“Hold on. Let me ask Lil.” She didn’t sound that enthusiastic. There was a pause. When she came back on, she said, “We’ll come. But we’ll probably take a later train out. Lil wants to see the Cathedral.”

  “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll meet you there. It’ll be fun.” As she said it, a thought occurred to her. Florence was supposed to be fun, too. It would’ve been, if Evan and Vidal hadn’t shown up and changed the entire romantic fabric of the city for her. She quickly added, “But Bea . . .” wondering how to phrase it as delicately as possible. Even though her children were grown, she’d never wanted it to seem like there was animosity between her and Evan. It wasn’t healthy to see parents fighting over petty things, no matter how old their kids were.

  “I get it, I get it. Don’t tell Dad. We won’t.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. So I’ll see you tomorrow? Tex—” She stopped, remembering her phone. “Call me when you get in, all right?”

  “I will. Good night, Mom. Love you.”

  Diana ended the call and flipped her phone closed. Verona. Tomorrow. Sure, Romeo and Juliet had been a tragedy, but Diana was determined to make her own experience in Italy a happy one, no matter what it took.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  At promptly 8:45 the following morning, Diana boarded the Italia-Rail train to Verona. As she settled into her seat in the crowded train, she smiled, feeling almost like she had in New York when she’d left Evan behind the first time—a mix of excitement and nerves.

  Of course, though the train was practically full, no one sat next to her. Some people even seemed to want to stand, rather than sit beside or across from her at her table. She kept the seat clear, and yet, people took one look at her and went elsewhere. After a while, she started to get a complex. Did she smell? Look evil? What?

  She picked up her menu and read the offerings, trying not to worry too much about it.

  Before the train left, a waiter came by and asked her if she wanted something to drink. “A Perrier, I guess,” she said, since her stomach was a bit unsettled from all the wine last night.

  “And your husband?” He motioned to the seat across from her.

  Oh, so that was it. “Oh, no. I’m alone.”

  He raised his eyebrows, confused, as if she’d just admitted she was a cannibal.

  Diana almost laughed. She was no longer wearing her wedding band, and hadn’t worn it in over a year, so the line from it on her finger had faded. What was it about her that made her look like she was still a part of a couple? Was it her age, her demeanor, her conservative dress and hairstyle? Did she have to dress or carry herself a certain way in order to look single? How did one meet eligible single men her age, then?

  Maybe it was just that she looked too eligible. Too desperate to meet men.

  Yes, that was probably it. Wasn’t there an old adage about men usually flocking to a woman, the second she stopped looking for one?

  That thought nestled firmly in her mind, she turned toward the window and watched as the train station was left behind. Only a mile or so later, the buildings of Florence gave way to rolling countryside and vineyards. Cows and livestock roamed stone-fenced meadows, and ramshackle barns and farmhouses studded the verdant green fields. In the distance, the magnificent Dolomites rose up, their snow-capped ridges scraping the bright blue sky.

  “Scusi,” a voice said suddenly, stirring her from her awe.

  She looked up, expecting it was the waiter, ready to take her order. But it was a tall, slim, dark-haired man in a suit jacket, with a leather bag over his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes?”

  “American?” He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. He pointed to the seat across from her. “Is that seat taken?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  She shifted her drink and book closer to her, to make room for him, but he held up a hand as he slipped off his jacket. “Not necessary, thank you,” he said politely in a clipped Italian accent, then slipped in the seat and let out a tired sigh.

  “You’ve been traveling a lot,” she observed.

  He looked down at himself and laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

  She shook her head, immediately embarrassed for making him feel self-conscious. He was very clean, really, considering. She’d looked and felt far worse after her jaunt across the Atlantic. But he had more than a five o’clock shadow, studded with gray hair, and his eyes were a bit bleary. “Not at all. You just look tired.”

  He laughed. “I should be. I’ve been flying since yesterday morning. Just got in from New York.”

  “Oh? I’m from New York myself. You’re from Italy?”

  “Yes,” he said, motioning to the waiter and ordering an espresso. “Verona is my home. Very happy to be returning. I am Marcello.”

  He reached out a hand. She took it. “Diana.”

  He shook it lightly, slowly, and with meaning, dipping his head with reverence, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her knuckles. “Lovely to meet you, Princess Diana.”

  The gesture was so unexpected, a giggle erupted from Diana’s throat. “Um. Just Diana is fine.”

  “But you look like a princess. Like you should have an entourage of admirers.”

  Diana blinked. She’d heard Italian men were forward with women, taking what they wanted. So . . . did that mean that Marcello wanted her? She started to flush and looked away.

  “It is my first visit,” Diana said. “And it’s fortunate you sat down here because I was wondering what I should see. I’m only in town for the day, I’m thinking. I’ll be taking a late train back to Florence. Of course, if you’d rather rest . . .”

  “No, no.” He laughed. “I am happy to tell you. Verona is the most beautiful town, full of tradition and history. You will like. You go to Castle Vecchio, of course.”

  Diana wasn’t sure she wanted to go to anything Vecchio, at all, since Ponte hadn’t worked out so well for her. But Vecchio was Italian for “old,” so she assumed that if she wanted to absorb the country’s history, she needed to break with that fear as soon as possible. “Is it nice?”

  The waiter came with his espresso, and he lifted the tiny cup. “Very. You like. Very nice ponte, there, too. Lovely views of the river.”

  “Ponte?” Her stomach roiled as her head swam with flashbacks of the last Ponte.

  “Bridge. Si.”

  Hmm. The last thing she wanted was to think about her interaction with Evan and Vidal. “Any other ideas?”

  “Let’s see. You can go to the Piazza delle Erbe to do some shopping, eh? Or . . . Piazza Bra, which is beautiful and historic. Oh. And you must come to the Shakespeare Festival. It is so good. Music, wine, food, dancing. Period costumes. Very famous.”

  She smiled, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to see a period costume again in her lifetime. She’d done that in Versailles, and the adventure had turned out far from the romantic time she’d been expecting. “That sounds nice. I’d heard about it. I was definitely thinking of stopping by.”

  “You should,” he said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “It is something you will always remember!”

  She laughed at his enthusiasm and obvious love for his hometown. But Versailles had turned out to be something she’d always remember, too, and not for all good reasons, either. In fact, it’d been a bit scary for a time, considering she’d wound up a suspect in a murder and jewel theft. “What were you doing in New York?”

  “Oh.” He laughed. “Not for much good, I am afraid. I had an audition for a play. Broadway.”

  “You’re an actor?”

  He nodded. “Yes. The timing, though, was no good. I did badly. But it was for the part of a lifetime, so I had to take it.” He seemed to drift off for a moment, likely remembering something he’d done in the audition, and shook his head in a self-deprecating way. “It was a disaster.”

  “Oh. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” she said. The man was handsome, an Italian Pierce Brosnan. Of course he was an actor. Something told Diana that he’d immediately captivate any audience, in any room he walked into. Yes, he’d likely done just fine in that audition.

  “Ah. You weren’t there. I forgot my lines. I—” He laughed. “I was exhausted. It’s my fault for flying in that morning after dress rehearsal the night before.”

  “Dress rehearsal?”

  “Yes. It was terribly inconvenient that my agent scheduled it that way, considering it was on the eve of . . .” He stopped, as if remembering something. “Diana.”

  She blinked. He was staring at her as if he had something very important to tell her. Odd, considering they’d just met. “Yes?”

  He reached into the pocket of his bag and pulled out a ticket. “You like Shakespeare?”

  She nodded. “Very much.”

  “Then you must be my guest. I am performing in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Arena di Verona this afternoon. It is our famous open-air theater, and I tell you, it is thrilling just to be there inside it. Even better than the Colosseum in Roma! It is opening night. Do me the honor of being my guest?”

  She looked at the ticket. It was front seat, center. The idea was exactly up her alley. She’d always wanted to go to Broadway plays, but Evan had never liked them. Though Broadway was only a short drive away, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d been in to watch a performance. The last was Cats, in the 1980s, and that had been, well . . . weird.

  But she’d always loved A Midsummer Night’s Dream, from the moment she’d read it in high school. In fact, of all of Shakespeare’s plays, it’d been her favorite, since it was so magical and mysterious. She’d always wanted to see it performed. In Italy, at the famous Arena di Verona? That would be a big plus. “Who do you play?”

  He smiled. “I’m a mechanical. Peter Quince, the carpenter. It’s quite a good production.”

  “Oh.” That was a good role. He had to be very experienced. Well, she supposed him jetting off to New York to audition said that he was a serious actor. And clearly, he was different from Evan, who never understood the arts. That was a definite plus. She took the ticket. “You know, A Midsummer Night’s Dream takes place in Athens. Not Verona. That’s Romeo and Juliet.”

  He laughed. “And Two Gentleman of Verona, but of course that one is less known. You know your Shakespeare.”

  Marcello clearly did, too. Maybe that went with the territory of being an actor. She’d never actually met an actor before. Evan likely didn’t even know that Romeo and Juliet was set in Verona . . . and probably didn’t even care. He’d hated Shakespeare. She stared at the ticket, feeling her heart skip with excitement. “I’d love to. Tonight?”

  “Today. At three in the afternoon sharp. You’ll be there?”

  “Yes. Of course. I am sure I will enjoy it.” She thought about asking for more tickets, for Lily and Bea, but she didn’t want to be pushy. Besides, she didn’t know what time they’d arrive. And if the girls wanted to take in a play, which she wasn’t really sure they’d even enjoy, since they were more like their father in that respect, she could always buy them tickets later. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome.” He leaned forward and his eyes drifted from her to the window, dancing a little. “Ah. See that little hill?”

  She followed his gaze out the window to a small, rising slope, where several sheep were lazily grazing under the bright sun and a sky dotted with cotton clouds. “Yes.”

  “Beyond that, in that valley, is my home. It is good to be back there. And I know you will love it. Maybe you stay? Perhaps tomorrow, after the performance, I might have the pleasure of meeting you again?”

  The thought had never occurred to her. To stay? Luckily she’d brought her large carry-on bag with her rather than leaving her things in Florence, so yes, she supposed she could change plans and stay in Verona overnight, if the situation called for it. But . . . would her obsessively ordered planner’s mind let her do that, simply on a whim?

  As she stared into Marcello’s dark eyes, she didn’t care.

  She nodded, her breath taken away as she thought of the bucket list item she’d written on the train. Fall in love in Italy.

  Beyond that hill, a charming city came into view. Maybe there, that dream would come true.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Diana walked down the cobbled streets of Piazza delle Erbe, gazing in the windows of the shops. As she did, the words kept running through her head: Fall in love in Italy. Fall in love in Italy. Fall in love in Italy.

  Marcello was nice. Handsome. Charming. When he’d left her in front of the train station, where he’d helped her hail a cab to the Piazza, he’d winked at her and told her that he would be looking for her in the audience.

  She shivered at the memory, then reminded herself to chill out, as Bea would’ve said. The last time she’d gotten all googly-eyed over a man had been in Versailles, when she’d danced with a man who turned out to be not only married, but a jewel thief. He’d also been murdered later that night, and she’d been a suspect. You don’t exactly have impeccable taste in men, she scolded herself as she stepped along the concourse.

  Marcello was right. It was a lovely place to go shopping. The square was bordered on all sides by historic buildings, some of them cafes with outdoor, umbrellaed seating. The smell of roast garlic hung heavy in the air. There were many old Roman sculptures, as well as a large fountain in the center. People were sitting at its edge, basking in the sun.

  Diana wasn’t exactly hungry, though. Well, perhaps she was, but it wasn’t for food. There was a strange sense of yearning inside her, one she couldn’t quite define.

  As she walked by the shops, peering in the windows, her phone began to buzz in her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number, but she answered anyway. It was Lily. “Mom. Just wanted to let you know we’re at the train station in Florence. We’ve got tickets for the two o’clock.”

  “Oh, great! I’ll see you tonight. I’m going to a show. Would you want me to try to get you tickets?”

  “A show?”

  “Yes. A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  “Ew. Why?”

  So that was a no. Diana burst out laughing. That was exactly what she thought Lily would say. “Contrary to your belief, some people actually enjoy Shakespeare’s plays.”

  She laughed, too. “Doubtful. With who?”

  “What?”

  “Who are you going with?”

  “No one. I’m going by myself, of course,” Diana said, wondering what happened to solo travel. Why was it so shocking to people? “But the town is beautiful. You’ll love it.”

  She sighed. “I loved Florence. I could’ve spent the next week there. As it is, Mom, we only have three days. And until this little wrench, we were thinking about going to Rome.”

  “Oh. Sorry about that,” she said. “If you’d rather, you can—”

  “Mom. Stop making it sound like you’re trying to get rid of us!”

  “I’m not, love,” she said. She wasn’t, but she hadn’t expected to see her kids. She’d said her goodbyes two weeks ago. To see them so soon was lovely, but it she’d mentally prepared herself for a much longer time away from them. “But this is my trip, and I want to—”

  “I don’t get it. Who are you and what have you done with Diana St. James?”

  “What are you talking about, darling?”

  “You’re being so . . . weirdly . . . spontaneous. Need I remind you that you were the one who scheduled us down to the minute during that Disney vacation? What happened to that woman? Because picking up and changing locales on the spur of the moment was really—”

  “Necessary,” she said. “I didn’t make the choice lightly. But I’m learning that sometimes it’s better to pay attention to one’s heart than what’s posted on my planner.”

  “Oh. My. God.” There was a pause. Likely, she was discussing this newest revelation with Bea. “I wish you’d have learned that twenty years ago, when I wanted to go on Dumbo twice but you just had to get us to our appointments at the Bibbity Bobbity Boutique.”

  “You wanted those makeovers,” Diana pointed out.

  “Forget it,” Lily grumbled. “Anyway. I’ll call you when we get to Verona. Enjoy the play. We can go to dinner.”

  When she pocketed her phone, she knew exactly what the yearning was when she peered into a shop window and saw a sky-blue dress with flutter sleeves.

  Yes, that was what she wanted.

  She’d been so embarrassed, wearing that black travel dress, which was now in a ball in the bottom of her carry-on. Not only had it made her look like wallpaper, she’d felt that way, too. What she needed was something that would help her stand out. Feel pretty, feminine. Something for tonight.

  A bell over the door jingled as she went inside. The place was dark, the walls and floor covered in royal-red carpet and wallpaper, and choked with displays of an array of clothing. It was a secondhand shop, yet all of the mannequins were dressed so beautifully, Diana had a hard time believing anyone would part with the clothes.

  A woman came out from behind a glass case. “Ciao,” she started, and began speaking in very fast Italian.

  “I’m sorry,” Diana said. “I don’t speak Italian well and I’ve lost my translator, so could you please speak slowly? Per favore parla più lentamente?”

  The woman was wearing a leopard-print blouse, and she had all of her dark hair pulled back from her head in a giant barrette with a unicorn on it. She was older, with thick cake makeup gathering in the wrinkles around her eyes and on her lips. “Ah, I speak English,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, thank you. I was interested in that dress in the front window.”

  The woman’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes. One of my proudest moments!”

 

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