Page 37 of I Think Olive You

God, can I please escape this conversation to go and collect myself? My skin feels like it’s ready to peel off, tiny slithers crawling under my flesh and in my veins. Energy builds with nowhere to go. There’s no way to ground the lightning driving the thunder of my heartbeat.

“Uh… In the lobby? Waiting to find out if the kitchen can make a plan for dinner. In Italy?—”

“He brought his girlfriend here to propose! It’s so romantic. She has no idea. It almost didn’t work out because of the wedding today, but he’s willing to postpone his proposal plans until tomorrow.” Francesca. Sweet savior Francesca.

I turn to give her a relieved smile and the woman in front of me emits a little squeal of excitement.

“Oh my god. Please don’t change your plans on my account!”

Her account…

Oh shit. I’ve been chatting with the bride and making an ass of myself the whole time.

“It’s okay. I don’t want to overshadow or anything. It can wait. Besides, we’d be in the way.”

“Nonsense. I have close to a hundred guests coming, more than half of whom I’ve only met this week. You’d hardly be in the way. What name is the room under? I’ll have Daddy send up a bottle of champagne after to celebrate!”

No. No. This is bad. This is horrendous. Giuliana is going to kill me.

“Palmer,” slips out of my parched throat before I can think better of it. It’s what’s on my credit card. Couldn’t be avoided. I’m just glad Giuliana was outside at the time.

Something in her face changes.

“Matt Palmer?”

Sensical thoughts in my brain descend into incoherent internal screaming.

“Uh huh.” I squeeze through my rapidly closing throat and her excitement ratchets up a few more degrees.

“Holy shit! What are you doing here? You have to come to my wedding! No one is going to believe me when I tell them Matt Palmer was at our wedding.” It’s fired off in quick succession, no time for me to think or process.

“How”—I clear the gravel sitting on my vocal cords—“How do you know who I am?”

“Hottest Bad Boy Bachelors of New York. Buzzfeed did an article! Although you’re technically not a celebrity. I guess they were counting heirs and heiresses to American fortunes.”

My eyebrows knit together, confusion overriding my panic.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Kelsey shakes her head and I half expect her to whip out her phone or some shit to prove it.

“Wait, if you’re here to get engaged,” she whispers the last part, pleased to be in on the secret, “then why are you on the bachelors list?”

“Honestly, I didn’t even know the list existed, it’s not like they consulted me. I’ve been here in Italy trying to keep things on the DL.”

“Because of the press?”

Because of Alan, and Thomas Palmer, and the ghosts that have chased me halfway around the world. Because I’ve been trying to find a way to keep my selfish existence and I’m not sure I can. Or if I should.

“Partially. I wanted privacy, and the space to get to know her away from everything back in New York. Away from my name and reputation.”

“Wait… does she know who you are?”

Jesus Christ. If this woman gets anywhere near Giuliana, I’m done for. Doesn’t she have a fucking wedding to get to? I can’t say that though, not when both her and Francesca are staring at me like I’m the most compelling piece of gossip they’ve encountered in weeks.

“Not really. Not in the way you mean. She knows me”—I tap my chest—“but the Palmer stuff… I wanted to make sure she knew the real me first.”

It’s not a lie. I’ve been enjoying getting to know Giuliana and her family, and Italy—without the weight of the company and all that comes with it to drag me down.

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