“Fine. But only because you sound stressed. It’s at your house.” I lied some more. Hey, why not? I was on a roll. “Derek is going to take you out to lunch to make you think it’s your shower. Everyone will be there when you get back, pissed off that it wasn’t actually your shower. So smile nice when you walk in.”

“Oh my God. Thanks. You’re right, I would have been coming home feeling let down. Alright. I’ll let you go. I’ll video call you tomorrow from my shower at home!”

After I hung up, I finished packing and attempted to wake Izzy on a positive note.

Flicking on the light in her room, I said, “Rise and shine, beautiful. It’s going to be a great day.”

She pulled the cover over her head. “What’s so great about it?”

“Well, the sun is shining, and you don’t have to go to school.”

“I hate the sun. It ruins your skin and gives you wrinkles when you get old,” she said from under the covers. “And I’d rather go to school than go to Nanna’s house. I don’t see why you keep having to go away.”

Keep having to go away. A little dramatic since it had been nine months since I’d left Izzy to go out to California for Anna’s wedding and had been home with her practically every night since.

“Awww…you’re upset because you’re going to miss me, aren’t you?”

“Grrr…”

“I’ll let you wake up a little while I make Nutella crepes.” I wasn’t above bribery to get her to sit down at the table and talk to me.

“Fine.” That was teenage speak for fuck you.

Fifteen minutes later, she couldn’t resist the smell of chocolaty hazelnut that wafted into her room. I plated a homemade crepe and slid it in front of her. “I bought some decaf Starbucks K-cups for you. Want me to make you a coffee?”

“I’d prefer caffeine.”

I opened the Keurig and popped in a decaf. “I’d prefer elves to come and do my laundry, but I settle for carrying it down to the laundry room in the basement.”

“We had someone who did the laundry when my father was around.”

Izzy preferred to remember only the good things about her father. Rather than remind her that the housekeeper was paid for by the life savings of unsuspecting families who’d trusted her father with their investments, I simply said, “Things change.”

After I made her a mug of decaf, I joined her at the table with my second cup of regular. “I should make it back by the time your game starts on Tuesday night. If for some reason I’m late, Marina’s mom is going to text me the score updates.”

She shrugged. “I’m starting. But it’s not a big deal if you can’t make it.”

“Are you kidding? This is a huge deal. When was the last time a sophmore started on a varsity basketball team at Beacon?”

She tried to play it off like she didn’t care, but I saw it in her eyes. “Never.”

“Well, I can’t wait to watch you not only start as a sophmore, but kick butt.”

She ate her breakfast in relative quiet after that. When I was unloading the dishwasher, she surprised me by starting a conversation. For two years now, almost every conversation had been started by me.

“Are you going alone to California?”

“Of course. Who else would I go with?”

She looked away. “That guy you went out with last week.”

I stopped unloading to give her my full attention. “No. That was just a date. And I don’t think I’ll be going out with him a second time.”

Her voiced pepped up. “Because of Dad?”

“No, honey, not because of your dad. My dating choices have nothing to do with your father. Brad and I just didn’t connect.”

“He was ugly.”

I’d recently forced myself to start dating again. I didn’t have time to do it often, but when I did, I made sure not to bring them around for Izzy to meet.

My brows furrowed. “How do you know what he looked like?”

“You left your Mac open to Match.com when I borrowed it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“He didn’t look like your type.”

Translation. He looked nothing like your father. “I’m trying to date outside my type.”

“Why would you do that?”

The truth was, I was attempting to avoid gorgeous men who swept me off my feet and out of my senses. But Izzy was smart enough to understand what I meant if I said that. And I’d vowed not to put her father down when speaking to her, no matter how tempting it often could be. Every little girl should be allowed to idolize her father and make her own decisions as she grew up. Someday Izzy might see Garrett for who he was, but I wouldn’t be the one to open her eyes.

“To be honest, I think I was too closed-minded when I was younger,” I told her. “If a boy wasn’t cool enough or good looking enough, I really didn’t give him a chance. I judged a book by its cover, so to speak. Since I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that by doing that, you miss out on some pretty amazing people. So I’ve been trying not to focus on the silly stuff I used to.”

Izzy was quiet for a moment. “My friends make fun of this boy Yakshit…well, because his name is Yak-shit, and his nose is sort of big. He moved here from India last year. He’s in my science research class, and he plays on the boy’s basketball team. But he’s nice and makes me laugh.”

Wow. I was momentarily taken aback by Izzy’s sharing of…well, anything. “Yeah. Kids can be cruel. Let’s face it, adults can be cruel, too. I’m glad you’re friends with Yakshit.”

Her eyes dropped, and I realized she was telling me more.

“Izzy, you like this boy...as a boyfriend?”

The tiny bit she’d opened up to stick her neck out slammed shut as she recoiled into her shell. “I didn’t say that.”

“It’s okay if you do. You’re almost sixteen. I liked boys at your age.”

She chanced a glance up at me. “Dad says I can’t go out with boys until I’m twenty-one.”

I reached over and squeezed her hand to catch her attention again. “I’m never going to tell you to ignore something your father says. He’s your father, and any advice he gives you is worth consideration. However, what goes on day-to-day here in our home, so long as we’re open and honest about it with each other, is between you and me. We need to trust each other with these things. Just like I told you about my date with Brad. We’re in this together, Izzy.”

She looked away, but nodded.

It was more than she normally allowed me to have from her.

“I’m going to go finish packing for Nanna’s.”

I smiled. “Okay. We’ll leave in about a half hour, and I’ll drop you on the way to the airport.”

My planned thirty-minute departure turned into an hour. Since I was running late, I said goodbye to Izzy at the door of Garrett’s mother’s house. “Be good. I’ll only be gone a few days.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh. And I joined Snapchat. Accept my friend request or follow request—whatever you do on that thing. I figured we can text and send pictures.”

Izzy looked horrified. “Please don’t do that. I’m not adding you on Snapchat.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not a place where you connect with your mom.”

With your mom. She hadn’t even realized what she’d said. And perhaps she was just generalizing, but I chose to take it as something more meaningful. I walked back to her and engulfed her in a big hug.

“I love you, Isabella.”

Her face softened for a brief moment before her teenage shield set back into place. “I’m still not adding you.”

I walked down the stoop. Garrett’s mom smiled and nodded her approval. “I’ll text you when I land.”

“You’re going to be in L.A. Text me some pictures of celebrities, or hot guys at least.”

“I only post those on Snapchat. You’ll have to follow me to see them,” I yelled as I got back into the waiting cab.

Pulling the door closed, I waved one last time and mumbled to myself, “Plus, you’re keeping away from the good-looking ones, Nat. Remember?”

Famous last words.

Chapter 7

Natalia

Flying into LAX always amused me.

Drivers in suits were two layers deep behind a gated area next to baggage claim. I read their signs as I stepped off the escalator, rolling my carry-on luggage.

Mr. Spellman.

Piedmont.

Laroix family.

Mr. Damon.

Hmmm. I wonder if it’s Matt Damon. This is L.A., after all. I kept walking as I browsed. Most were hand-written on white boards with erasable markers, although some were typed and printed out. One particular sign caught my eye—not because it had my first name, but because it was written on what looked like a ripped piece of a brown paper bag. The handwriting was slanted and slashy and almost illegible. But as I got closer, I figured out the last name. The sign read: Natalia Sbagliato-Numero

I said it aloud in my head once before it all clicked together.

Natalia.

Sbagliato. Italian for wrong.

Numero. Meant number in Italian.

Natalia Wrong Number?

I felt it before my eyes raised to the face of the man holding the sign. An inexplicable warmth settled low in my belly, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose to attention. But when my eyes met those of the man with the cocky smile, I did the only thing I was capable of—tripping over my own feet and falling flat on my ass.

***