“Where’s Rue?”

He points at his room. “Napping.”

“Is she still entertaining the curse theory?”

“I convinced her that there’s nothing to worry about.”

I very much do not want to know what my brother did to relax his fiancée. “Since we both know that there is, in fact, a lot to worry about…Is there anything you’d like me to do?”

He sighs. “My phone is blowing up with people who are supposed to fly in the next few days and aren’t sure whether it’ll be possible. And then there’s the planner, and some of the caterers, and the music band was going to…” He massages the back of his head. “I need to get in touch with them.”

“So, you and Rue are taking care of it?”

He gives me an appalled look. “I would never ask Rue to talk on the phone with someone.”

My brother would literally stand between his fiancée and a cannonball full of angry poisonous spiders. I love him. “What I meant is, is there anything you’d like me to take care of?”

“No, I—Actually, can you keep an eye on Tiny for the rest of the day? I’m gonna be too busy to walk him, and I’m not sure how the volcano will affect him. He snuck to you early, this morning, before the eruptions started. Was he scared?”

“I…Not that I noticed.”

“Good.” His hand clasps my shoulder. “What a fucking mess.”

A robotic pat to his arm. “It’ll be fine.”

I spend the following twenty minutes walking around the villa and its gardens, trying not to stare at the lava flowing down the side of Mount Etna. I walk past the olive and lemon groves. I slip inside the kitchen and am unceremoniously kicked out by Lucrezia; lean too far off the guard rail and almost fall off the cliff; bang together two sticks of yak cheese.

“You okay?” Paul asks when I peek inside the room where he’s working.

“Of course. So great.”

He squints at me like I’m a Magritte. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing. Why do you think—Nothing.”

“You sure? You’ve popped by this room about four times, looking increasingly distressed, so—”

Conor appears in the entrance. He’s wearing a performance shirt and taped shorts, hair damp with sweat. Clearly back from a run. I’m so happy to see him, I could kiss him.

Except that no, I couldn’t, because he’s too chickenshit for that.

Whatever. Least of my problems.

“I was just looking for this guy,” I say, pointing at him. “I need to chat with Conor about the, ah, photo slideshow situation.”

Paul seems surprised. “Are Eli and Rue doing a slideshow?”

They’d probably rather die. “Yes, of course. And Conor and I are in charge of it, so…can we talk about the logistics?”

“Yes,” his deep voice says. “I have time right now.” This ability of his to bullshit at the drop of a hat should definitely be categorized under red flags, but I can’t say I mind.