Even now, the uncomfortable fullness and pressure in my stomach had become a consistent presence. It used to come now and then, but these past few days, I’d noticed bleeding. My body was getting tired. I’d pushed it all I could, but I planned on resting a lot and taking leisurely walks without a schedule or important destination. Maybe this beautiful landscape and fresh air would heal me better than anything else.

And with our male guests heading here this week, if I needed to snatch time to lie down and rest, no one would notice.

“What’s our plan for the day?” Frannie asked, leaning against the stone terrace.

“We can unpack and walk into town to investigate,” I suggested. “Get things to cook for dinner.”

“I’m up for that,” Allegra said.

“Agreed. I’ll take stock of what we need and we’ll start a list. Mom, make sure you wear your hat and your most comfortable shoes. Allegra, you started getting sloppy with your sunscreen—I see the freckles on your nose. Make sure you reapply.”

“I don’t have freckles—and if you saw the latest news stuff, they said loading up on too much sunscreen isn’t good for you.”

Frannie lifted her brow. “Oh, I guess skin cancer is, then?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “They’ve found some toxins in certain lotions, and if you’re caking it on all day, it’s just as bad for you as the sun.”

“Well, I have the good sunscreen. I think it’s organic.”

“They don’t make organic, Mom. You are so lying.”

I watched them enter the house, still bickering. I couldn’t help but smile. It sounded so . . . normal.

An hour later, we headed out on the walk. Gravel and dirt kicked up in our wake, but we took it slow and allowed the full magic of the Italian landscape to push us forward. We crossed over the famous stone Devil’s Bridge, which lifted us to dizzying heights as if we were perched on top of the world. Alpacas grazed and ran free in the fields, and we passed crumbling stone castles and fortresses brimming with mystery and secrets.

“There’s a few things I’d like to see,” I said, pausing to sip some water. “The tour books said we must stop by Teatro dei Differenti and Casa Pascoli.”

“What’s that?” Allegra asked.

“One is a theater, and the other was the home of Giovanni Pascoli, a famous Italian poet. It’s a museum now. Oh, and of course, the cathedral.”

“Of course—we’ve only been in a thousand churches,” Frannie said.

“But not this one,” I retorted. “Each church is unique. It’s been the highlight of my trip.”

“Hmm, I think my favorite was Venice,” Allegra said. “Something about a city on water made it magical.”