Half Empty (First Wives #2)

She wasn’t interested.

As the streets thinned out and the last of the scammers attempted to pawn their final trinkets to unknowing visitors, Trina made her way back to her nondescript hotel.

She pushed through the swinging doors of the hotel and made her way up the two flights of stairs to her corner room with a double window view of one of the canals below.

Locking the door, she tossed the key, which was still a key and not a card, onto the secretary. Moving to the windows, she opened them wide and pushed back the shutters.

The occasional pedestrian walked over the bridge closest to her room, their words muddled in her ears.

She flopped on the bed and glanced at the grandiose glass chandelier above. It was something Trina would expect to see in a hotel in Vegas.

She closed her eyes and ignored the loneliness that knocked on the back of her skull.

Everything was fine.



A loud voice had Trina shooting out of bed.

She blinked a few times, orienting herself to the room.

“I’m working here!”

“Make way!”

The voices came from outside her window. Trina glanced at the clock in the room and winced. Six thirty was too early for shouting.

While the men outside her window kept yelling at each other in Italian, she gave up and moved to see what they were arguing about.

The canal below had two side-by-side delivery boats that were manned by half a dozen men unloading supplies. Sacks of flour, cases of paper goods, everything a restaurant would need to stay in business. The man doing half the yelling was a gondolier, standing at the back of his gondola, waving a hand in the air.

“The tourists are still in bed.” This from one of the men trying to unload his boat. “You can wait.”

The problem was the lack of room between the two delivery boats for the gondola to pass.

“For God’s sake, move so the man can get through and the rest of Venezia can sleep!” Trina yelled from her window.

Seven pairs of eyes looked up at her.

Trina lifted both hands in the air as if emphasizing her point.

Three men started yelling at the same time, a mix of arguments of being in the right-of-way.

Trina leaned out farther and added her complaint to the chaos. “A bunch of grown men acting like children,” she growled.

Another window from across the canal opened and a woman twice Trina’s age let out such a rapid stream of Italian she only caught every fourth word. While Trina hadn’t been able to put it all together, it was obvious the men unloading their goods did.

A few minutes later, one of the larger boats had moved enough to allow the gondolier to pass through.

“My apologies, beautiful lady,” the gondolier said with a dramatic bow in Trina’s direction.

Tall, dark, and Italian. The man’s smile had Trina grinning back.



“You’re ignoring me!” Avery Grant paced around her high-rise condominium in downtown Los Angeles with her cell phone pasted to her ear. The connection to Trina, halfway around the world, was surprisingly clear.

“I’m not ignoring you.”

“Three text messages and two phone calls. If that isn’t the definition of ignoring, then I don’t know what is.”

“I’ve had bad Wi-Fi.”

“Lame-ass excuse, lady. How long are you planning on being in Venice anyway?”

Avery stood looking across the city skyline as the sun dipped across the buildings. Sunset was always worth watching from this high off the ground.

“How . . . how did you know where I was?”

“Oh, please. I have you on Friend Finder, remember? So you know where I am when I’m out on a date.”

“Oh, yeah . . . I forgot.”

Avery rolled her eyes and walked away from the window, giving Trina her full attention. “Lotta good that app is going to do for me if you never look at it.”

“Sorry. I’m . . . I’m in a weird place right now.”

“I know you are. But you need to find your way out of it. The First Wives meeting is this weekend, and it’s your turn to host. Or have you forgotten?”

“I, ah . . . didn’t forget.”

Avery sucked in a deep breath, knowing damn well Trina not only forgot, she hadn’t planned anything either.

“Uh-huh . . . right. Tell you what. You just get back to the ranch and I will plan everything.”

“I have six days.”

“None of us wanna see you sleep off jet lag. So start working your way west, woman!”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Don’t make me come there and get you. Cuz I will!”

Trina laughed, which made Avery smile. “I know you will. Just give me a few more days.”

“Okay, but if you flake, not only will I come and retrieve you, Lori, Shannon, and Sam’s team will be right there with me.”

“I heard you, Avery. I’m hanging up now.”

“Why? Do you have a hot date?” For a brief second Avery wondered if her joke was an actual possibility.

“No. Of course not.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame. You’re in Italy. The men there are gorgeous.”

“They are.”

Lotta good that did for her friend, the woman who hadn’t so much as smiled at a man in the year Avery had known her. “Try and kiss one for me.”

“I’ll do that.”

Never gonna happen.

“I’m stalking you until I see you blip online in Texas.”

“I’m hanging up now, Avery.”

Hearing the fight in Trina’s voice was better than the sorrow.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Avery disconnected the call and immediately called Lori.

When her neighbor, lawyer, and fellow First Wives Club member answered the phone, Avery drove right to the point. “I got ahold of Trina.”

“Is she okay?”

“I think we need to do an intervention.”





Chapter Two



The deep baritone of a man singing woke her the next day. The clock said seven. The sun streaming through the window suggested another hot day lay ahead.

Trina pushed out of bed when the voice didn’t stop or move farther away.

Unlike the day before, the canal had only one occupant.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Italian looked up from his gondola to her room while he sang.

Words of love and inspiration lifted to her ears. He made grand gestures with his hands as he finished the song.

She clapped and smiled when he took a sweeping bow.

“A free ride for you, beautiful lady. For aiding me in my plight yesterday.”

“That isn’t necessary,” she replied in Italian.

“You’re American.”

“I am.”

“Americans love our gondolas.”

She leaned against the window. “Another day.”

Her words gave him the hope he needed. “What is your name?”

“Trina.”

He placed a hand on his chest. “I am Dante. I will see you tomorrow.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he pushed away from the dock and started to sing.



Trina’s day buzzed by, faster than the previous three weeks. Because she hadn’t given herself an end date to the trip, she realized how little of the island she’d seen. Trina felt the sudden need to start touring.

A short boat trip brought her to the neighboring island of Murano, famous for its handcrafted glass. While mosquitoes nipped at her ankles, she took a reprieve from the sun by stepping into several stores. She’d never been much of a shopper, but with a pocket as deep as the one her late husband and his mother had left her, Trina took advantage of the merchants’ offers to ship goods to the States. She knew, as she was shelling out three thousand euros apiece for the four vases that had caught her eye, that the gifts were going to be an I’m sorry I missed our quarterly meeting. Still, the sculptures were phenomenal and would help her friends forget her flaking on them.

She was already practicing what to say when they gave her hell.

“As soon as Avery reminded me of the meeting, I went on a quest to see all of Venice. I bought these gifts in my rush to see everything.”

Avery wouldn’t buy it.

Lori, a divorce attorney by day, would know damn well she was lying but wouldn’t call her out.