Page 7 of Tempted Hearts
“You know how they get,” I said, noncommittally. “Same old bullshit. Dad complains about his long hours. Mom overcompensates, trying to make him happy, her mood dependent on his.” Which didn’t go very well most often. A never-ending cycle that should have ended in divorce years ago.
I took another sip, not wanting to dwell on something that would never be fixed.
“So what have you decided to do?”
While Delaney was in Italy, Parker planned on the four of us going to Lake Placid for a night. But Beck was trying to convince me that wasn’t enough of a bachelor party. He wanted to make it a weekend and invite more of Parker’s friends.
Beck was always good for a party, and this was a better reason than most.
Mason wouldn’t go too far, even though Pia wasn’t due for a while, though he had agreed to drive up to an hour away. Parker, trying to make everyone else happy, still hadn’t decided.
“Forget the guys,” I said, not for the first time. “What do you want to do?”
“What the hell are you two doing up there?” Mason yelled to us from below before Parker got a chance to answer.
“Jerking off.” Parker lifted his beer. “What do you think we’re doing?”
I sat back, listening to the familiar banter like other people might listen to their parents quietly, amicably, talking outside their bedroom as they lay in bed, about to fall asleep. It was as content as could be, given the circumstances.
She looked up at us.
No, not us.
Juliette looked at me.
I lifted my glass in a silent salute at which she spun away, pretending not to see.
4
JULES
“Oops.”
Delaney and I looked at each other and, because there wasn’t much else to do, we started laughing.
“Honest mistake,” I said, shoving my phone back into my bag. I might only be two generations removed, on my father’s side of the family, from Italy. And maybe spoke a bit more of it than the average person, even able to hold a conversation with my parents or Emilio and his wife, but that didn’t mean I knew the craziness that was the Milan train station well enough not to book the wrong train.
“Maybe if it didn’t say ‘platform one’ on the app we wouldn’t have come to… I don’t know, platform ONE.” Delaney tossed up her hands. “Maybe we should have gone to Key West.”
“Nah. Trust me,” I said, looking up at the train board. Another one to La Spezia was coming in less than fifteen minutes. “It’ll be worth it. You just have to put yourself in the Italian mindset.”
“What,” Delaney asked as we made our way toward the Trenitalia ticket counter, “is the Italian mindset?”
“Relax and take things as they come. Remember, in a few hours, we’ll be sipping Aperol Spritz and eating something with pesto by the sea. Practicingil dolce far niente.”
A few minutes later, we had new tickets and were at our new platform. This time, the right one. Hopefully.
“Il dolcewhat? I thought it wasla dolce vita?”
As our train approached, I smiled at the bride to be, happy for so many reasons. We were in Milan, less than two hours from our final destination. I was with one of my dearest friends. And despite a few ups and downs, my gig life was paying the bills. Aside from my crap love life, what else could a girl ask for?
“La dolce vitais the sweet life. Also an important phrase, but I personally likeil dolce far nienteeven more. It means ‘the sweet art of doing nothing.’ But not feeling guilty for it because you’re refilling your cup. Chatting with friends. Taking anaperitivo. People watching. Just… being. You know?”
Delaney was looking at me like I was crazy.
“But if you’re talking to your friends, drinking an…aperitivo? That’s an Aperol Spritz, right? Then aren’t you actually doing something?”
I’d explainaperitivolater. “You have to take it less literally.”
