Remember, Sammi, act surprised!

I didn’t have to fake it. Seeing Claire and Louis in the distance, a surge of sheer joy had me running so fast that I crashed into Claire, hugging her fiercely and bursting into—quite hysterical—tears. Louis simply stood to the side, not knowing what to do.

‘How long has she been away?’ he asked.

Claire cut him a dark look. ‘It’s not just that. I have this effect on everybody. Who wouldn’t miss me? Isn’t that right, Sammi?’ Claire looked at me, assessing, and I knew she knew that there was more going on with me than jet lag and a bad case of missing her sister; she saw straight through me in her usual unnerving way. But she stayed quiet for now, and for that I was extremely grateful.

‘Exactly,’ I said, rubbing at my eyes and sniffing, imagining how hideous I looked.

Claire cupped my face. ‘Oh, my God, you are so tanned!’

‘And about five kilos heavier.’

‘You look amazing—that Italian sunshine served you well.’

I knew she was lying—I looked like a bag lady; there was no other way to put it. The poor woman next to me on the plane was a witness to my sobbing, as I cried until the tears came no more. I think I had exhausted my tear ducts—the well had run dry.

Claire hooked her arm in mine. ‘I want you to tell me all about Rome!’ It took every effort for me not to visibly recoil at the question—the first of many, no doubt.

‘It was … life-changing.’ Was there any other way to describe it?

‘Louis and I have thought about Rome, you know. Something new for the show, plus I really just want to go to Italy,’ she confessed.

I walked along in a daze, relying on Claire’s guidance as I became lost in my thoughts. Claire and Louis had met in Paris, rather controversially through Louis’ famed show Restoration or Detonation. With his platform as a famed celebrity chef, Louis would go into failing hotels, tear everything and everyone apart and then give the hotel the mother of all makeovers.

‘Have you really thought about Rome, as in for the show, I mean?’

We stopped near the baggage collection.

‘Sure, why not?’ said Claire.

‘There’s mine, there!’ I pointed to the silver roller bag with scuffmarks and a hot-pink nametag.

Louis moved past the hordes, grabbing it with ease. ‘Why—do you have some place in mind?’ he mused.

And for the first time in a long time a smile broke out across my face, a really bloody big one. ‘Louis, I have the perfect project for you!’

Claire and Louis stood before me, looking intrigued, if a little disturbed at the now-smiling nutter before them. My hair a mess and wearing my baggy Golden Slumbers T-shirt, which I had changed into mid-flight for comfort, I must have looked quite the sight.

‘Oh, do tell,’ he pressed.

‘Absolutely—we’re always up for a challenge.’ Claire beamed, excitement radiating through her.

I pulled my roller bag into line. ‘Well, if you want a challenge, Hotel Luce del Sole is the place for you!’

Having Claire and Louis at home was a godsend; they were the perfect buffer, holding back Mum and Dad and their tirade of questions. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to explain the lack of photographic evidence of me jokingly holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and why I didn’t have the promised gift of Venetian glass for Mum; they were already rather confused about why I was home so early. I didn’t have the answers; all I knew was I wanted to go to my room, draw the curtains, crash into bed and never leave home again.

I don’t know how I would have survived without Claire force-feeding me—of course, it did help that Louis had taken over the kitchen. She was incredibly patient, and when the time came for me to talk, she listened, staying silent until the climax of the story.

‘Oh, no, you didn’t.’ She shook her head, her eyes wide.

‘Yep, I accused him of stealing my passport,’ I said, hugging my pillow to my chest.

The look of sheer devastation on Claire’s face said it all. ‘Oh, Sammi.’

I shook my head. ‘I didn’t even say I was sorry—I was too much of a coward.’

‘Well, do you think he knows you know the truth now?’

I scoffed. ‘Oh, I am certain Rosalia would have told him.’

‘And he hasn’t contacted you in any way?’

‘I’m sure, now that some time has passed, he is thanking his lucky stars that I live far, far away.’

Claire blew out a long breath. ‘Loving a foreign man is never easy, especially when they are this gorgeous,’ she said, lifting up his business card from my mattress. My eyes snapped up at her, her words resonating with me deeper than she could have realised.

Loving.

Without saying as much to Claire, I knew that was my biggest problem, my biggest fear. I had fallen for the very person I couldn’t have. The discovery had me unwittingly self-sabotaging us the moment Maria had called. I knew that, now; I’d had hours upon hours of unpacking it all.

‘So, what now?’ asked Claire.

‘Well,’ I breathed out, ‘I get on with my life.’

Claire looked sad—she was always the hopeless romantic. I knew she wanted more from this. I did too, but sometimes the fairytale ending doesn’t come true.

‘I just wish there was some way I could make it up to him. He was so good to me: he put a roof over my head, fed me, showed me the most amazing places.’

Any plenty of other things.

I blinked, squeezing the pillow tightly.

‘And he’s an artist, you say?’

‘An amazing artist! Claire, you should see his work, and he’s locked away, schooling seniors on how to paint sunsets and working as a tour guide—it’s insane.’

Claire’s head tilted in that scary way she had when an idea was brewing.

‘What? What are you thinking?’

‘Well, I will be forever grateful to a man who saved my sister from certain peril.’

‘Claire.’ I said her name as warning.

‘Oh, don’t worry, you can still mope and sook over the one that got away, but we seriously need to pay him back some way. Louis!’ Claire called out down the hall.

It didn’t take him long to appear, his eyes alight anytime he set them on Claire. It was the way a woman longed to be looked at—I knew because I had seen it for myself.

Yeah, let’s not think about that, Sammi.

‘Louis, you’re an art lover,’ Claire chimed.

Louis folded his arms and leant in the frame of the door. ‘I am?’

‘You are! So, I think we need to retweet a little recommendation for a soon-to-be-discovered Roman artist.’ Claire held up Marcello’s business card to him.

I sat up straight. ‘Oh, my God, Louis, would you?’ I asked, fearing to hope.

One recommendation from the likes of Louis Delarue, world-renowned Michelin-star chef, and your life was destined to change forever. There’d be no more need for Marcus to drag filthy rich westerners up to his terrace and show them a good time.

Louis sighed. ‘This won’t affect my brand, will it?’

Claire laughed. ‘Oh, please, you didn’t even care about a brand or know what it was before me. Now you’re a Twitter addict, and you even post food pics on Instagram.’

Louis smirked knowingly. ‘I don’t know who I am anymore,’ he said, taking out his phone and snapping a picture of the business card. ‘Leave it with me; if I am going to make a recommendation, it has to be done right.’ Typical Louis—a stickler for the details.

Having made one wrong in the world a tiny bit right, I leapt out of my bed and wrapped my arms around him.

‘Thank you, Louis, thank you, thank you, thank you!’