Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
“You’re being very dramatic. It’s not like you’re in Naples. You’re staying at a luxury villa. I’m the one slumming it in Sicily.”
“You want to trade places?”
“Ha. Ha.”
“Seriously, Toni. I can’t stay here.”
“You won’t have to. I’m seeing my boyfriend in two weeks and—”
“Two weeks! You can’t leave me here for two weeks.”
“There is nothing I can do. He’s on vacation with his wife right now.”
I closed my eyes. “Your boyfriend is married.”
“Duh.”
“Is this the same man who got you pregnant?”
“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not like that. He loves me. He’ll totally want to marry me once he finds out about the baby. His wife doesn’t understand him or his needs. No competition.”
“What is Father going to say when he finds out about all this?”
“Who cares. Besides, my boyfriend is way better than some stupid horse farmer. I’m sure I’ll be able to convince Father of that, later—when it’s too late.”
I absently wondered what Matteo, a billionaire with generational wealth and prestige, would think about being referred to as a "stupid horse farmer."
I slumped down onto the chair close to the fire. “You really are a selfish bitch, you know that?”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere. Come on, Ella. Just pretend to be me for a few tiny weeks… like you promised.”
Before I could respond, there was a soft knock on the door.
I rose to answer it.
Lucia stepped over the threshold, holding a tray of food with a small glass carafe of red wine. “I thought you might be hungry. I’m not as good of a cook as Rosa, but I made you radicchio con pancetta e parmigiano reggiano.”
I looked down at the roasted boat-shaped leaves of radicchio which were covered in salty pancetta and partially melted cheese. My stomach growled.
“Hold on, Toni.” Speaking to Lucia, I said, “That was very nice of—”
My sister cut in. “Tip the tray.”
I held up my finger to Lucia and mouthed, one moment as I took a few steps back and whispered into the phone. “What?”
“Knock over the tray.”
“No.”
“Do it.”
“Absolutely not. That’s rude.”
“Precisely. You’re me, not you. Remember the time I dumped that bowl of soup over Maria’s head when she brought it up to my bedroom when I was sick?”
“Yes. You were mad at her for tempting you with food when you were hoping to lose ten pounds from the stomach flu like that chick from The Devil Wears Prada.”
“So tip the tray.”
I looked over at Lucia, who was staring at the floor, probably trying to pretend that how I was acting wasn’t super weird.
Antonia ground out, “Tip the fucking tray, Ella! They have to think you’re me.”
The acid in my stomach roiled as I stepped closer to Lucia.
“Do it,” growled Antonia into the phone.
Taking a deep breath, I raised my arm and slammed it down on the edge of the tray. It flipped out of Lucia’s grasp and landed face down on the Persian carpet.
For a moment, we both just stared wide-eyed at one another as if neither of us could believe what just happened.
I swallowed past the choking dryness in my throat and channeled my sister. “If I wanted something, I would have asked for it.”
Antonia cackled into the phone.
Lucia swiped at a tear on her cheek as she kneeled to clean up the tray. “You’re right. I’m so sorry for presuming. I’ll clean this up.”
This was too much. I couldn’t stand there and watch her cry as she picked up the tray.
Forcing an edge to my voice, I said, “Just leave it and get out.”
Lucia lowered her head and nodded before rushing out of the room.
I slammed the door after her and leaned against it. “I really hate you,” I whispered into the phone as my own tears fell.
“Whatever.”
She hung up.
I lowered to my knees and gingerly picked up the shattered glass and pieces of pancetta.
CHAPTER 23
ELLA
Iawoke with a start when the covers were ripped off me.
Matteo was standing over my bed. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Not having the energy to dig into the suitcase earlier, I just ripped off the itchy faceted overlay to my dress, ditched my panties and bra and collapsed into bed wearing the short silk shift.
Shocked, I scrambled to pull the blankets up over me. “How did you get in here? The door was locked.”
He drilled me with a look. “There is no such thing as a locked door to me. Now explain yourself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lucia,” he growled. “She’s crying because of you.”
He was standing over me in just a pair of gray sweatpants riding low on his hips with his hair still wet. His muscled chest and strange passionflower cult tattoo were on full display.
It took a moment for me to comprehend what he was saying, and then a wave of shame washed over me.
Forgetting all about how I was supposed to be Antonia, I clutched the covers to my breasts as I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”