Liza, you must stop crying. Your face is puffy,” Elsa says.

We’re at the airport. It’s hot and sticky today, but I’m in too much pain to be bothered by it. At least Elsa parked close to the terminal so that she can come inside and see me to the check-in counter.

“I’m not crying now,” I whisper.

“Do not cry later either.”

My gaze bounces from one passing face to the next. I wonder if my expression tells these strangers the story of a man I thought I was falling in love with—a man who never bothered to tell me that he still had a wife. He’s a liar just like John and Salvatore. Three men in a row? That can’t be coincidence. Something about me attracts these sorts of bloodsuckers.

“Tears heal,” I say to Elsa.

“True, but time is a better healer. You are young and beautiful. You will be over that pig in no time.”

I snicker lightly. I wish I could agree. Gianfranco is not a pig. As a matter of fact, he treated me—my mind and my body—with the utmost respect. Perhaps I was in over my head. I thought he was falling in love with me. Maybe I read our affair all wrong. Maybe I was merely his muse so that he could finish Fixation and make another million US dollars—or two or three. The press is saying the price tag on his piece will be astronomical.

I link my arm around Elsa’s. “Just take care of my baby while I’m gone. I miss him already.”

She flings a hand nonchalantly. “He’ll be fine. When he is better, I will take him to the beach and to see the clowns in the square.”

I bump her affectionately. “Lucky for you he’s not afraid of clowns.”

She chuckles as we make it to the end of the shortest check-in line. Elsa faces me with a thoughtful expression and sighs deeply. “Do you have your travel documents?”

I tap my purse. “In here.”

“I am so sorry you must return under such grim circumstances.”

I press my lips together. “Me too.”

“You will call me if you need me?”

“I will.”

We hug, and I watch Elsa until she’s out of sight. I feel as if I’m leaving Aiden in good hands. I hate that he woke up this morning with a runny nose and fever. I’m sure Nolan, Abby, and my other relatives want to see how big and so very cute he’s gotten. He truly is a beauty. They’re just going to have to fly out and visit us instead.

Soon I’m boarding my first flight, which is to Rome. I sit near the front. Jeez, I hate flying with European airlines. They have the worst aircrafts. Just as I thought, once we’re in the air, the plane roars, shakes, dips, and dives. I pray at least five times before we land. The good news is that I don’t have a long layover in Rome, which is not at all common.

One hour later, I’m on a nice, comfortable, American-owned aircraft. I try to sleep for the better part of the ten-hour flight, but I’m tormented by my thoughts. If I had never married John, then my dad would be alive. I would sacrifice my left arm, my right foot, and both my eyes for a do-over.

The flight attendant serves me the shrimp scampi and halibut dinner I selected. After eating, I decide it’s best not to sleep or think, so I binge-watch the TV shows from America that I missed out on while living abroad, as well as watching one and a half very bad movies.

Finally my flight lands in O’Hare. My head throbs as I deplane and clear customs. I’m finally able to get some sleep on my third and final flight to Minneapolis. This time, when it’s time to disembark, my head is woozy. However, there’s something familiar in the air. It’s the scent of home—stirred in the summertime humidity and heat. I’m not sure how I feel about that, and I’m too exhausted to figure it out.

I can hardly keep my eyes open as I trudge down to baggage claim. Nolan and Abby are supposed to meet me there. I should probably call them, but at the moment, my battered brain can only do one thing at a time, and right now it’s doing two things. Firstly, it’s keeping me from crying. All my heartache from Gianfranco and anger at John wants to consume me. Secondly, I must focus on the carousel, so I don’t miss my luggage. I’m so out of it that I’m not sure I’ll even recognize my suitcase when I see it.

“Liza!” my brother says jubilantly.

The carousel starts just as I turn around to see Nolan and Abby waving while walking in my direction.

Tears rush to my eyes again. They look so happy. When Nolan wraps his arms around me, I feel as though everything will be just fine.

“Missed you,” I say and kiss his scruffy cheek.

“Missed you too,” Nolan says.

I hug Abby, then put my hand on her belly. “Four months?”

“Four and a half,” she says.

“Which one is yours?” Nolan asks, motioning to the revolving carousel.

Abby’s arm is still around my waist, and I can’t stop smiling. All of my negative feelings have been momentarily replaced by the excitement of knowing that Abby will soon be my sister-in-law.

“Large. Burgundy leather. Big white L in the front.”

“There it goes,” Nolan says.

“So you really didn’t bring the baby?” Abby asks.

“No, he has an ear infection. Poor thing would’ve been miserable.”

Abby’s eyes sparkle. “Then you’ll bring him to the wedding?”

“Of course, darling,” I say.

She chuckles. “Darling? You’re becoming European, and I love it.” She kisses my cheek. “And I love the haircut.”

“Yeah, it suits you,” Nolan says as he grabs my luggage, then hugs me again. “Jeez, it’s good to see you, sis. How are you?”

I embrace him tightly. “Better now that I’m with you.”

We move out of the cluster of people securing their luggage and head out to short-term parking. Nolan opens the trunk and puts my suitcase in it.

“Abby and I were hoping you would stay with us tonight?” he says.

I sigh with relief. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“And I made dinner. Good old-fashioned meatloaf and potatoes.”

“Ah, the accoutrements of home.”

Nolan skips around to open the back door for me, then the front door for Abby. That’s one great thing about my brother; he will always and forever be a gentleman.

“By the way, Liza, you look tired, but you look good,” Nolan says. “Italy is agreeing with you.”

I get in. “Thanks.”

He closes my door, then Abby’s. Soon we’re driving out of the airport. The landscape is infused with green. Instead of ocean air, the scent of the river is all around us. The way I feel about seeing the roads and scenes I thought I would never leave is strange.

“Tomorrow I’m driving out to see John,” I say.

“Are you sure you want to go see that bastard?” Nolan says bitingly. His tone is a dead giveaway that his hatred for John has intensified.

"I think I need to see him,” I say.

“Why is that?” His eyes shift between looking at me through the rearview mirror and looking at the road.

I can’t stop the tears from rolling out of my eyes. “Because it’s my fault.”

He grimaces. “What’s your fault?”

I close my eyes and rub them. “If I had never married John, then Dad wouldn’t be dead.”

“No…” Abby says sympathetically.

“That’s a ridiculous thing to believe,” Nolan says at the same time.

“It’s the truth,” I say, feeling sorrier for myself.

“He’s a slithery guy who preyed upon your kind heart, sis. That’s all.”

I sniff and take the tissue Abby hands me over the seat. “Thank you,” I say to her.

She’s still facing me. “You’re welcome, and really, it’s not your fault.”

By the look in her eyes, I can see that she realizes I don’t believe her. I press my lips together.

“Liza, Dad was sick and he didn’t tell us,” Nolan says carefully. “John knew how sick Dad was and didn’t tell you or me. He’s a fucking snake in the grass who took advantage of a bad situation.”

“I know.” I sniffle.

“No, you don’t know. Dad had already had his first heart attack. That landed him in the hospital. He had been losing his mind and hiding it from us. John knew it all. So when Dad was down for the count, John and his little black widow nurse, who administered the illegal euthanasia drugs, took him out.”

“John was more like the black widow,” Abby says.

“In the way that he used women to get what he wanted,” Nolan says.

I listen to Nolan talk about his revenge as he drives over the bridge and into downtown. The modernity draws my eyes to the towering buildings. Bari is antique and regal. The river sparkles under the sunlight. He’s been in Minneapolis, running the whole company, and even expanding, while fighting the legal battles against the banks that allowed John to take advantage of my father. He’s brought charges against two banks and the doctor. They tried to play the victim, but their acts didn’t affect him and he made sure they didn’t sway the judges or his lawyers. He went for the jugular.

“Those people are the ones responsible for hurting Dad, not you, mouse,” he says.

My dad gave me the nickname 'mouse'. I earned it from being quiet and delicate, like a church mouse. I never rocked the boat. I smiled when I should’ve raged. I laughed when I should’ve cried. I don’t think I’m a mouse anymore. John and Salvatore changed me, although I have no idea what I’ve become. I’m certainly not a lioness. Perhaps I’m nothing other than a woman who’s found her voice, found her life. I’ll know the answer as soon as I face John.

Nolan still lives in his downtown high-rise condo. He lived in Chicago when he bought it for two reasons—the building is part of the company’s investment portfolio, and he wanted a place near the office for whenever he had to be in Minneapolis. Now with a baby on the way, I wonder if he’s going to keep up the sleek bachelor’s lifestyle.

He parks in a special space for the penthouse resident, and he even has a private elevator that only opens to his apartment, which I always thought was very cool. Abby left the meatloaf and potatoes to stay warm in the gourmet chef’s oven. When dinner is served and we’re around the table, the meatloaf is still moist and the potatoes piping hot.

“Wow, Abby,” I say after taking my second bite of meatloaf. “Did you really cook this?”

She smiles. “Yep.”

“What can’t you do?”

She laughs and jokes, “Nothing.”

That’s what I remember most about working with Abby—she has the best sense of humor.

“So how’s it been going with Gianfranco Guardi?” Abby asks before I can ask her about school. She was so impressed when she learned I was involved with such a famous artist. She even asked about the progression of Fixation and explained why it’s so famous.

I knew that Gianfranco came from a long line of prolific artists who had gone mad. Leonardo Guardi was one of them. He was a royal artist in the eighteenth century. Apparently Fixation is a fusion of one of Leonardo Guardi’s unfinished works and Gianfranco’s new masterpiece. Everyone is on pins and needles waiting for the unveiling. The painting is supposed to go to auction, but no one really knows what it looks like.

“He has a wife,” I say.

Abby gasps.

“A wife?” Nolan says.

“I met her yesterday at his castle—naked.”

Nolan grimaces. “And where was he?”

“Out.

“Out where?”

I sigh. The more questions I answer about this, the angrier I become. “I don’t know.”

“Well, have you spoken to him and asked if this woman is his wife?”

“No. Why?” I snap.

He shrugs. “Remember, I was married to Kelsey. Taking off her clothes and saying she’s a guy’s wife, when she’s not, is something she would do.”

“Well, that woman wasn’t Kelsey.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” My headache has returned, so I rub my temples.

“It’s okay, Nolan,” Abby says, which is a polite way of telling him to drop it.

“Sorry. I’m just really jet-lagged, and tomorrow is going to be stressful,” I say.

Nolan sighs sharply. “Listen, I’m just trying to help. When we talked a few weeks ago, you sounded happy, and so did Aiden. By the way, where are those pictures?”

Even though I wanted to pass out from exhaustion a minute ago, I get my cell phone to show them pictures. I'd turned it off before I left for the airport yesterday, and as I power it on now, the device beeps and buzzes. Gianfranco has left me a number of messages and texts. I ignore them, yawn, stretch my aching body, and hurry back into the dining room to show Nolan and Abby the photos we took during our travels. Gianfranco is in just about all of them.

“Aiden likes him a lot,” Abby says.

“Yeah…” I say with a sigh.

“He doesn’t look like a bad guy. John looked like a sleaze-ball from day one.”

Abby tries to nudge Nolan inconspicuously, but I see it. I yawn again, and she insists I go to sleep.

“Great idea.”

I say good night and go to the guest room. After seventeen hours on three airplanes, I so need a shower, but I’m too exhausted to take one. Instead I strip down to nothing, turn the lights off, and crawl under the covers. I flip onto one side, but the light from the window shines in my face. This room has electronic black-out shades, and I find the remote to operate them on the nightstand. I hit the down button. My head spins from exhaustion as I wait for the pitch-blackness to prevail.

My thoughts skip from seeing that woman naked on Gianfranco’s bed, and what a rack she has. I have a perfect set, but I think hers were better. What was I thinking, believing he could actually take a woman like me seriously?

I flip onto my back and try to fall asleep in this position.

Wait. What’s wrong with me? There’s nothing wrong with me. Why wouldn’t he fall in love with me? I’m Liza Patrick, hostess of Postcard Italy! I have a sexy haircut and cosmopolitan style. I’m brave. My ex-husband told me he doesn’t want anything to do with our son or me, and instead of shriveling like a rose in the sun, I moved with my son to Italy and carved out a new life for us.

My head is throbbing as if someone is playing the drums on my cranium. I try a new position, and that doesn’t work. I keep tossing and turning and wondering what Gianfranco is doing at this very moment. At some point, I think I fall asleep, but then I soon discover that I’m awake. This goes on and on until the black-out shades rise on their own—Nolan keeps all the shades in his condo on a timer. It’s eight o’clock, and I don’t think I’ve gotten a wink of sleep.