that, I’m scared. Which is why I’m having such a hard time getting my suitcase to shut that I might start weeping in the middle of the living room.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mom asks, swooping in from the kitchen with her trademark glass of Chardonnay in hand.

“I’m nervous about tomorrow.” I attempt sitting on my suitcase to try and flatten the damn thing enough to zip it. It works but then gets stuck an inch away from the end of the closure. I definitely overpacked.

She trills her lips, waving away my concerns with her hand. “Please. Everybody gets jitters the night before a trip. Especially if you’re flying over an ocean. It’s normal.”

“That’s not exactly it.” Giving up on the suitcase for now, I take a seat on the couch, tucking my feet under my legs and hugging a throw pillow against myself.

“Oh, hell,” she huffs, dramatically lowering herself into the armchair opposite me. “You’re canceling on us. I knew it. You never follow through with anything. First, becoming a translator, now this.”

Wow. Two whole things. What a list. I’m not sure how abandoning one career path, coupled with an assumption she’s making about something I haven’t even said yet, constitutes never following through with anything at all. My mother has never been known for her optimism.

“Yeah, Mom. That’s a lot of disappointment. I can see that.” I try to hide the sarcasm from my voice, but I’m not sure I’ve succeeded. As much as I want to argue with her, I really need her on my side. “Actually, I wanted to warn you that I need your help.”

“Of course. Money? Is that what you need? I mean, what else can I give you since you’re already living here.” She looks around the room, eyes trailing to the hallway and to the door of the guest room I’ve been staying in, her mouth scrunched up in thought. “By the way, if this goes well, how long until you could say… get your own place again?”

“In three months.” Holding three fingers in the air, I tell her the same thing I’ve told her at least ten times in the past few weeks. “I need to show stable pay. You know how this goes.

She taps her fingers against the bowl of her glass. “Right. No way around that?”

“No,” I remind her, before telling her the one thing that I’m sure will make her do whatever it takes to make this trip successful. “But if the business fails, then I could be stuck here forever.”

She goes pale, staring at the wine in her glass with wide, dead eyes. “We can’t let that happen.”

As much as my mom wants to pretend she likes having me around, I know she values her privacy. I get it. She spent over two decades trying to get all three of her little birds out of the nest. Now, she just needs to help me keep it that way.

“I didn’t think so. This is where the help comes in.”

She stares at me, not comprehending. “What could possibly go wrong that I could help with?”

“I mean…” I’m still terrified to say the words out loud. I certainly can’t do it while looking at her, so I settle for examining a corner of the ceiling instead, pretending that the popcorn texture is really fascinating while I rattle off a list of potential disasters. “Plane malfunction, lost luggage, hotel losing our reservations, Mateo and his family being on the tour, food poisoning…”

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