The thought was shocking to her.
“Live for myself?” she said. “But it’s the people I love who give my life meaning. My grandfather. Our baby.” Her eyes met his wistfully. “You.”
A strange, stricken look came over Nico’s face, and he abruptly looked away. In the flickering shadows of the restaurant, his jaw seemed hard enough to snap.
“Luigi, the check,” he called. Turning back to her, Nico’s expression was cold. “Your secrets are safe with me. I give you my word.” Tossing his linen napkin down over the empty plate, he rose to his feet. “It’s late. Are you ready to go?”
CHAPTER TEN
NICO HADN’T MEANT to hurt her.
Honora told herself that on their drive back to the villa beneath the moonlight, and as her husband made love to her in the darkness, and when she woke alone in bed the next morning. She heard the birds singing in the palm trees overlooking the turquoise sea and repeated it again. He hadn’t meant to hurt her.
She’d poured out the most agonizing secrets of her heart, the deepest burdens she carried—that her existence had caused her parents’ misery, and her selfish desire to go to a pumpkin festival because of the absurd idea that it would bring them together as a family had caused her parents’ deaths.
And all he’d said was that he wouldn’t tell anyone. Your secrets are safe with me. I give you my word. As if her fears were not only true but shameful, and that if anyone else knew, they would despise her.
Be happy, he’d said. Live your life only for yourself. That’s what I do.
Nico was living his life only for himself?
What did that even mean?
Over the first few days of their honeymoon, Nico worked only in the mornings, and arranged for them to take excursions together in the afternoon. They traveled via helicopter to Rome, and had private tours of the Colosseum and St. Peter’s Square. As they wandered the Roman Forum and tossed a coin in the Trevi Fountain, Honora was filled with wonder and delight, seeing things she’d only dreamed of as a teenager growing up in Queens. And she found herself telling her husband all kinds of stories about growing up in her neighborhood, her friends, her love of books, her interest in flowers and plants. “I had no choice about that,” she’d added, laughing, “spending time with Granddad!”
Later, wandering with Nico through the gardens of the Villa Borghese, she talked at length about the best way to care for cypress and pine trees and keep aphids away from roses. She was a little embarrassed later, but it was hard not to talk. Nico was a very good listener.
The next afternoon, he took her to Pompeii. The Roman ruins were remarkable, but seeing where all those people, those families, had died suddenly in the eruption of Vesuvius two thousand years before, she became mournful. Nico lifted her spirits afterward by taking her to the most famous pizzeria in nearby Naples, where they shared a margherita pizza with basil and tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese oozing over a crust that was as light as air. As they sat at a small table, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of other customers, she found herself telling him about the disastrous time she’d tried to make pasta from scratch. “Even the neighbor’s dog wouldn’t eat it,” she said with a laugh.
None of her stories were earth-shattering, but it was all of them together that made Honora who she was, so she decided not to be embarrassed. She was glad to share her life with the man she loved. Both afternoons were wonderful and warm, and she loved feeling her husband’s presence, whether she was sitting beside him in the helicopter or encircled in his arms in the back of the sedan, chauffeured by Bauer.
It was only much later, after they’d returned to the Amalfi Coast, that it occurred to Honora that she’d done all the talking. Nico was a very good listener, but he’d told her almost nothing about himself, about his own stories and hopes and dreams. The closest he’d gotten was when she’d said in the Pantheon, “You were born here, weren’t you? I’d love to see where you grew up.”
“Now that is ancient history,” Nico had said lightly. Then, with a careless smile, he’d distracted her, pointing out the concrete dome, which was apparently special for some reason. And he’d never brought up the subject of his past again.
Looking back, the golden glow of happiness seemed to lose some of its shine.
Honora wanted so desperately for them to be happy. They had everything anyone could want on this Italian honeymoon in this luxurious villa, their baby expected soon. So why did Honora feel like something wasn’t right? Something was...missing, and it made her feel empty.
As the first week of their honeymoon passed, then the second, there were no more fun excursions. She watched with mounting dismay as, every day, Nico disappeared into his home office with an increasing number of lawyers and staff. He was apparently having some trouble closing the deal for the Villa Caracciola. Feeling lonely during the second week, she’d once tried to join them. Nico had all but blocked the door.
“I’m sure you have more enjoyable things to do,” he’d told her firmly. He handed her two pl
atinum credit cards. “Go shopping down in the village. Or Bauer can drive you if you wish to see Sorrento or Positano.”
“Without you?”
He glanced at his lawyers grimly. “I’ll be done in an hour or two. Then I’ll join you.”
But the hour or two was always eight or ten or even, yesterday, twelve. Honora entertained herself by spending time in the villa’s delightful formal garden, walking among the flowers. It was perfect in its ornate simplicity, but, she thought, if she were going to design a garden, she would make it more random, wilder. But the gardener clearly didn’t need her help, and he didn’t speak English beyond smiling at her and bringing fresh flowers into the villa every day—mostly roses.
She got to know the other staff at the villa and learned some basic greetings and questions in Italian. The housekeeper, Luisa, had a little white dog who needed daily walks, and so when the older woman twisted her foot a few days after they arrived, Honora happily offered to take Figaro outside in her stead.
Taking the dog down the steep hillside to the village that clung to the rocky shores that rose sharply from the sea, Honora walked through Trevello alone. For a honeymoon, she thought, it was surprisingly lonesome.
In spite of the amazing sex every night, for which Nico still always found time, Honora was almost relieved when the two weeks finally came to an end. It wasn’t so enjoyable to eat delicious meals alone, or sit in the villa alone, or walk along the coastal road alone. She yearned to go home to her grandfather and friends.
Then, the night before they were supposed to leave, Nico suddenly announced that they’d be staying in Italy “indefinitely.”