Page 109 of Italy Can Bite Me

Crumbles.

“But I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.”

Then, in true Deborah Fox fashion, she sweeps off the terrace like Cinderella fleeing the ball.

What the fuck?

The ring glints in the candlelight one last time as Howie lowers it, his face a masterclass in dignified devastation. It’s the kind of heartbreak where you want to hug him before hunting down the offender—except in this case, that person is my aunt, and this situation is way above my emotional pay grade.

The crowd’s collective discomfort ripples through the terrace like one giant social anxiety tsunami.

My event-planner brain kicks into crisis mode, pure muscle memory from years of handling disasters. I snatch my phone off the table, fingers flying as I pull up my emergency “save the night” playlist. The opening notes of an upbeat tune burst through the speakers.

“Let’s keep this party going!” I sound like acheerleader who’s trying too hard, but desperate times call for fake enthusiasm. “Everyone back on the floor!”

Caterina, bless her pregnant heart, reads the room. “Enrico, mi amore,” she shouts, “let’s groove!”

The tension breaks. The music summons couples back to the dancing space like embers reignited by a gust of wind. I shoot Caterina a look of gratitude and slip away, following the trail of broken dreams and designer perfume that my aunt left behind.

I find her on the front porch of the vineyard house, a disco ball of sadness in her sequined dress. The moonlight catches every sparkle, but she’s not her usual center-of-attention self.

“Aunt Deb? Are you okay?”

“Of course I am, darling.”

The laugh she lets out sounds like it hurts. “At my age, forever is a little too close to the truth, Katie-kins.” There’s something in her voice I’ve never heard before—fear maybe? “You’re young. Forever doesn’t mean the same thing to you.”

I keep my mouth shut. No spreadsheets or lists can fix this moment.

She releases a breath that seems to come from her soul. “This ain’t my first rodeo, kid. Or my first proposal.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t you worry.”

“But—”

“Go back to the party.” She cuts me off with a wave of her bejeweled hand. “You worked your butt off to make it perfect. Don’t waste it on me.”

I hesitate, my chest tight with worry. But there’s something in her expression—a plea for space, for time to process. For once, the woman who’s never met a moment she couldn’t turn into a production needs silence.

“You threw one hell of a party, kiddo,” she says softly. “Really. It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks, Aunt Deb.” The words feel inadequate, but they’re all I have. I leave her to her thoughts under the Tuscan moon, surrounded by the gentle chorus of crickets.

***

Thepartystretchesendlesslyaround me, a blur of twinkling lights and laughter. I can’t take one more second of this—watching Matteo avoid me and pretending my heart isn’t being shredded with every nonreturned glance. Each beat of the music feels like it’s counting down to something terrible, and I’m done waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Tomorrow we’ll tour Rome. Our last day. And I’ll be damned if I’m leaving this country without knowing what changed. My body physically aches for answers, for his touch, for anything but this endless void between us.

My eyes scan the crowd, ignoring the happy couples swaying to the music. Then I spot him keeping a low profile off to the side of the crowd. Something inside me snaps.

No fucking way.He doesn’t get to sulk in the shadows while I’m drowning in confusion and hurt.

Before my brain can convince me otherwise, I’m crossing the terrace with determination coursing through my veins. My fingers wrap around his bicep—God, his skin is warm—and I pull him toward the vineyard. “We need to talk. Right now.”

He resists for a moment, muscle tensing under my grip, but then something in him just… lets go. His body deflates like a punctured balloon, the fight seeping out, and he lets me escort him away from the party. The vineyard sprawls out around us, with moonlight turning the leaves silver and the air thick with anticipation, ready for heartbreak.

“What’s going on?” My voice comes out harder than I mean it to, but I’m past caring. “And don’t you dare say nothing. You’ve been avoiding me all night like I’m carrying the plague in this dress.”

“I’ve had things on my mind. Business things. Not every minute can be about you, Katie.”

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