Page 127 of Italy Can Bite Me

“Even when he’s being an idiot.”

“Especially when he’s being an idiot.”

“Then that’s your starting point. Build from there.”

“I could say the same for you and Howie.”

She arches one perfect eyebrow. “This is aboutyouright now. Besides, there’s only room for one wise auntie who dispenses life-changing wisdom.”

I hurl myself at her in a smothering hug. “Thank you for bringing me on this trip, Aunt Deb. For teaching me that sometimes the best plans are no plans at all.”

“Oh darling, I’m just thrilled I got to witness your sexual awakening! Though I recommend being a bit more discrete in wine cellars. They can be quite the echo chambers.”

I nearly fall off the bed. “You heard that?!”

“Heard it? We were all slow clapping and cheering you on. Now tell me—was he the dynamo in the sheets I suspected? Because those hands…” She fans herself dramatically.

Heat floods my face. “Oh my God, I didn’t know you could have that many orgasms!”

“I knew it! I wantallthe delicious details later, but right now you need to go. Tell that beautiful man you love him—bankrupt company and all.”

“He knows I do. I’ve told him a million times.”

“Then make it a million and one.” All the theatricality drops from her voice. “Trust me, sweetie. You don’t want to live with the regret I have. Pain like this…” She tenderly places Roger’s tags back in her purse. “It stays with you forever.”

She stands and all her jewelry jangles.

“Wait—stay and help me get all dolled up?”

“Oh darling, I would, but Howie and I have a couples massage before the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?”

“What kind of love guru would I be if I didn’t follow my own amazing advice?”

With the timing of a soap opera diva, she reaches into her purse and pulls out the massive sapphire engagement ring—it’s even bigger up close—and slides it onto her finger with a flourish.

“Well, since you called off your wedding, I thought—why waste the opportunity of having the whole family here in Rome?” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Someone should get married.”

She throws me a wink straight out of a Vegas showgirl’s playbook. “Ceremony’s at six. Shoes optional, orgasms mandatory!”

And then she’s gone, her voice trailing into the hallway: “Coming, sugarplum! Mama’s got plans for that massage table!”

From the hallway, I hear Howie’s warm drawl. “Whatever you want, sweet tea.”

I stare at the door, my heart doing something complicated in my chest. Because while I’ve been wallowing in my own romantic tragedy, my aunt—the woman who’s spent fifty years running from love—just showed me what courage looks like.

It doesn’t look like perfection. It doesn’t look like guarantees or neatly tied-up endings. It looks like rolling the dice, closing your eyes, and betting everything you’ve got on love.

I throw off the covers and sit up so fast the room spins.

I blink, see my binder on the nightstand, and snatch it up. My pen’s at the ready to make a list until my gaze lands on it…

The Wish Card.

It’s still blank, tucked into the clear sleeve as though it has been waiting for this moment.

I slide it out, holding the little rectangle of possibility in my hand. My fingers brush the smooth surface, and a wave of clarity sweeps over me.

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