CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 52
Mila

I came downstairs in the morning dressed in a light sundress, my hair still damp from the shower. A foolish, fragile hope fluttered in my chest, Maybe today. Maybe, because it’s supposed to be a honeymoon, Things will be different.

The hope died the second I saw him, his back to me, already speaking to Jade.

“I have a meeting,” he said, his voice flat and final. “I’ll be back later.”

He turned slightly as I reached the bottom step. His gaze flicked over me, a swift, impersonal scan, like checking a weather report, and landed back on Jade.

He offered no explanation for where he was going or when he’d return. No invitation to join him later. Nothing. He simply walked out, the heavy door closing with a soft, definitive click.

I stood frozen on the last step, my hand on the banister. I stared at the empty space he’d occupied, feeling the heat of humiliation crawl up my neck. You idiot, I told myself. What did you expect? Flowers? Breakfast together? This is the agreement. This is what you signed up for. The silence in the grand foyer felt mocking.

“Men,” Jade’s voice came, mild and observational, from behind me. “Truly fascinating creatures when they decide to be difficult.”

I turned, forcing my expression into something neutral. She was already dressed for the day in a flowing linen skirt and a simple blouse, her sunglasses perched on her head. She looked effortlessly composed, a stark contrast to the messy, hopeful feeling still curdling inside me.

“You look like you need air,” she said, her tone softening. “Come. Let’s walk.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, simply hooked her arm through mine and steered me towards the villa’s gardens.

The morning sun was warm, the air scented with jasmine and sea salt. It should have been calming, but it just felt like a beautiful backdrop to my own disappointment. We walked in silence for a while, my sandals crunching on the gravel path, until the manicured gardens gave way to a winding slope that led down to the town.

The moment we stepped onto the cobblestone streets, the world changed. The quiet of the villa was replaced by a gentle, lively hum. The buildings were painted in faded shades of gold and ochre, their wooden shutters thrown open to the day.

Lines of laundry stretched between balconies, clothes billowing like sails. The sea was a constant presence, a salty, mineral tang on the breeze, a blue glimpse at the end of every narrow alley.

People moved with a different rhythm here. An older woman arranging bright yellow lemons on a stand outside her shop saw us and waved, her smile wide and unguarded. “Buongiorno!”

“Buongiorno,” Jade called back, giving my arm a slight squeeze.

We passed an old man sitting on a stool, a hat on his head. He tipped it as we walked by, muttering something in Italian. Jade laughed, a light, genuine sound.

“Is he flirting with you?” I asked, grateful for the distraction.

“With you, Mila,” she corrected, a smug, knowing look in her eye. “You’re a rare beauty here. A fresh face.”

I shook my head, a faint, disbelieving laugh escaping me. I knew I was beautiful no doubt but being a rare beauty seemed far fetched

We stopped at a small bakery wedged between two taller buildings. The air inside was a physical warmth, thick and sweet with the smell of baking dough and melting sugar.

“Cannoli,” Jade announced, as if revealing a great secret. “If you leave Italy without eating a cannoli, you’ve committed a crime against yourself.”

The woman behind the counter, her arms dusted with flour, beamed at us. She took crisp, empty shells and filled them on the spot with glossy, white ricotta cream, then dusted them with a snowstorm of powdered sugar. She handed one to me with a smile.

I took a careful bite. The shell shattered with a perfect crack, giving way to the cool, subtly sweet, faintly citrus-scented filling. It was so good it was almost disorienting.

“Oh,” I breathed, my eyes widening. “Oh my God.”

Jade’s grin was triumphant. “See? The world is not all bad. It has cannoli.”

We walked on, eating our pastries. Powdered sugar coated my fingers and I caught myself licking it off, something I’d never do if I was being careful.

For a few minutes, I wasn’t thinking about Lance, or the cold villa, or the life waiting for me back home. I was just a woman eating a cannoli on a sunny street, and the wind was trying to steal my napkin. I laughed, really laughed, as I chased it.

“You’re thinking again,” Jade said suddenly, pulling me from the simple moment.

I blinked, swallowing the last bite. “Hmm?” I tried to sound casual, but I could feel my walls going back up.

“Are you thinking about Lance?”

The question was so direct it felt like a physical poke. I inhaled a crumb and choked, coughing violently into my hand. Jade patted my back firmly, her expression a mix of concern and amusement.

When I could breathe again, I gave her a watery, embarrassed smile. “Sorry.”

“Do you always do that?” she asked, her head tilted.

“Do what?”

“Choke when you’re flustered. .” she smiled kindly. “I’ll have to remember not to mention certain subjects while you’re eating.”

We passed tiny shops selling hand-painted ceramics, their blues and yellows dazzling in the sun. At a small stall, a woman insisted we try her granita. Jade accepted two small cups. The crushed ice was intensely lemony, tart and sweet and so cold it made my temples ache. It was the most refreshing thing I’d ever tasted.

We found a low stone wall that looked a whole lot older than I was . Sitting down, I let out a long breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “This place feels… kind,” I admitted quietly. It didn’t judge. It just was.

“It is,” Jade said, sipping her granita. “Cefalù has a soft heart. It doesn’t rush you. It lets you exist without demanding a performance.”

“Cefalù,” I repeated, trying to mimic her elegant pronunciation. Ce-fa-lù. So that was the name of this magical, ancient town.

I watched the hypnotic crash and pull of the waves below. “I don’t think I know how to do that,” I said, the words spilling out softly. “Exist without… a script. Without waiting for the other shoe to drop. For someone to tell me I’m doing it wrong.”

Jade studied me, her gaze thoughtful and unsettlingly perceptive. “You’re young,” she said carefully. “But you carry yourself like someone who’s been made to feel small in her own life for a long time. You’re braced for impact, even here.”

The accuracy of it stole my breath more effectively than the choking had. My throat tightened, and I could only nod, looking back at the sea so she wouldn’t see the sudden sting in my eyes.

We walked some more, the awkward intimacy of the moment fading into the comfort of movement. We paused to watch a trio of street musicians, their melody lively and sweet.

A little girl in a pink dress broke away from her mother and began to twirl, her laughter pure and unchecked. I felt a strange pang watching her, a mix of longing and loss for a version of myself I couldn’t remember.

At a gelato stand boasting a dizzying array of colors, Jade gestured for me to choose. “I panic under pressure,” I confessed, staring at the bins of pistachio, stracciatella, and blood orange.

“A vital life skill,” she nodded solemnly. “Now choose badly. It builds character.”

I ended up with a cup of pistachio and dark chocolate. I took a bite. It was rich, nutty, perfect. “No regrets,” I declared, and she laughed.

We found steps leading up to the massive Norman cathedral, its twin towers casting long shadows. We sat in its cool, stone shade. The sheer age and solidity of it were comforting.

“Can I ask you something?” I ventured, my voice hesitant.

Jade tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips. “You already are.”

“Why are you… here? With us? On this… trip?” I still couldn’t bring myself to call it a honeymoon.