Page 36 of I Think Olive You

The lobby, hell the whole villa, is a flurry of activity when I head back downstairs. Wedding prep is in full swing and Francesca looks like she’s a mite ticked off. I shoot her a sheepish smile and she holds up her index finger urging me to wait a minute. Leaning against the wall I take in the chaos.

Some are already dressed in their finery—suits, and lightweight dresses fluttering around high heels. Gossamer fabric dances on the light breeze coming through from outside. Behind the double doors of the lobby is a ballroom leading to the grove out back. A wall of French doors has been opened in the ballroom to let the light and air in from the grove side, a gorgeous backdrop to the nuptials.

Someone is putting the finishing touches on an arch in the center, at the end of the aisle. Rows of chairs face the grove, champagne-colored bows tied around them. It’s a whirlwind of bridesmaids and well-meaning family members. I haven’t been to a wedding since I was a child. Despite being “Italian”, my family is small—cut off from the rest—a result of parents who valued societal connections over familial ones. My friends are all still too busy dicking around to settle. Which is a blessing since it would only end in their messy divorces. New York isn’t for lovers. Not like Italy. Not like Puglia.

Eventually, Francesca finds time for me and I amble over to her, pulling my thoughts away from the wedding.

“I know you guys are swamped with wedding stuff, but do you know of any delivery services running out here? We’re trying to plan for dinner and we’re both a little drained after the drive.”

No UberEats out in the middle of nowhere farmland. I could drive back into town but then I’d have to admit I forgot about feeding us and I’m a terrible human being.

“Unfortunately, not. We’re a little too out of the way. Let me see what I can figure out for you. The chef is catering the menu so I’m not sure if he can fit another two plates, but I can try. I’ll be right back.”

She walks into the ballroom, her heels clicking against the floor with each purposeful step and I feel a little bad for lying. Francesca is going out of her way to help us because she thinks this is some life-changing event and it deserves to be special. Which I appreciate. But it’s also kind of shitty.

Kind of? You know damn well that it’s wrong. But when has wrong ever stopped you?

“Shut up,” I hiss under my breath and someone nearby speaks.

“Excuse me?” It’s a young woman. Blonde hair cascades over her shoulders in bouncy curls with her makeup done, but she’s in a set of silk pajamas and a robe.

“Not you, sorry. Talking to myself.”

“Well, ‘yourself’ must be quite an asshole if you talk to him like that.” She gives me a wry smile and I can hear the familiar hug of her accent.

“American?” I ask.

“Yeah, you?”

I nod, shrugging as if to say “what can you do?”

“Not too many of us out here in the countryside. At least not any I’ve encountered.”

“You here for the wedding?” I ask.

“Ha, yeah. Yes, I am.”

“Wedding party?”

“Yup! You can say that.”

“Cool.”

It’s fucking stunted and I feel awkward as hell. All this does is remind me how little I converse with people back home when I’m sober. And it throws into relief how easy it’s been to talk to Giuliana these past few weeks. I’ve been parched for little bits of her, even mere conversation.

“Hey, you look kind of familiar. Or it could be I’ve been around Italians all week and you’re an outlier, a new face. Where are you from? What’s your name?”

Fuck.

Fuck. Okay. Okay. Breathe.

My chest constricts—heart pounding as if I’m running from the red and blue lights of my lies, no getaway car this time. I clench my fists, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of my palms. It will be fine. I just have to wait a few minutes until Francesca gets back and then I can lock myself in the bathroom.

I’m not necessarily a household name. Palmer Enterprises is niche enough. We’re not like the Hiltons or the Vanderbilts or other more familiar family names. Still.

“New York. Matt. You?”

“Virginia. Kelsey. What brings you out here?”

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