Chapter 21

Anna left for Boston three days later. Sarah didn’t bother to tell her about Eduardo. What would be the point? Anna would either tell her the whole situation was her own damn fault—how could she argue with that reasoning?—or worse, would suggest she call Marco. So, Sarah traded her fuzzy slippers for wool socks, barricaded herself in her room, and spent the first few days of break sifting through her sketchbooks and polishing off a brand-new jar of Choctella.

If not for Mom’s impending visit, she might have spent her entire break that way. But only one thing could make things worse—Mom’s condemning glare. She pulled herself together and did what any woman in her situation would do; she scrubbed the hell out of her bathroom.

“This is where you live?” Mom said when she arrived.

Apparently, the sparkling tiles did nothing to ease Mom’s disapproval. “I told you my accommodations were nothing fancy.”

“Fancy? I’d be better off sharing a shower in the hostel!” Mom poked her head in the bathroom and wrinkled her nose.

“The room is fine, Mom,” Sarah said. “It’s only temporary.”

Mom raised an eyebrow and turned her attention to Sarah’s bed. “What exactly are your plans for next year?”

Sarah harrumphed before answering. “I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know yet?” Mom opened her eyes wide. “But it’s nearly January.”

“Can we have this conversation later? I want to hit the Vatican before it gets too crowded.” Sarah grabbed her purse and started for the door.

Mom didn’t move. “How much longer will you put this off, Sarah? You can’t hide forever.”

“I’m not hiding.” Am I? And what did it matter if she was? Sarah dug in her purse for her keys. Finding them, she squeezed them so hard she was sure the metal would leave a mark. “Let’s just go.”

“Sarah, please. I know this divorce isn’t easy for you.” Mom placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder and squeezed. “I don’t want you to throw away your life.”

Why can’t she leave this issue alone? Sarah pulled back, flailing her hands in the air. The keys flew out and clanked against the desk chair before coming to rest on the floor. “I’m not throwing away my life. I’m just figuring out what the hell to do with it.”

With a frown, Mom dropped her gaze.

Sarah struggled to control her breathing, which suddenly became ragged. She didn’t move to pick up the keys.

Mom didn’t either.

A knock sounded on the door, breaking the silence. Sarah rushed to open it.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Sister Maria announced. She took a step inside and extended a hand to Sarah’s mother. “You must be Sarah’s mother. So nice to finally meet you in person, Mrs. Miller.”

Great. If Sarah thought her mother’s prying was intrusive, just wait until the two of them combined forces.

“So, will you come?” Sister Maria asked Sarah.

“I’m sorry?”

Sister Maria gave an amused smile. “I asked whether you and your mother would attend Christmas Eve mass.”

Christmas Eve mass? As if she’d thought past the next two days. They had to visit the Trevi Fountain and the Colosseum.

“Of course!” Mom said.

Sarah shot Mom a glance. “Mom, you’re Methodist. You won’t even underst—”

“Well, you know what they say, Sarah?” Mom clasped her hands. “When in Rome…”

Sarah rolled her eyes.

“Magnifico,” Sister Maria said with a smile. “Friday. Eleven o’clock.”

****

Four days later, Sarah and Mom headed to the chapel. Stars shone in the dark sky, and a gentle winter’s wind brushed her cheeks.

Mom bounced through the courtyard, bubbling with excitement. “I can’t wait! I hope the service is by candlelight.”

Sarah stifled a yawn. The last few days with Mom exhausted her. If she had to pose for one more picture or browse one more souvenir shop, she might just go mental. And don’t even bring up the stairs: the Spanish steps, the stadium seating in the Colosseum, and the trek up the winding staircase of the basilica. Of course, Sarah climbed them all before, but she’d done so over months, not in the span of four days. Sarah’s feet ached, and she slumped her shoulders. Would anyone notice if she nodded off?

Inside the chapel, Sister Maria, dressed in her traditional robes and habit, stood out in the tiny but crowded sanctuary. Sarah guided Mom through the dimly lit nave toward her.

“I saved you seats.” Sister Maria gestured toward the second pew from the front.

The pew was empty, save for a lone man on the far side. His head was buried in a hymnal.

“The chapel’s beautiful.” Mom gazed around the room.

Sarah paused to take in the chapel’s transformation. On the altar, a pair of candles adorned a table dressed in red velvet. Feathery evergreen branches draped down the sides. The organist played cheery Christmas tunes instead of the usual somber dirges. Beautiful, indeed.

“After you.” Sister Maria motioned to Sarah to go in first. “I’ll sit by your mother and explain the service.”

“Thanks.” At least she could enjoy the service—or sleep through it. But could she trust their conversation wouldn’t veer from Catholic rituals? Sarah shrugged. Tame conversation was about as likely as the priest singing a gospel. Sarah led the way and shuffled into the narrow pew.

The man at the end glanced up from his book. He did a double take then stood.

Sarah stopped, and her heart quickened. Not him. Anyone but him.

“Sarah,” Eduardo said. The hymnal slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Sarah was too shocked to move. “Yes.” Her voice shook.

Eduardo knelt to pick up the book.

Swallowing hard, Sarah firmed her tone. “I mean, likewise.”

As Eduardo returned to standing, his gaze flitted between Sarah and the hymnal. He rubbed the spine of the book and chewed his lip.

Mom nudged Sarah’s side and mumbled.

But Sarah didn’t catch what she said. She didn’t turn to ask, either. She could only focus on the questions racing through her mind: Is he alone? Where is Antoinette? And Lucia? She glanced back over her shoulder.

With a wave her hands, Mom motioned to Sarah to scoot down the aisle.

Sarah looked past Mom to the stoic face of Sister Maria, who conveniently avoided meeting Sarah’s gaze. She clenched her teeth. Does hell have a special place for people who strangle meddling nuns? She inched down the pew, making room for Mom and Sister Maria—and bringing her closer to Eduardo.

His gaze flicked from Sarah’s face to the two women behind her.

Did he suspect Sister Maria’s meddling as well? Sarah attempted a smile.

Returning an equally strained smile, Eduardo leaned over and kissed Sarah briefly on each cheek.

As she caught a whiff of his intoxicating scent, she sucked in her breath, her knees threatening to give way. She steadied herself on the adjacent pew.

Eduardo pulled back. “I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about calling you.”

Sarah tightened her grip on the pew.

“I wanted to apologize for the other night.” He shuffled his feet. “At the play. I didn’t mean for you to meet—”

He stopped before saying her name—the name that made Sarah want to chuck the hymnal at him.

“I can’t believe your Italian,” he said. “And your painting.”

Sarah flinched. Please don’t ask again about the sunset.

“You never did tell me your inspiration.”

Sarah froze again, her body felt so stiff she might as well have been pinned next to the crucifix hanging in front of them. “Well, I…”

With a smile, Mom stretched around her and extended a hand. “Hello. I’m Rose, Sarah’s mom.”

Wow. Sarah never thought she’d see the day when imposing moms came in handy.

Eduardo extended his long torso through the cramped space, his chest briefly touching Sarah’s, as he took Mom’s hand. He spoke briefly with her.

The words were muffled by the pounding of Sarah’s heart. The warmth of his body breathed through her, and his fresh scent filled her nose.

“How nice of your mom to visit.” He pulled back.

“Yes,” Sarah said. “Very nice.” She kept her gaze straight ahead, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see Eduardo studying her. Why hadn’t she bothered to put on any mascara? Lip gloss? Anything? Antoinette probably never left the house without looking perfect.

The organ’s melody slowed, and the priest glided toward the podium. Before more awkward conversation could ensue, Sarah plopped onto the wooden seat.

Eduardo sat as well, his knee lightly colliding with hers. “Sorry.” He attempted to reposition himself.

Sarah shifted closer to Mom, but the row was full, and the seating was cramped. “It’s okay.”

As he adjusted his position, he banged his shoulder and hip into hers. “Sorry.” He crossed one leg over the other and pulled his knee to his chest.

Sarah sighed. Who thought to cram the two long-legs together? She cast an eye at Sister Maria, who was in deep conversation with Mom. No strangling, she told herself. At least, not in church. “It’s fine, really,” she said to Eduardo. “Please, I’m uncomfortable just looking at you.”

With a warm smile, he settled back to resting his knee gently against hers.

Now at the pulpit, the priest began his Latin chant.

Sarah tried to pay attention to the service, but she kept focusing on the small spot where her knee touched Eduardo’s. Her heart raced. I just have to make it through the next hour, she reminded herself. Then the torture will end.

At least, until school resumes.

The priest switched to Italian.

From the pew, Sarah concentrated on translating the words. Her pulse finally returned to normal.

Mom leaned in. “Your friend’s very handsome,” she whispered.

The whisper wasn’t quiet enough. Sarah opened her eyes wide, and heat rushed her face. She might really strangle someone yet and glanced at Eduardo.

Grinning widely, he flicked up his left eyebrow. “I like your mother.”

Sarah’s face burned even hotter. She sank down in her seat and closed her eyes. Can everyone please keep their noses out of my business?

For the next half hour, her prayer was answered. Then the congregation joined in song—the “Ave Maria.”

Eduardo sang along.

His mellow baritone voice sent chills down her spine. Sarah found herself not watching the cantor at the pulpit, but Eduardo. His lips rounded for hora mortis nostrae. His Adam’s apple lifted for high notes and dropped for lows. When the song ended, she still stared, even as he retook his seat. “Your voice—” her breath caught—“is breathtaking.”

Smiling so broad his glasses lifted, Eduardo tugged her hand. “Thank you.”

Sarah drifted back to the pew.

He cocked his head to the side. “Yours, on the other hand… You’d best keep to painting.”

Drawing a hand to her neck, Sarah was unsure if she should burst with anger or amusement.

Eduardo burst with laughter.

Nearby attendants shushed.

Mom bent forward for a closer look.

As Eduardo regained his composure, he placed a hand on her knee. “Sorry.” He rubbed her leg. “I’m only teasing.”

Sarah shifted her attention between his hand, his face, and back. His hand remained firmly on her thigh.

“Sorry.” He pulled back his hand.

Her breath quickened, and Sarah struggled to find a response. You don’t need to be sorry—please, put back your hand. Or, please, I made a mistake. She wanted to say so many things, not the least of which was that she wanted him back. But all she could do was lower her head and say a prayer that Antoinette might somehow vanish.

As the mass adjourned, Sarah filed out to the foyer, Mom on one side and Eduardo on the other. If she spent one more second next to Eduardo, the priest would be reading her last rites, for sure.

Sister Maria stayed behind to speak to the parents of a student.

Sarah walked with them to the front of the church.

“Do you have plans for Christmas?” Eduardo asked.

“We’ll try to catch the service at St. Peter’s,” Mom answered.

“Better get there early,” he said.

“I’ve heard.” Sarah counted the steps to the church exit. Only six—no five—and she’d be free of this miserable night.

“Why don’t you come by after?” Eduardo asked. “My place is so close to the cathedral.”

What?! Sarah stopped short in her tracks. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

“I’m preparing a traditional meal for me and Lucia.”

And Antoinette?

“Do you like fish?” he asked Mom. “Seafood?”

“Oh, I adore it!” She smiled at Sarah. “I’m sure we can come by.”

Eduardo smiled broadly and rambled on about the menu.

Sarah grimaced. No, no, no! God in heaven, why are you torturing me so? Which would be worse—another evening in his company or four days of never hearing the end of her refusal from Mom? She pressed her fingers to her temple, where her pulse throbbed. “All right,” she said through clenched teeth. “What can we bring?”