Page 20 of The Villa

Scarred and looking older than the stone that surrounded it, the massive oak entrance had a lion’s head for a knocker, and wide knobs made of a dark metal.

If only, she will think a thousand times after.If only we had never come here, if only we had stayed in London, if only I had never walked through that door…

But ifs are pointless.

She did come there, they had not stayed in London.

She had walked through that door.

—Lilith Rising, Mari Godwick, 1976

CHAPTER FIVE

I wake up the next morning with the mother of all headaches, just like I’d feared.

The wine that had tasted like peaches and honey on my tongue last night tastes like furry garbage this morning, and I wince as I get out of bed. I’d stumbled up here sometime way past midnight, drunk and giddy and too exhausted to even appreciate how comfortable the bed was, how the sheets smelled like flowers and sunshine. I vow to myself that it was just a First Night Celebration thing, and I’ll be more careful with the wine—and the limoncello—for the rest of the trip. I mean, I just got back to feeling relatively normal, the last thing I want is to wake up likethisevery morning.

The hottest shower in the world and some very intense teeth-brushing helps get rid of the worst hangover symptoms, and by the time I’m dressed and heading downstairs in search of coffee, I feel slightly more human again.

“Chess?” I call out, keeping my voice pitched fairly lowin case she’s still sleeping it off. But the rooms downstairs are quiet, and when I make my way into the kitchen, I see that it’s already almost noon.

Thankfully, the house comes equipped with one of those fancy pod coffee machines, and I make myself a cup, drifting over to the kitchen table where I see there’s a note from Chess scrawled on a pink legal pad.

Going to run some errands and try to get whatever fucking goblin is currently hammering inside my brain out of there. Giulia left sandwich stuff in the fridge XOXO Infinity!

I’m still not quite up to Sandwich Level, so I take my coffee into the back sitting room. It’s a bit more modern than where we hung out last night, the floors shining, the sofa a little newer, and I sit down with a grateful sigh, propping my bare feet on the coffee table.

I tilt my head back as a soft breeze blows in through the open French doors. I should probably open my laptop today, give Petal and Dex at least an hour of my time, but for now, I’m happy to just sit in the quiet.

My phone beeps in my pocket.

Well, the relative quiet.

I pull out my cell to see that I have a missed call and two text messages.

All are from Matt.

I frown.

We’re not technically divorced yet, but since he moved out, we’ve really only communicated through lawyers. The idea of trying to make small talk with a man I once thought was going to be the father of my children is too depressing, so I’ve been happy—well, not exactlyhappy, but resigned—to simply close down the lines of communication.

And now, just as I’m settling into what is supposed to be a relaxing, rejuvenating getaway, here he is.

I have no intention of calling back, but I do read the texts.

Just checking to make sure you got there okay.

How the fuck does he even know I’m away?

But then I remember. The night before I left, I posted on Instagram. Just an old shot of me and Chess back in high school, our arms around each other, cheeks pressed together, smiles wide.

“Off to Italy for a *whole summer* with this one! Here’s to over two decades of friendship and all the pasta we can eat.”

It had gotten the usual comments: “Italia! Have fun!” “Is Dex coming back in Book 10?????” “If Dex isn’t back, WE RIOT,” and a new addition, “Holy shit u know Chess Chandler??”

But now, when I open the app, I see there’s a new comment. Matt’s profile picture (updated from the shot of us walking down the aisle at our wedding to him gazing off toward a sunset, aviators shading his eyes) appears next to the words: “Hope you and your ‘bestie’ enjoy yourselves.”

It’s the first time he’s commented on any post of mine in over a year. Honestly, even before the separation, Matt wasn’t big on providing social media validation. Not that this is all that validating. I don’t know if those quotation marks are meant to be sarcastic or if he’s just making sure no one would ever think he’d use the word “bestie” unironically.

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