Blushing, I lower my chin and place the linen folded on my plate like a flower onto my lap. Rocco has told me many times that I looked pretty, but his compliments today feel loaded with emotion. No one makes me laugh like Rocco, but I’m too embarrassed to say it.

  “I’ve decided I’m not going to college in the fall,” he blurts. “I’m going to work for Papá at the store until I know what I want to do.”

  “What?” I gasp. “When did you decide this?”

  Grinning, he shrugs. “Does it matter? I thought you’d be happy.”

  “I want whatever’s best for you. I get it if you aren’t ready to start college yet.”

  “I’m not ready to leave you behind.”

  “If that’s what this is about⁠—”

  “You said you want what’s best for me? Well, being around you is it.”

  “Roc…” I stop to give him a long shake of my head. “That’s silly. You can’t just stay in Ames because of me. I’m perfectly fine without you sticking around to play big brother. Besides, I have Noelle. She’ll make sure I get out of the house often.”

  He pauses to sip his water, then drags his tongue across his lips. “That’s not what this is about.”

  His aunt reappears with a bottle of bubbly wine. “This is a special night,” she tells us with a wink while filling our champagne flutes. “And you’re with family. Saluti.”

  Rocco guzzles his entire drink before his aunt makes it back inside. I take a delicate sip, trying not to laugh when the bubbles make him cough. I’ve never seen him so nervous.

  Looking down, he gives his pant legs another swipe. “Nonna believes it’s inappropriate to date a girl before she’s sixteen, so I held off on asking you out. Now that you’re sixteen, I can’t wait any longer to tell you how I feel.” He reaches for my right hand, still wrapped around my glass, and slides his clammy fingers around mine. Warmth oozes from his dark eyes when they lock on mine. “I love you, Jo. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

  Now I’m the one coughing. While I was hoping he liked me back in that way, I wasn’t expecting him to be quite so blunt about it.

  While I yearn to hug him and agree to be his girlfriend on the spot, I’m cautious. For whatever weird reason my parents have, I know they’d never allow us to be together. Hurting Rocco by letting him down easily would be better than all the crap they’d put him through.

  “Roc—”

  Rocco’s grandmother and aunt arrive with two plates of steaming food and a basket of sliced ciabatta. I whip my hand out from his and clear my throat, hoping neither of the women noticed. As Nonna sets my favorite tortellini in brodo in front of me, her eyes fill with tears. After clapping her hands together, she bends to kiss my head.

  “Sei una bella ragazza,” she tells me with a rare smile.

  “Momma says you’re beautiful,” his aunt translates while serving Rocco the same dish. “I’m sure my nephew would agree ten times over.”

  “Thank you for making this night extra special,” I tell the women. “Your family has always been so kind.”

  His aunt’s lips curl with a grin. “Most of this was Rocco’s doing. We only prepared the meal.”

  “Thank you for that,” I tell her. I turn to his grandmother. “Grazie, Nonna.”

  “Si, grazie,” Rocco parrots with a respectful nod.

  “We’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” his aunt tells us before the women retreat to the back door.

  My cheeks burn extra hot with embarrassment. “Lovebirds?” I ask Rocco.

  He dips his chin, suddenly bashful. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way about me. But if you do…it’s time to quit pretending and start moving forward. Together.”

  “If my parents find out⁠—”

  “They won’t,” he promises with a hardened jaw. “I won’t let them stop us.”

  Oh, the way he looks at me, it could melt an iceberg. Although my conscience begs me to say no, my heart’s desire can’t be denied.

  I rise from my chair and move to his side to take his hand.

  “I love you, too,” I admit, my voice sounding incredibly small. “I think I always have.”

  His beautiful lips spread in a kid-like smile when he stands along with me. “You do?”

  The heat from his presence makes my knees wobble. “But what if⁠—”

  His lips seal over mine, silencing me with a soft yet deep kiss, laced with layers of emotion. Tears spring to my eyes, and my head spins in the most delightful way.

  I have no other experience with a boy, but I think something magical might be happening. I don’t know how else to describe it. His arms wrap around my waist and back in a firm embrace. I sink against him, surprised my legs are strong enough to hold me up and haven’t liquified like the rest of my body.

  When he draws back, he frames my face inside his hands. I swear I’d float away if he wasn’t holding onto me. “Let’s eat dinner and go somewhere private.”

  My lips are numb when I smile, then nod.

  Being with Rocco feels oh so right.

  Like we were always meant to be together.

  I’ll protect our relationship at all costs.

  CHAPTER TEN

  PRESENT DAY

  Josephine

  My lungs ache from perpetually holding my breath by the time Rocco parks at the airport. I didn’t say much of anything after we’d dropped Henry off with Chris and his sweet dog at the gym. On the ride to Des Moines, I had discreetly reached out to Noelle, the only friend I’ve spoken to since graduating high school, and asked if she’d kept in touch with Rocco. When she didn’t answer, I pretended to sleep the rest of the way so I could analyze my theory about the mysterious journal’s origin to death.

  Once we’re past security, Noelle finally replies.

  Hello to you, too, stranger. Why in the hell are you asking me about Roc after all these years?

  Considering she spent the better part of a decade training to become a psychiatrist, I make the decision to fill her in on everything that has happened since my return to Ames. I type back and forth with her, sipping on a tumbler of bourbon at the airport bar, while Rocco cluelessly watches the replay of a recent football game at my side. If he suspects I’m distracted by anything other than our impending trip, he does an excellent job of hiding it.

  Together, Noelle and I conclude the diary didn’t belong to either of my parents or Nonna, and she convinces me assuming it was written by Rocco’s ex-girlfriend had been an imaginative leap.

  The journal could’ve been left by Rocco’s aunt, a divorcée with two daughters five years apart, Noelle writes in a message. It also could’ve been abandoned by a woman who lived in your house prior to your folks. It could’ve been left by virtually anyone, Jo. Read more of that journal before you get yourself too worked up. Once you’re thinking clearly, I want every last detail of what it was like to have sex with Roc again. Seriously.

  With a roll of my eyes, I ignore her last request and continue to follow my current train of thought. The fact that Nonna felt compelled to tell me where to find it doesn’t fit well with any theory except the one involving Rocco. But I keep circling back to the same two questions: how did she know it was in our backyard, and how did it get there?

  “You’re that girl,” she’d said to me.

  Was she remembering me when I was little, or was she mistaking me for someone else? Did the journal have anything to do with my parents or my alleged abduction?

  When I think about the young man I’d made love to in his backyard the night before Diane died, I’m certain Rocco cannot possibly be the same man referenced in the journal. He’s too gentle and kind, and has always possessed a desire to do what’s right. Throughout my childhood, he was my protector.

  But what happened to him after he enlisted? What if the horrors he witnessed overseas changed his personality until he became someone I wouldn’t recognize?

  My thoughts are so absorbing that I’ve become restless and uneasy once we’re seated in different rows on the Boeing 737 in route to Baltimore. By some miracle, I find myself next to a middle-aged man who has no interest in getting to know the woman next to him. Either that, or he’s aware of the paranoia surging from my pores, and he’s afraid I’m about to snap.

  After the wheels have gone up and a steward announces we’ve reached our altitude, I watch as Rocco reclines in his First Class seat and settles in for the flight.

  Clicking on the light over my head, I dig through my messenger bag for the journal. Wild anticipation thrums through my veins as I resume reading.

  I suppose I should start at the beginning so anyone reading this doesn’t think I’m insane for loving a man capable of such violence.

  I can’t blame youth or naiveté on my decision to be with him. Anyone who knew him back then wouldn’t have faulted me for falling in love, however. He was so charming and undeniably handsome. I suppose that’s how he was able to get by with being a monster for so long. It made single, debatably naive women like myself trust him unconditionally. It made it easy for him to target his prey when a woman was flattered by the attention of someone with movie-star looks.

  The funny part of it is that I had completely written off the idea of love before the fateful day we met. I believed it wasn’t in my cards to have a traditional family, and I had embraced the reality with my head held high.

  Then I saw him kneeling in the supermarket parking lot, scrambling to collect the groceries that had spilled from a broken paper bag, and it only took one look into his beautiful eyes before I knew. I was about to fall in love.

  Things were wonderful in the beginning. He brought me flowers on our first date, opened every door for me, and doted on me in general. He was the perfect gentleman. That first night, he took me to dinner and a movie and paid for everything. He laughed at the appropriate times and held my hand during the last hour.

  He left me at my door that night with a tender hug and a kiss on the cheek. I thought it was sweet that he hadn’t assumed I wanted to kiss him. The first kiss didn’t happen until we had been dating for three more weeks, and I was the instigator. I was afraid he thought I was a prude, and if I didn’t do something to prove otherwise, I would lose him to another woman.

  My mom was instantly charmed by him, the same way I was, and called non-stop after meeting him to check if we were engaged yet. He was often out of town to fulfill his job as a traveling salesman, so we didn’t see each other as much as I would have liked. But every time he came back to me in the beginning, he brought either flowers or chocolates.

  After several months of similar dates, we became intimate. Before long, he was staying at my apartment for a handful of days at a time. Although he was still away on the road often, he would always return for extended stays, and we would engage in endless days of love-making. Those were some of the best days of my life, filled with fiery passion and endless innocence.

  Soon after we became deeply involved, the gifts he brought me started to change. By then, I was head-over-heels in love, so it didn’t occur to me that there might be dark intentions behind his offerings. What woman wouldn’t enjoy the gift of lingerie from the man she loved?

  Until he brought a camera home one evening, I didn’t suspect anything was amiss. How could I? He was the perfect boyfriend.

  “Pose for me,” he instructed. I thought I detected a hint of malice in his voice but quickly told myself I was mistaken. With a little smirk, he held the camera up between us. “You look so hot in that nightie, baby. I want to remember you this way when we’re old and gray and have grandkids running around.”

  I covered myself with a blanket and laughed. “Don’t be silly! You can’t take pictures of me half-naked like this!”

  There was something unusual about the way his eyes darkened along with his expression. It was as if I was witnessing an actual metamorphosis of sorts. But that would be ridiculous. He was, after all, just a man.

  “I can and I will. Take the blanket off,” he ordered in a deep, terrifying voice. His lips peeled back with a sneer. “Don’t make me tie you to the bed.”

  With a sudden sense of dread, it was as if a boulder had sunk inside my gut. There was no sign of the sweet, caring man who had asked me on our first date and brought me flowers.

  It was the first time I realized there was more to the man I loved.

  Something dark and sinister.

  By the time I started to think I’d made a mistake by choosing to become intimately involved with him, it was too late.

  I was already pregnant with our daughter.

  From the corner of my eye, I detect movement ahead. Rocco is speaking with a male steward, who in turn is looking my way and nodding with a sickeningly accommodating smile. I tuck the journal back inside my bag mere moments before Rocco heads in my direction.

  I’m unable to stop myself from assessing his looks and attempting to determine if his looks are of “movie-star” caliber. I personally would describe someone like him as “rugged” because of the slight crook to his strong nose, his well-maintained beard, and the high swoop of his thick hair, although I suppose that’s a commonality of most actors these days. In a long-sleeved blue flannel shirt, tan cargo pants, and leather loafers, he emits a laidback charm with every step.

  Maybe I’m too smitten with him, like the woman in the journal.

  “Good evening, sir,” he greets the man at my side. “I’m wondering if you’d mind switching places with me so I can sit with my girl. I’ve already arranged with the flight attendant to pay for whatever snacks and drinks you want as a thank you.”

  His girl? I think with an audible snort.

  The man awkwardly side-eyes me before shooting to his feet. I slide into the aisle, allowing him to trade spots with Rocco.

  “I figured I’d come distract you so you don’t get lost in your own head,” Rocco tells me as we settle into our seats and secure our seatbelts.

  I’ve never been so grateful that it’s literally impossible to read a person’s mind. “I was just settling in for a nap,” I snap at him, wishing it to be true. I’d give anything to slip into a blissful state of unconsciousness.

  “Didn’t sleep enough on the way to the airport, huh?”

  With my arms crossed, I release an impatient sigh. “If you’re expecting me to delve into my feelings on the situation with my so-called parents, I have nothing to say.”

  “I’m more interested in hearing what you’ve been up to the last couple of decades.”

  Briefly closing my eyes, I groan with the realization that it’ll be impossible to escape him on this trip. Arms crossed, I turn to face him. “Only if you go first. I want to hear more about this woman and her child that were in your life.”

  With a shake of his head, he rubs his fingers across his forehead. “What do you want to know?”

  “How’d you meet? Why’d you break up?”

  His gaze darts across the aisle. “This isn’t something I want to talk to you about, Jo.”

  My bullshit detector tingles. “Why not?”

  He swivels his head, staring at me for a pregnant pause before answering. “Because Heidi claimed I was still too hung up on you to maintain a serious relationship.”

  I roll my eyes to the overhead bins. “Oh come on, Roc. That was ages ago. We were just kids.”

  His shoulders fall like he’s disappointed I’m being so flippant. “What can I say? I thought you were The One. Can’t help it if I never got over you.”

  Huffing out a sharp breath, I harden my jaw. It’s the exact kind of response one would expect from a skillfully deceptive man. I refuse to be blindsided by his charm. “You didn’t tell me how you met her.”

  “I was at the gym with Chris and noticed her from across the room. She was lifting twice her weight on the bench.”

  Relief rockets through me, closely followed by a visual of a woman with a ridiculously cartoonish build. “Seriously?”

  His lips twist with a smirk. “Jealous?”

  “You weren’t bent over in a parking lot, picking up a bag of spilled groceries when you met her?” I confirm, clinging to his forearm with hope swirling through my heart. Whatever he says in reply, I acknowledge it could be a total lie. Especially if he knows about the journal. Maybe he’s the one who buried it.

  “Are you on something?” he spars with an unsure chuckle. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Chris about it sometime. I’m sure he’d love to rub in my failed attempts at adult relationships.”

  While I fully intend on giving Chris a call at some point to confirm the story, I decide his word is good enough for the time being. “I have to show you something.” I release him to dig around for the journal again, then place it inside his lap. “Have you seen this before?”

  He picks it up and glances at the backside before fanning through a few pages. “I don’t think so. What is it?”

  “Read the first page.”

  I study his face as he skims over the woman’s confession. His reluctant expression deepens into a frown when he catches up to where I left off. “Who wrote this?”

  “That’s the million dollar question,” I say, taking the journal back. “It was buried in my parents’ backyard. It’s not anyone’s handwriting I recognize. I haven’t had a chance to read any more than you did just now. I was planning to finish reading it on this flight.”

  “It was buried? How’d you find it?”

  “Believe it or not, your grandmother told me about it today after you sabotaged my plans by inviting yourself along. She didn’t mention what exactly I was looking for, but she seemed quite upset when she told me something was buried beneath the roses.”

  He gives me a doubtful look. “Nonna spoke English?”

  “I have a high-tech translator app…for work.”

  All at once, his face becomes void of color. “Wait. You thought the woman in the diary was talking about me?” Gripping the back of his head, he throws me a dark look. “What the hell, Jo?”

  “The facts lined up. Nonna knew about the diary. You mentioned you’d dated a woman with a little girl. What was I supposed to think?”