Chapter 1

The wrought iron gates of the Prickly Pear Lane villa stood before me.

Four years.

Four years since I'd last seen this sprawling Spanish-style house in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Marcus Thorne, my guardian, had put me on a plane to Florence, Italy.

His words echoed, cold and final.

"Ellie, don't come back until I say so."

I was eighteen then.

My parents, both archaeologists, died in a rockslide when I was ten.

Marcus, their younger colleague, their friend, took me in. He was twenty-eight.

Then, he found my sketchbook.

Page after page, drawings of him.

Passionate, foolish confessions of a teenage girl's love.

His face had twisted with anger, disappointment.

He called my feelings inappropriate.

I didn't understand. He wasn't blood. Just my guardian, significantly older.

He sent me away. Arizona to Florence. A world away.

Now, at twenty-two, I stood here.

I thought I was over him. Truly.

My phone buzzed. "My David ❤️".

A small smile touched my lips.

"Ellie-bean, the venue's booked for next month! Have you decided if we're doing the ceremony here in Scottsdale or back in Florence?"

David's voice, warm and steady.

"Florence," I said. It felt right.

"Great! I'll start the arrangements. And hey, make sure to tell your guardian, Marcus, will you? We'd love for him to be there."

"I will," I promised.

Florence.

The first year was a blur of loneliness.

The language, a wall. The city, beautiful but alien.

Then, the mugging. A dark alley, a knife, pure terror.

After that, pneumonia. I lay in a tiny rented room, feverish, convinced I was dying.

I called Marcus. Again and again.

Voicemails unanswered. Messages unread.

David found me.

Another American student in the arts program.

He nursed me back to health. Became my anchor.

Two years. His patient courtship, his unwavering kindness.

I said yes.

Marcus finally called a month ago.

"You can come home. For your parents' memorial."

That's why I was here. To visit their graves.

And to give him the wedding invitation.

I reached for the gate's keypad.

It swung open.

Chloe Davenport.

My high school tormentor.

Her perfectly styled blonde hair, her expensive clothes.

"Ellie? Wow, long time no see! I thought I heard your voice."

Her voice, sickly sweet, sent a shiver down my spine.

Memories flooded back. Her cruelty, her mocking laughter.

"Chloe? What are you doing here?" My voice was barely a whisper.

Marcus stepped out from behind her.

Tall, imposing. His dark hair neatly combed, his suit impeccable.

He exuded an air of cool authority, just as I remembered.

He saw my face, my reaction to Chloe.

A frown creased his brow.

"Ellie. You should call her 'Chloe.' She's my fiancée."

Fiancée?

My breath caught.

"Her? But she used to..." *bully me relentlessly. Make my life hell.*

Marcus cut me off, his voice sharp. "Used to what?"

Florence. Heartbroken and alone.

Whispers had reached me. Marcus was dating.

Lavish gifts. Desert botanical garden galas. Private jet trips to Napa. Extravagant art auction purchases.

I never imagined it would be Chloe.

I swallowed the words. "Nothing."

"Good," Marcus said. "Get your things inside. Chloe's moving in today. You two need to get along. We'll visit your parents' memorial site next week."

He put an arm around Chloe's shoulders. They walked towards the house, leaving me standing there.

I whispered to the empty air, "There won't be an 'after,' Marcus. After the memorial, I'm gone for good."

Evening. The desert air cooled.

Marcus and Chloe returned, laughing about something.

The wedding invitation felt like a lead weight in my hand.

I knocked on Marcus's home office door.

Chloe opened it.

A malicious glint in her eyes. "Well, well. Come to reminisce?"

I tried to turn away. "Sorry, wrong time."

Chloe grabbed my arm, her nails digging in.

"Listen, you little charity case. Keep your mouth shut about high school, or I'll make your life a living hell again."

Her voice was a venomous hiss.

"You think he won't find out who you really are?" I pulled my arm free.

Chloe laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "We'll see. I made your life miserable then, I can do it now."

She held a steaming teacup.

With a sudden movement, she "accidentally" spilled the scalding liquid onto her own arm.

She screamed. A piercing, theatrical sound.

Marcus rushed in.

Chloe collapsed into his arms, sobbing. "Marcus, don't blame Ellie... she didn't mean it..."

Marcus turned to me, his face a mask of fury.

"I thought four years away would have taught you something! You're still obsessed, still trying to cause trouble. I'm warning you, Ellie, it's never going to happen between us!"

He thought I did it. Out of jealousy.

The injustice burned.

"I didn't! I came to give you this wedding invi-"

Marcus was already carrying Chloe out of the room, murmuring reassurances to her.

I finished my sentence to his retreating back.

"...invitation. I'm not obsessed with you anymore, Marcus. I'm getting married."

His footsteps faded down the hall. He hadn't heard. Or he hadn't cared.