“Yes. And a messier woman never lived! I thought I was going to be buried alive in her rubble.”
“Yeah . . . that was always kind of an issue. Could you maybe answer some questions for me about her life in Florence?”
“I’m sure I could, but why are you asking me? Hadley and I haven’t been in touch in ages.”
“Well . . .” I hesitated. I never knew how to break the news to people. It was like opening a dam. You never knew what they were going to hit you with. “She died. A little over six months ago.”
Francesca gasped sharply. “Non ci posso credere. How?”
“Pancreatic cancer. It was pretty sudden.”
“Oh, my poor dear. Era troppo giovane, veramente. I would be happy to talk about your mother. After she finished her program she dropped off the side of the world. None of us were able to get in touch with her.”
“Do you . . . ?” I grimaced. “This will sound weird. But do you remember if she was dating anyone?”
“Oh, the love life of Hadley Emerson. It was like a romance novel. Your mother was in love, yes, and I think half of Firenze was in love with her. I always knew who was right for her—we all did—but then there was that Matteo causing a mess and ruining things.”
“Matteo?” I croaked. I hadn’t even had to push; she’d just dropped his name into my lap.
Ren looked up sharply.
“Yes. Our professor.”
“Professor,” I whispered to Ren. Well, that cleared up the whole secrecy thing.
“. . . He had her very confused, and I was so angry that she’d hurt our friend. . . .” She trailed off. “I feel like I’m telling old secrets.”
“What’s Matteo’s last name?”
She paused. “I believe it was Rossi. Yes, that sounds right. But I shouldn’t even mention him. That man was a waste of time for everyone, especially your mother.” She sighed. “We all wanted to save her from him. He was charming. Very handsome. But controlling. He thought he could find talent and take it on as his own. It was quite the scandal when he was fired.”
“Fired?” So much for “creative space.”
“Yes. But that’s all old news.” Her voice lifted. “Do you know who would be a great person for you to talk to? Howard Mercer. He was another classmate of ours, and he works at a cemetery just outside of Florence. He and your mother were very close. Would you like his phone number?”
“No, that’s okay,” I said quickly. “So, Matteo Rossi. Any idea where he is these days?”
“None whatsoever. And I like it best that way. But how old are you, Lina? I have a daughter as well.”
“I’m sixteen.”
“Sixteen? Hadley was hardly old enough to have a daughter your age. So let’s see, that means you were born in . . .” She trailed off. “Aspetta. Sixteen years old?”
“Um, yes.”
Her voice sharpened. “Lina, are you calling because—”
“Got to go,” I said hastily. “Nice talking to you.” I quickly pressed END.
Ren was leaned up against me, his ear a couple of inches from the speaker. He stepped back. “What was that all about?”
“She was putting together who my dad is. Sounds like they might still be in touch, and I don’t want this to get back to Howard.”
“What did she say X’s name is?”
I smiled triumphantly. “Professor Matteo Rossi. We are so going to find him.”
Ren and I ran to the nearest Internet café, which apparently is a thing. I was expecting a bunch of trendy cappuccinos or at least a case full of those giant sugar-dusted muffins, but all the café consisted of was a bunch of ancient-looking desktop computers and a group of angry people waiting in line for a turn to delete their junk mail. It was crazy disappointing.
Ren shifted from one foot to the other. “Sure you don’t want to just go home and use my computer?”
“No. I want to find Matteo right away.” My phone chimed and I pulled it out of my purse.
Want to go to a party with me tomorrow night?
It’s for a girl who graduated last year. Band, bar, fireworks . . .
—Thomas
I braced myself for a stampede of stomach butterflies, but nothing happened. In fact, I think a tumbleweed might have blown by. I looked at Ren furtively. Lina, you’ve got to pull it together. Why did he look so good to me today? Was it just because he was the only person I knew who’d be willing to join me on a wild-goose chase for my mom’s ex-boyfriend?
“Who is it?” Ren asked.
“No one.”
“So, Lina . . .” His mouth drew down in a cute worried look. No, not cute. “Petrucione obviously didn’t want to talk about Matteo, and Francesca wasn’t a fan of him either. Do you really think it’s a good idea to track him down? What if he’s a jerk?”
“He was definitely a jerk. But yes, I want to meet him. He was a huge deal in her life, and she must have wanted me to know about him—otherwise, why would I have her journal? I just feel like finding him is a big part of figuring all this out.”