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Chapter 1. Reunion in the Sunlit Hotel Lobby

August 2019 — Ostia, Italy

The taxi cruised down the sun-bleached streets of Ostia, and my fingers pressed against the window glass like I was trying to touch the city itself. I was nearly trembling. Actually trembling. I had to press my palms flat against my thighs to still them.

I couldn't believe I was here.

The euphoria had thrummed through my veins during the entire flight, a restless energy that kept me awake while others slept in their reclined seats, their soft breathing filling the darkened cabin around me. I had spent those hours staring at the moving map on the screen, watching our icon crawl across oceans, each mile bringing me closer to a past I had never truly left behind. But after landing, exhaustion had crashed over me—that bone-deep weariness particular to long-haul travel, the kind that settles into your bones and makes you question every decision that led you here. Now, as the taxi wound through the unfamiliar streets, the energy was spiking back, electric and insistent, a live current humming beneath my skin.

I still couldn't believe it when I received the news. Luca Bianchi. Getting married. He was the absolute last person I had expected to exchange wedding vows, and so soon. It meant he had changed since we first met—a change I never would have predicted but found myself welcoming. Even though I had disliked him at first, fiercely and completely, now I couldn't help but wish him well. The Luca I remembered had been all sharp edges and defensive sarcasm, a man who seemed to take pleasure in keeping people at arm's length. But people evolved. People grew. And beneath all that bravado, there had always been a flicker of something more.

But Luca's wedding wasn't the only reason my heart had been racing since I booked the flight. My friends would be here too. Friends I had met on my first volunteering camps, scattered across different corners of the Earth like seeds thrown to the wind. Friends I hadn't seen in years.

Oh, how I missed them. The ache was a physical thing, a hollow space in my chest I had grown so accustomed to I had almost forgotten it was there. I carried it with me through crowded streets and quiet apartments, through birthdays and holidays and all the ordinary days in between. It had become part of my internal landscape, that quiet loneliness, and I had stopped trying to fill it.

Especially Vitor.

At the thought of him, my heart began beating faster, heat creeping up my neck and spreading across my cheeks in a slow, telltale flush. I shook my head, ordering myself to calm down. Ridiculous. I was a grown woman, not some starstruck teenager. We hadn't seen each other for so many years. He couldn't possibly be the same man I had fallen in love with all those years ago. People changed. People grew. I had told myself that a hundred times, and still the memory of him remained stubbornly fixed, golden and untarnished.

Nevertheless, the thought of seeing him again sent a flutter through my chest that I couldn't quite suppress.

Smiling in anticipation, I thanked the driver in my halting, embarrassed Italian. The words came out clumsy and wrong, my tongue stumbling over vowels that refused to sit properly in my mouth. But he smiled anyway, a warm, patient expression that eased some of my self-consciousness, and I felt that small warmth that comes from trying, even badly. I paid him with crumpled euros and stepped out into the Italian sun, letting the heat wash over me.

The hotel foyer was elegant and almost empty, marble floors gleaming under soft lighting that made the space feel hushed and serene. A grand chandelier hung overhead, its crystals catching the light and scattering tiny rainbows across the walls. I checked in quickly, the receptionist's English smooth and practiced, her smile professional but not unkind. While I waited for one of the six elevators to descend, I wondered when the rest of the Earth Love Tribe would arrive.

I had asked Luca to let me share a room with Idunn and Parvana, but they were coming from different countries—Idunn from Iceland, Parvana from the UK—and I had no idea about their arrival times. I had sent them messages, of course. Of course. But neither had responded yet, and I tried not to read too much into the silence. They were busy. They were traveling. They had lives that didn't revolve around my anxious anticipation.

It was still early. I had chosen to come a week before the wedding, deliberately, to adjust to the time zone and explore the area properly before the festivities began. The room was all mine until the others arrived. Still, I couldn't help the small pang of disappointment that I wouldn't see them that evening. I missed them so much I could barely wait anymore, could barely contain the desperate, childlike excitement that made me feel young again.

Consoling myself with plans for sightseeing, I unpacked my luggage with methodical care, hanging each dress and folding each top with the precision of someone who needed order to feel grounded. Then I took a long shower, letting the hot water soothe the travel tension from my shoulders, the steam filling the bathroom and fogging the mirror until my reflection blurred into soft indistinctness.

The hair dryer was broken.

I stood there, dripping, the useless appliance in my hand, and let out a small, frustrated laugh. Of course. The one thing I actually needed. I examined it as if it might suddenly decide to cooperate, pressing the button again to no effect. Nothing. Just the hollow click of broken machinery. I towel-dried my hair roughly, the damp strands clinging to my neck and shoulders, and dressed quickly before heading back to the lobby to report the problem.

I was waiting for the elevator again, watching the descending numbers with impatient eyes, when someone called my name.

"Lanying?"

The voice—that voice—sent a jolt through me like static electricity. I knew that voice. I had replayed it in my memory so many times that I could conjure it at will, could hear it in my sleep. But hearing it in person, real and present, was something else entirely. I turned, my heart already pounding, already knowing before I saw him.

"Yes?" The word came out breathless, barely more than a whisper.

And then I saw him.

"Oh my God, Vitor!" My hand flew to my mouth, covering the gasp that escaped. Shock and happiness warred inside me, a dizzying rush that made my knees feel weak. He was standing there, just a few feet away, and the sight of him struck me like a physical blow. "You're here! I'm so happy to see you!"

"Glad to see you, too." His smile was mysterious in that way I remembered, his English flavored with the Portuguese accent that had once made my heart skip every single time. He looked at me with an intensity that made my breath catch, his dark eyes sweeping over my face as if memorizing every detail, every change the years had wrought.

Oh, how I had missed that accent. How I had missed him. And now he was here, right in front of me, after all these years, real and solid and not just a memory I revisited in quiet moments when the loneliness became too much to bear.

Tears rushed to my eyes before I could stop them. I looked down quickly, blinking hard, willing them away. That was the last thing I had expected. I had imagined this moment countless times, had rehearsed what I would say, how I would act, and not once had I imagined falling apart like this.

"Are you all right?" He noticed, of course he noticed. He stepped closer, and I caught the familiar scent of him—something clean and warm, like sandalwood and sun-warmed skin. "Lanying?"

"I'm fine. It's just something in my eyes." A pathetic excuse, and we both knew it.

I looked back at him, really looked, and felt that familiar breathlessness all over again. I had forgotten how tall he was. I barely reached his shoulders, the middle of his upper arm at best. But he had never mocked me about it, never once made me feel small. He had always looked at me as if I were exactly the right height, exactly the right everything.

"When did you get here?" I asked, my voice steadier now. I tucked a damp strand of hair behind my ear and tried to compose myself, to gather the scattered pieces of my composure.

"This morning." His eyes flickered to my hair, lingering there for a moment with something unreadable in their depths. "And you? Did you just take a shower?"

My hand went self-consciously to my damp strands. "The hair dryer was broken," I explained, heat rising to my cheeks. "I'm sure they'll send up a new one soon." I gave him a shy smile, feeling too much like the girl I had been years ago, all nerves and hope and barely contained longing.

I didn't want to stare at him, but I couldn't help myself. He was like water in a desert, and I had been so thirsty for so long. The years had been impossibly kind to him. His jaw was sharper, his shoulders broader beneath his shirt, and there was a quiet confidence in his posture that hadn't been there before. But his eyes were the same—dark and deep and full of secrets I had always wanted to know, always wanted to unravel.

"I'm thinking of getting some lunch now," he offered quietly, his voice dropping to something softer, more intimate, as if the words were meant only for me. "Do you want to join?"

"Of course." The words came out too eagerly. I caught myself, remembered. I didn't want to seem desperate, didn't want him to see how much I had missed him, how much I still felt. "But I need to solve this problem first." I gestured at my hair, still damp and tangled. "I can't go out like this."

"All right." He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving my face, as if he couldn't bear to look away. "How about we meet in half an hour? I'll ask around what's delicious here." A pause, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my stomach flip and my pulse race. "You're still vegetarian, right?"

My heart swelled at the fact that he remembered. He remembered. After all these years, after all the distance and silence and time, he still remembered something so small and specific about me.

"Yup." I nodded, a genuine smile spreading across my face, warm and unguarded. "Nothing's changed."

"Let's meet again at the entrance." He said it like a promise, like a beginning, like he had been waiting for this moment just as long as I had.

"Okay! Thank you for waiting for me."

"No problem."

I waved at him and practically ran back to my room. The staff was already waiting there—they must have come up through the service lift—and I dried my hair quickly, the warm air a welcome contrast to my jittery nerves. I stood in front of the mirror to assess myself.

Short. A bit overweight, even though I had made so much progress in my weight loss attempts over the last years. The girl looking back at me still felt like the same uncertain person who had flown to Nepal all those years ago, who had stepped off that plane with nothing but hope and a desperate need to belong. I studied my reflection critically, cataloging every flaw, every imperfection I had spent years trying to correct.

I changed into a dark cyan dress with matching sling-back shoes and put my jade bangle on my left wrist, the cool stone a familiar comfort against my skin. While applying eye shadow with golden sparkles, I caught my reflection and froze.

There was something glowing in my eyes. An elation I couldn't hide, a sparkle that had nothing to do with the glitter on my lids. It was hope, pure and unguarded, and it transformed my face into something almost beautiful.

Of course. I had just seen my first love again.

I felt a flicker of disappointment that my reaction to Vitor hadn't changed at all. I was still precisely the same girl as when we had first met. At first, I had fallen for his looks—he had been, and still was, the handsomest man I had ever seen. His features were carved with an elegance that seemed almost unfair, high cheekbones and a strong jaw and lips that curved into smiles that could disarm anyone. But he hadn't been approachable then, and neither had I. As a naturally shy and quiet person, it was difficult for me to make new friends, especially within an international community. The first few days at the mountain conservation camp in Nepal—where I had met the rest of the Earth Love Tribe—had been tough.