Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
She looked around as she spoke. “Ciao.”
“Ciao.”
She rattled off a sentence in Italian so fast, I wasn’t sure I would’ve caught what she said even if I was fluent. I waved my hand and offered the sentence I knew best.
“Scusa, parlo solo un po’ di Italiano. Inglese?” Sorry, I only speak a little Italian. English?
The woman frowned. “Sophia?”
Shoot. I was pretty sure she was asking where my grandmother was. “Sophia.” I pointed to myself. “Mia nonna. She…died.”
The woman’s gray bushy eyebrows pulled together, but then her eyes widened. “Dead?”
I nodded.
“You nonna?”
I nodded again, and she swamped me in a hug. “Oh. Uh, thank you,” I said. “Grazie.”
After, she marched around the store picking up random things—salt and pepper shakers, one silver candlestick, a typewriter… It didn’t even seem like she considered each item before adding it to the collection in her arms. When she had a dozen or so items, she dropped them all at the register and offered a curt nod.
“You…want me to ring you up for all of this?”
She stared at me for a while before rubbing her fingers together in the universal sign for money and nodding. “I pay.”
“Okay…”
I was ringing in the last item when she picked up the teacup I’d just opened. She held it out to me. “I pay, too.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry. That’s not for sale.”
She shrugged and set it back down, then took out her wallet, paid in cash, and didn’t wait for change before walking out.
After her car pulled away, I took the teacup to the back of the store. My grandmother’s note had said the tea set she’d been collecting was stored in the closet, so I figured I might find more of these pretty cups in there. But when I pulled out the large box from the bottom shelf, the first cup I unwrapped looked nothing like the one I’d bought the other day, though it seemed to have been painted by the same artist. It was another Tuscan landscape, but this one showed a stone church nestled in the hills. The details were even more intricate: stained-glass windows, terra-cotta roof tiles, and a bell tower topped with a cross. Another photograph was tucked beneath it. If it were possible, this painting was even more spot-on than the first. I flipped the photo over and found another beautiful note written on the back.
Confession #1: I pretended not to notice you staring that day at church, but the truth is, I was hoping you’d never stop.
I hadn’t even seen the rest of the set, but I already understood why my grandmother had been collecting them. The teacups and sentiments were both so beautiful, it almost made me believe in love again. Almost. But let’s not go crazy.
The next teacup I unwrapped had the Eiffel Tower in the background. Two people sat in a piazza with cobblestone streets, drinking wine under a striped umbrella. The back of the photograph was dated August 4th, six years ago, and underneath read:
Confession #4: Doing nothing with you in Paris feels like I’m doing everything I was meant to accomplish.
One by one, I pulled out each of the teacups and read the confessions on the back of the matching photographs.
A colorful sunset washing the sky with purples and pinks, set over a field of tall yellow sunflowers.
Confession #7: The warmth of the Tuscan sun doesn’t compare to the warmth I feel when I’m near you.
The next had a painting of the sea and a star-filled night above the blue-domed rooftops of the island of Santorini, Greece.
Confession #9: Underneath the night sky, my love for you outshines all the stars.
I read a few more, and as I lifted the last of the teacups from the box, my heart felt full of hope. At least until I got to the very bottom and found a photo that didn’t have a matching teacup. On the back it read:
Confession #12: Forgive me. I never meant to hurt the one I loved most.
Chapter 12
Allegra
KNOCK. KNOCK.
I looked out at the beautiful sunset while waiting for Matteo to answer the door. Electronic dance music blasted from inside the house, and it was not what I’d expected to hear. I would’ve taken him more for a classic rock fan, or maybe some Pavarotti. After a minute of waiting, I knocked a second time, this time louder. That did the trick. The door swung open. Only it wasn’t Matteo who’d answered. It was a woman. And she was absolutely stunning. Long shiny black hair, high cheekbones, full lips, and sparkling blue eyes. She wore a short black silk robe that barely skimmed the top of her tanned thighs, and the longer I stared at her, the more familiar she looked. I thought perhaps she might be famous? Maybe a model?
“Hi,” I finally managed. “Umm…is Matteo here?”