Chapter 3

I found the opera tickets in the drawer beneath Bianca's makeup bag.

Two seats. Saturday evening. A date that had passed three months ago.

I'd taken the afternoon off that day. Matteo had booked a table near the theater. At five, Bianca called crying because Adrian had gone quiet after she'd told him she didn't want a relationship.

"We can't leave her alone," Matteo said.

"Luca's with her."

"She wants all of us."

I'd stood in the doorway with my earrings half fastened.

"I've been looking forward to this for weeks."

"Elena. Her father's dead. She has nobody else."

We'd spent the evening on this very couch. Bianca's feet were tucked beneath her on Matteo's side. Adrian had arrived with flowers, and she'd made room for him too.

I hadn't worn those earrings since.

Now I dropped the tickets into the trash.

Bianca's foundation bottle rolled toward the open drawer. I caught it, put it back in her bag, and carried the bag into the living room.

The study had been mine when we moved in. Matteo had chosen the desk because I liked to spread books open beside my laptop. Lately, I'd been working at the kitchen table.

A garment rack blocked the bookcase. Bianca used our apartment to change before going out, and somehow her things stayed longer than she did.

I pulled the rack forward far enough to reach my books.

By noon, three boxes stood by the door.

Matteo came home while I was taping the third.

"What's all this?"

"I'm sorting my things."

He stepped over a stack of flattened cardboard and opened the refrigerator.

"Have you seen the sparkling water?"

"Bottom shelf."

"You should take a break. Come have lunch."

For a moment, I set the tape down.

Then he took out his phone.

"Bianca found that place she was talking about. Luca's driving."

"I'm busy."

"I'll bring you something."

He kissed my temple on his way out. The box between us held the books he'd given me over six birthdays. He didn't look inside.

I ate a sandwich and booked the pickup.

Over the next week, I handed off the work I'd been doing at the docks. I showed the replacement where everything was, answered his questions, and put the remaining dates on one page.

Matteo ran his father's smuggling docks. The Don himself had already agreed to release me after the handover.

At home, I joined a video tour of an apartment. A second bedroom faced a courtyard. The agent called it an office.

"Can you show me that room again?"

She turned the camera back. Empty shelves. A window that opened. Enough space for my desk and a chair beside it.

"Would you like to apply?"

"Yes."

I completed the application, but left the deposit unpaid while the agent checked the moving date.

Bianca arrived as the movers took my last box downstairs.

"Are you redecorating?"

"Moving."

She waited for me to explain, then followed me into the kitchen.

"Where?"

"Seattle."

Her eyes moved toward the study. "Is this because my stuff is here? I said I'd clear it out."

"You can collect it whenever you like."

"Elena, are you upset with me?"

I rinsed my cup and placed it in the drying rack.

"I have things to finish before dinner."

"You could have told me."

I looked at her. She was wearing the earrings Luca had asked me to choose.

"I'm telling you now."

For once, I didn't add that she'd done nothing wrong. She stood beside the counter until her phone rang, then went into the hall to answer it.

That night, the apartment agent sent the lease for me to review. I read it at the kitchen table while Matteo watched a movie with Bianca and the others.

"Come sit with us," Luca called.

Bianca's coat covered the only empty cushion.

"In a minute."

I checked the move-in date against my flight reservation. Both were correct. When the movie ended, nobody called again. I put the lease away and washed the cup I'd used, leaving the four glasses on the coffee table for them to take into the kitchen.

I returned to my suitcase.

I packed the blue dress with the clothes I was taking on the plane. There was no reason to leave it behind just because I'd never worn it with him.

On the windowsill, my rosemary plant had put out pale new growth. It had been a grocery store purchase the winter we moved in. Matteo used to brush it with his hand when he passed.

I checked the soil and watered it. I couldn't fit it in my suitcase, and the movers had already gone.

Before we left for his father's house, Matteo called from the bedroom.

"Are you ready?"

"Almost."

He was looking for his cuff links. I pointed to the dish on his dresser, then picked up my bag.

At dinner, Bianca sat beside him. Luca and Adrian were discussing a restaurant she wanted to try. I took the chair across from Matteo's father.

He asked whether I wanted wine.

"Just water, thank you."

Matteo reached for the bread basket without looking up. Bianca touched his wrist and whispered something that made him smile.

His father waited for the conversation to settle.

Then he turned to me.

"Elena, how much do you have left to hand over before you leave New York?"