EMILY'S POV
Portofino was beautiful.
The Island clung to the cliffside like something from a dream, all white stone and blue shutters overlooking the Mediterranean. Bougainvillea spilled over terraces in explosions of pink and red. The air smelled of salt and lemon and summer.
I stood on the balcony of our villa, watching the sun paint the water in shades of gold, and tried to feel something.
"Honeymoon" was what everyone called it. Three days after the wedding, Ralph had announced the trip with a flourish.
My mother had cried with happiness, the Elders had nodded approvingly, the press had run photos of us boarding his private jet, calling it a "fairy tale escape."
I smiled and packed my bags.
Now I stood here, the Mediterranean breeze soft against my skin, and felt absolutely not
