Instantly, the woman’s soft face turned into a scowl. The man beside her looked equally as angry.

Keira flinched back, unsure of what she’d said to anger them both so much. Was it rude to ask people about love in Italy? She hoped not—it would certainly make her piece harder to write! Or maybe she’d committed the ultimate faux pas. Maybe these two weren’t a couple at all, but siblings.

“We can’t answer that,” the woman said. She folded her arms, looking aggrieved.

“I’m sorry, was that too forward?” Keira asked, chewing her pen with consternation.

“It’s not that,” the man chimed in. “We just wouldn’t know how to answer it. We can’t stand each other.”

Keira laughed nervously, unsure whether this was just the Italian sense of humor that she wasn’t understanding.

But what the man said next took her aback completely.

“We’re getting a divorce.”

“You are?” she exclaimed. “But… but you’re traveling together to the coast. Isn’t the Amalfi supposed to be renowned for its romantic scenery and fine restaurants?”

“Yes, along with one of the best divorce lawyers the country has to offer,” the woman said bitterly. “We’re traveling to her office to sign the papers finalizing our divorce.” She cast suspicious eyes at her husband. “At long last.”

Keira felt incredibly tense and awkward. What had she gotten herself into?

“What do you mean at last?” the man snapped at the women. That they had an audience seemed to suddenly elude them both. “I’m the one who’s been asking for years!”

“Only because you want to marry that young floozy,” the woman snapped back. “I asked for one in ’seventy-nine! You were the one who kept delaying it. You only want it now because it suits you!”

They began speaking in Italian then, bickering loudly. Keira buried her face in her hands, feeling very uncomfortable and embarrassed.

If ever there was a bad omen, this was it.

CHAPTER TEN

Less than an hour after leaving Naples, Keira’s train pulled in at the Salerno station on the Amalfi Coast. It was a small station, with just a few platforms connected by overpasses. It wasn’t a particularly attractive station either, looking like its heydays were far in the past. Gray concrete columns, overhead electric cables, it was hardly a luxurious start to a supposedly beautiful part of the world.

Keira stepped off the train—leaving the still arguing divorcees behind—and wandered into the main ticket office, looking around the station, searching for the new tour guide who was supposed to be waiting, certain that Heather had told her someone would be there to greet her. But as the station cleared out of passengers, most of whom were heading off for daytrips in the sunshine, Keira discovered she was left standing alone.

It was too late to call Heather back; in New York it was still the middle of the night and unless she was a robot, as Keira sometimes suspected, Heather would be sleeping. So instead, she fired off an email, informing Heather of both the fact her wallet and money had been stolen, and also that the new tour guide had not arrived to meet her.