We finish the tour of Pompeii without any further incident, and then we say goodbye to the BookFace Ladies. They climb back into the bus to be taken to their resort while we’re sent to our hotel in private cars.
Cathy—who’s been keeping her distance all day—gives Isabella a hard stare when she climbs into a car with Connor. Whether it’s because she thinks she deserves a luxury ride or because she wants to cozy up to Connor, I’m not sure. Like most of the book’s fans, she thinks the sun shines out of Connor’s butt, although she’s always been more fixated on me than him. If that’s about to change, I’m not going to stop it.
I get into a car with Harper, hoping that the ice has thawed between us, but it hasn’t. It’s as cold as the air-conditioning, and I don’t know what to do.
“Harper, will you please talk to me?”
She glances at me. “What were you talking to Allison about?”
“I was apologizing.”
“You were?”
“No need to sound so surprised.”
The car moves off the highway and onto a two-lane road that looks like it’s headed toward the Med. In a moment, the car takes a sharp turn, and now we’re driving along the edge of a cliff that goes down at least a thousand feet into rocks and crashing water.
“Wow,” I say, “that’s beautiful.” But it’s also kind of terrifying.
We’re both transfixed. We’re driving toward a town built into the cliff. The buildings are colorful, and the streets are tiered, surrounded by lemon trees. The water below is that blue you only seem to see in photographs, but here it is, real.
“It is,” Harper says.
“We’re lucky. I am.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say it.”
“I don’t say it enough. I don’t do a lot of things.”
“Such as?”
“Tell you how much I appreciate you. How important you are to me. How I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
She smiles sadly. “You did do it without me.”
“I am sorry about that. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I wouldn’t change it, but I can be sorry about it anyway. I can be sorry about what it did to you.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, of course. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
The car takes another sharp turn and Harper grips the handhold on the door like it might fly open and take her with it.
I reach out to steady her. “It’s okay, we’re safe.”
She’s a bit green around the edges. She’s never been good in cars, and we’re both afraid of heights. “I know.”
“No, Harper, I mean it. You’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.”
Her eyes connect with mine and I feel a rush of relief. It’s still there. The love between us, impossible to shake.
We’ll be okay. No matter what.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because we’ve been through worse than this. Mom and Dad … We’re a success story, Harper. You and me against the world.”
“Then why do you want to change it? Just because of Connor? What’s the point of that? Look where we are right now. He gave us that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you should keep writing the series.”
“What? Why?”
“Because we have a good life. I know you think I should be doing something else. I feel your judgment, okay? But I’m happy being in your shadow. That’s what I was going to tell you when we got home. I’m not going to try to write anymore. No more torturing myself at five in the morning, tweeting about how I’m starting some new manuscript. I’m sick of it.”
“It’s your life, Harper, do what you want.”
“But that’s the problem, don’t you see? Your book life—it’s not only yours. It’s the way both of us make a living.”
“So, what? I have to keep writing something I don’t want to just to make you happy?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s kind of what you mean, right? Just keep everyone happy. Dance, monkey, dance.”
“Give me a break, El. This is exactly the problem.”
“What?”
“You like writing those books. You like meeting fans and talking about your writing process and being funny on stage and the money and the accolades and all of it.”
“But what about Connor?”
“So, he’s annoying.”
“He’s more than that.”
“Whatever. Ignore him. Shut him out of your life.”
Harper thinks this is possible because she doesn’t know the truth. I’ve never told it to anyone.
“It’s not that easy.”
“But it’s not going to kill you, is it?”
And what can I say to that?
Death is all around us. That’s the only thing I know for sure.
Our hotel in Sorrento is a bright yellow building with a white trim nestled into a rock face at the top of a cliff that looks down into the sea. All of the rooms have individual stone balconies overlooking the water, and this time, we’re not all on the same floor.
I make sure to ask this at the front desk as we check in.
With everything that’s happened, I feel like I need to know where Connor is at all times.
“Just wait,” Connor said. “I’ll see.”
What does that mean? And what about Harper’s prediction that it’s not going to kill me to keep writing about him? He’s someone’s target right now. Being around him is dangerous.
Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that when there’s a murderer on the loose, it’s not only the intended victim at risk. The wrong person dies all the time.94
So, no matter what Harper thinks, I need to be free of him.
And why is she so sure I can’t write something else? That my only worth as a writer is connected to Connor? It’s something I’ve suspected for a long time but have never confronted her about. But the truth is, Harper thinks I’m not that great a writer.
She’s intimated as much before. Not directly, but it’s there in her comments about how so many New York Times bestsellers are mediocre. How quickly I write, while it takes her forever. That the way to get mass appeal is to be average.
Average. Average.
She thinks I’m average.
That word bounces around in my head because she’s probably right. I don’t write beautiful sentences about the way the world quiets down when the snow falls. I’ve never remarked on the way a leaf in autumn is a different thing entirely from one in a lush summer. I keep it pithy and page-turny and mysterious. I build tension through clue drops at the ends of chapters.95
I line up the suspects, then make them each seem plausible in turn.
It may not be pretty, but it gets the job done.
I mean, can ten million people be wrong?96
Of course they can. I told you I have imposter syndrome, didn’t I? And now my sister is confirming it. I’m not good; I’m just lucky.
That’s what I told that reporter from the New York Times for the profile I can’t bring myself to read. I know I’m going to come off sounding like an asshole, and I’ve already got enough people telling me that I am one.
I take the elevator to my floor and walk to the door to my suite. Like always, it’s adjoining Harper’s, but Connor is a floor above me, which feels like a relief.
I fish around in my purse for the key I just deposited in there and pull it out. Only it isn’t in the paper case for this hotel, and when I look at it, I realize it’s the key from the hotel in Rome we left this morning. Black with a silver logo.
But wait, I gave my key to Harper when she collected them from all of us in the lobby so she could check us out.
Oh, shit. Is this what I think it is? The missing master key?
I never asked Harper if she’d replaced the other one. But she must have. That’s how she got Connor’s door open this morning and discovered his prank. She used a master key. It was there on the floor at her feet where she’d crumbled to the ground.
But what’s this one doing in my purse? Is it the new one or the old one?
I feel a frisson of fear, then push it away. Harper must’ve dropped it in there this morning in all the rush to get on the bus. Our bags and purses were next to one another in the lobby. Besides, it’s not the key to any rooms in this hotel. If the mugging was connected to all of this, whoever was behind it didn’t end up using the key.
I fish around in my purse again and find the key to my room. I make a mental note to ask Harper to keep a sharp eye on her master key and go inside.
The walls are cream, and the sun is flooding in from the balcony. I put my bag down and open the doors, letting the warm sea breeze caress my face. The view is breathtaking, with the sea below and Capri visible in the misty distance. We’re supposed to go there tomorrow on a boat, but all I want to do right now is sleep.
“Hey, Eleanor!”
I look down at the veranda. Shek and Guy are sitting at a table with Emily, drinking Aperol spritzes. The glasses are glowing in the sun like luminous jewels.
See, Harper. I can write flowery phrases.
I just choose not to.
“Come join us!” Guy says, unusually gregarious.
I shouldn’t.
I should lie down and take the nap my body’s asking for, but doing what I should has never been my MO.
“Give me ten minutes!”
I rinse my face off in the sink and change into a loose-fitting white cotton dress, then head to the veranda.
It’s large and made of sandstone with a wrought iron railing on the edge of the cliff that’s capped in more stone. There’s a steep set of stairs on the left that lead down to the town below. Twenty black bistro tables with red tablecloths and bright yellow umbrellas are scattered around. Shek, Guy, and Emily are the only ones out here. Sensible people are probably taking a siesta, or whatever the Italian equivalent is.
The word comes back to me: “riposo.” That’s what Connor used to call our afternoon sessions in bed.97 I shudder at the thought and take the fourth seat at the table.
“Excellent decision, Eleanor,” Guy says. He’s dressed in black, his thick arms bulging out of his T-shirt. “Best view in Sorrento.” He motions toward the sea dotted with sailboats and superyachts. It’s beautiful. Overwhelming, almost.
“We’re lucky to be here.”
“That’s directed at me, I suppose,” Shek says. He’s wearing a linen kaftan that looks incredibly comfortable, and his head is covered with a straw hat.
“Not everything is about you, Shek,” Emily says. Like me, she’s dressed in white and looks delicate and intelligent, and I get it now.
She threatens me.
You probably already figured that out.
Because I’m average, in more ways than one.
“I was talking about myself,” I say. “I don’t always appreciate what I have and where I am. I want to change that.”
“Deep thoughts for an afternoon,” Guy says.
“True.”
“Don’t worry,” Emily says, touching my hand. “Connor won’t appear till dinner.”
“He’s otherwise occupied,” Shek says with emotion. Probably envy.
“Can we talk about something else? How does one get a cocktail, for instance?”
“She’ll be here in a minute.”
Sure enough, a waitress approaches the table with four lemon spritzes on a tray moments later.
“We ordered one for you,” Emily says.
“Thank you.”
“Keep these coming,” Shek says to the waitress, “every ten to twelve minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
She leaves and silence descends.
“Do we have nothing to talk about but him?” I ask.
“Seems like,” Emily says.
“That’s pathetic.”
Shek looks at me over the rim of his glass. “Are you truly going to end the Vacation series?”
Did I tell Shek that? I don’t think so. But they’re probably all talking about me when I’m not around.
I know that sounds egotistical.
I only meant that it’s what I’d do.
“Why do you care?” I ask. I take a sip of my drink, and it’s even better than a classic spritz.98 Where has this been all of my life?
“Because it’s a big deal,” Shek says. “And a mistake.”
“I guess that’s my decision.”
“Take it from me. You don’t want to upset the apple cart.”
“I agree,” Guy says. “And Connor can be dangerous when cornered.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that?”
“Because it’s true.”
“What’s he going to do, kill me?” I say this in jest, but it doesn’t sound like a joke.
“You know he’s in big financial trouble?” Guy says.
“He mentioned something about it but wouldn’t tell me the details.”
Except for the blackmail. But I’ll keep that detail to myself for now. Just in case.
Guy smirks. “He was deep into crypto. Lost most of his money when one of those markets crashed.”
“Seriously?”
“Happened about six months ago.”
That tracks with Connor’s story on the timing, but not with the cover-up part. Or maybe it does. Didn’t they catch one of those crypto bros in the Bahamas with hardly any money left? Is that what Connor did? Help one of those guys hide his Ponzi scheme takings?
“How do you know that?”
“I keep tabs on him.”
That’s interesting.
“Why?” Emily asks.
“Keep your enemies close and your friends closer,” Guy says.
“That’s not how the saying goes,” Shek says.
“Well, it should.”
Emily tosses her head. “I only invest in blue-chip stocks.”
“Good for you, honey,” Guy says. “But Connor, sorry to inform you, is a little rough around the edges. Always looking for a get-rich-quick scheme. You know what I’m talking about, Eleanor.”
I stare into my glass.
“You invested in something with Connor?” Emily asks.
“No, he’s not … He just means how I first met Connor. He wanted to solve the robberies to get the finder’s fee. It wasn’t altruistic.”
“That’s not how it was in the book.”
“So you have read it.”
Emily tucks her chin in. “Hasn’t everyone?”
“That’s not what she means,” Shek says.
“What then?”
“Didn’t you hear her last night? She thinks you stole her plot.”
“I didn’t do that.”
I clear my throat. “A young woman on vacation in Italy gets embroiled in a string of high-profile robberies along with the dashing man she met on her first night of vacation…”
“You’re quoting my dust jacket to me?”
“I’m quoting my dust jacket. But thanks for telling on yourself.”
“Catfight,” Shek breathes, his excitement palpable.
“Is this whole table full of plagiarists?” I ask. “No wonder you’re getting canceled, Shek. You’re stealing material from Guy now.”
“Oh, screw off,” Shek says.
“Isn’t that what you girls did with Connor?” Guy says, finishing his drink.
Emily and I stare at each other, and though we’re both angry, we can’t help it—we start to laugh. Me first, then her. In a minute we’re hunched over the table, holding on to ourselves to keep from falling on the ground.
“Did he call you ‘darling’?” Emily asks, gasping for air.
“Yes! And that thing where he forgets his wallet all the time?”
“All the time. Oh, and the nuts? Why is he always eating nuts?”
“For the protein!”
“Oh my God, yes.”
The waitress comes back with a tray full of drinks. Shek looks at his watch. “That was fourteen minutes.”
“Mi scuse, senore.”
“Should we warn Isabella?” I say, getting some control of myself.
“You think she’d listen?”
“I wouldn’t have.”
“I did try to warn you,” Guy says. “More than once.”99
“You did. Thank you, Guy.”
“I’m warning you again.”
My laughter cuts off, and I feel that chill down my spine. “You think he’s dangerous?”100
“Look at what he did this morning.”
“He was being an idiot.”
“Aren’t you the one who almost died yesterday?”
My hand goes up to my neck. It feels like the bone is still in place. “So I let him blackmail me for life?”
“Blackmail?” Emily says.
“Oh, um, I’m speaking metaphorically.”
“Okay,” she says, but not like she believes me.
“He made some trouble for me with the publisher about his name being used in When in Rome.”
“But that’s fair use.”
“They didn’t want to take the risk.”
“You paid him off? That was stupid.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’d have done the same thing,” Shek says. “We all would. If we saw our dream slipping away, there’s no telling what we’d do.”
“What are you going to do, Shek?” I ask.
“I didn’t put my money in crypto, so I’ll be all right.” He raises his glass. “Maybe I’ll give self-publishing a try. Or I’ll just stop writing.”
“Can you do that?”
“Stop getting up at four A.M. every day? You’re damn right.”
“Worrying about whether they’re going to accept your manuscript,” I counter.
“Worrying about the first reviews,” Emily says.
I shiver. “Goodreads.”
Emily takes a large gulp of her drink. “Goodreads is the worst.”101
We start to laugh again, but it’s not free like before. Instead, I feel uneasy, like someone’s staring at me, that creepy-crawly feeling of eyes boring into my neck. And when I turn around, the feeling’s confirmed. Connor’s standing there, close enough to hear everything we’ve said, and he’s got that smile on his face, one I know too well.
It’s the one he used when he was explaining to me how it was all going to work ten years ago. How much I was going to pay, and what would happen if I didn’t.
Then Connor cocks his finger in a pretend gun and pulls the trigger.
The fake bullet lands right between my eyes.
AMALFI MADE ME DO IT—OUTLINE
I’m a bit too drunk to write this properly, but I think I’ve solved it: It’s making Connor think that someone’s trying to kill him that kills him. The stress, the looking over his shoulder. The PARANOIA.
It could make you do stupid things. The way you can make a relationship end if that’s what you’re worried about. There’s a word for it.
“Manifestation.” So …
HOW:
TO DO:
Actual quote: “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.” —Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Good advice.