So yes, maybe she was crazy. Maybe this was a mid-life crisis.
But it was her mid-life crisis. Her mistake to make. Her life, and for the first time, she was calling the shots, living it the way she wanted.
If they didn’t like it, they could go shove it.
And maybe that was better than being in love—that she could write this story the way she wanted to, without input from anyone else.
Still . . .
No. She refused to think about it. This was her show. She called the shots. And right now, she was going to make this trip everything she wanted it to be. Because she was in control.
As the castle’s lights came into view, she suddenly noticed how dark it was around her. Clouds had rolled in, blocking out the stars.
Suddenly, lightning slit the sky, and it began to rain. No, it bordered a torrential downpour.
She broke into a run, laughing when she realized she was already drenched. It didn’t make much of a difference what she did.
Of course. Sure, I’m the one in control.
*
She took a warm shower under the waterfall shower head in the expansive stall shower, trying to warm up after that drenching rain had nearly chilled her to the bone. Afterwards, she wrapped her body in one of the fluffy hotel robes and sat on the canopy bed, staring at the brochure for the Verona Shakespeare Festival until it was etched in her head.
As beautiful as Florence was, it did feel like the place had been tainted. How many times had she dreamed of Ponte Vecchio? And now, every time she pictured it, she thought of Vidal, bouncing around and laughing that annoying laugh of hers.
The more she thought about it, the surer she became. She needed to get away.
Somewhere new.
Somewhere else on her bucket list.
It was after nine now. The girls had probably ended the dinner with their father. When she picked up her phone and entered in their numbers, she had her mind made up.
She called Bea’s phone first, since that was the first number she found while scrolling her confusing contacts list.
“Hello?”
“Hi, darling. It’s Mom.”
“Mommy. You scooted out so fast, we didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t really blame you. Vidal’s ridiculous. You know she got so drunk, she fell flat on her face when we were leaving?”
“Really?” For some reason, that made Diana feel better. “Was she okay?”
“Oh, sure. Every man in the vicinity rushed to help her. She loved the attention.”
Diana sighed. “Well, the wine was very good there.” Though not much else. “Oh. And I loved seeing you.”
“Speaking of which, Mom. Are we going to see you again? We don’t fly back for another three days.”
“That depends. I’m going to Verona tomorrow. Why don’t you two come with me? I’d love to spend more time with you.”
“Verona? Where’s that?”
“It’s about three hours north by train. It’s where Romeo and Juliet was set. They have a summer-long Shakespeare festival, and—”
“But wait. Didn’t you just get here? Why—” She paused, and Diana could hear her talking to someone in the background. “Exactly. Why would you go all the way—”
“Who are you talking to?”
“Lily. We’re rooming together. Like old times.” She paused. “But seriously, Mom. Lily and I thought we all could go sightseeing around here. We wanted to—”
“I know, love. But I just have a feeling that I need to . . . escape . . .”
“This is because of Dad, isn’t it?”
“No,” she said immediately, a lie that must’ve been pretty transparent, considering how quickly Bea returned with, “Oh, yes it is.”
“Well—”
“Like I said. I don’t blame you. You were trying to escape him and Vidal, and he shows up on your—”
“I was not trying to escape them.” Well, she had been, a little. Them, and about a thousand other things about her mundane, ordinary life. But yes, them showing up had thrown a complete wrench into her purpose, which was writing her own post-marriage chapter, sans Evan. “And I’m definitely not trying to escape you. If you want to come along, I’ll be taking the nine o’clock tomorrow morning. You can come with me.”
“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.