Page 68 of The Unraveling of Julia

Gianluca smiled gently. “Is my Ferrari finally out of gas?”

Julia smiled back. “I’m no Ferrari.”

“Yes, you are.” Gianluca straightened. “You should call Marshal Torti in the morning. Tell him your inheritance may be connected to your husband’s murder.”

“Yes, right.” Julia finished the water and set the glass on a coaster. “I’ll call the Philly police, too. They can investigate suspects from Italy. There must be a database like that, somewhere.”

“Of course. But I think that’s as far as we can take it tonight. You made progress and you should be proud of yourself.” Gianluca smiled at her. “I don’t think you should drive home. You can’t be on the road the way you are.”

Julia felt fatigue wash over her, but it was awkward. “I’ll be fine.”

“Please, stay.” Gianluca put up his palms. “I’ll sleep on the sofa, you sleep in my bed.”

“I’ll stay, but I’ll take the sofa.”

“No, I insist. Chivalry is not dead here, my dear.”

The bedroom was small, containing a double bed, a night table, and a set of shelves with books, drawing paper, and art supplies. Moonlight filtered through a thin curtain, moving in a soft breeze.

Julia tossed and turned, trying to sleep. She felt too warm under the coverlet, even in a camisole and panties. She didn’t want to sleep naked with Gianluca in the next room, and she couldn’t stop wondering if Mike’s murder had anything to do with her inheritance. If there was a connection, it horrified her, and she felt even more guilty for his murder. Someone had been trying to kill her, but had killed him instead.

Tears filled Julia’s eyes. She stifled them, trying not to cry so Gianluca wouldn’t overhear. It still felt unreal that she was in his apartment, in his bed, and she realized that before her panic attack, he had told her he loved her.

The thought filled her with happiness, and she realized she hadfeelings for him too, but she couldn’t acknowledge them without guilt. She buried her face in the pillow, missing Mike and wanting Gianluca at the same time, both desires powerful, yet impossible to reconcile.

She couldn’t stop the tears then, and she began to cry in a way she hadn’t in a long time, then groped around for tissues on a night table stacked with books.

“Here,” Gianluca said softly, appearing behind her on the bed. He held out a box of Kleenex, so she tore one out and held it to her face.

“Don’t look, I’m crying,” Julia sobbed. “I don’t just ugly cry, I snotty cry.”

“I can’t see anyway, it’s dark—”

“Stay back there.” Julia wiped her eyes. “I really mean it.”

“I will, don’t worry.”

Julia wept, grabbing another Kleenex. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, don’t be sorry,” Gianluca said, his voice comforting as Julia blew her nose and wiped her eyes, then went through the first Kleenex and a second, and before she realized what was happening, Gianluca had put his arms around her from behind, holding her gently. “This okay, to hold you?”

“Yes,” was all Julia could say, heartbroken, embarrassed, and exhausted.

“Let the tears come, they will pass.”

“I don’t know if they will,” Julia said, giving voice to her greatest fear, which she hadn’t realized until this very moment, that she would never stop mourning Mike, that she would never rejoin life, that she didn’t deserve to, that her husband died because of her and she had no right to go on. She realized she had been looking over her shoulder ever since the night Mike was killed, and the man following her washim.

“Julia, it will pass, but you have to let it come. If you don’t let it come, it never goes away. Your heart is broken, and it will heal.”

“You think?” Julia mopped her eyes.

“I know. My heart healed, and I love you.”

Julia felt a rush of emotion. “How? You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You hardly know me.”

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