Emily looked up at Tyler, hoping somehow that he could piece together all the fragments, all the questions in her mind. Except he had betrayed her. He didn’t care about her, he was only there for the money.

Struggling to her feet, she swiped at her nose, surprised to see red in amongst snot and tears. Snatching back the pages from her grandmother’s diary, she stuffed them into her bag and began to walk away.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Emily, wait.”

“No.” She spun round to face him. “It’s over, Tyler. Go home, or wherever it is you would rather be.”

“You can’t go, not like this.”

“Like what?”

His hand lifted, then fell back to his side, all the confusion on his face not quite translating into words.

“You were only ever here for the money, Tyler, not me. Besides, you still have a family waiting for you back home, only you’re too selfish to understand how lucky you are.” Emily pointed over at Phoebe, her voice rising into a higher octave as she shouted out her frustration. “She gave up a life-changing opportunity for you, and yet it’s still not enough.”

“That was because of me?” Tyler turned to face Phoebe.

“There’s nothing wrong with living a normal life,” Emily said, realizing how much she resented him in that moment for thinking it wasn’t enough.

“Who says I want normal?” He was looking again at Emily, seeing the way her body was shaking uncontrollably, but her eyes told him to stay away.

Emily saw Phoebe place a hand on his arm, holding him back, telling him to let Emily go. So she did. She simply turned around and walked away, her battered leather suitcase trundling along behind.

There was nothing wrong with normal. It’s all Emily had ever wanted: to be like any other girl, with parents who used to read her bedtime stories, built sandcastles on the beach, or sipped hot chocolate by the fire after coming in from the snow.

With no idea where she was headed, Emily walked on, her mind a blur of all the memories she had hidden from. All the moments shared with parents taken from her far too soon.

Verona’s railway station was just like any other, only this time Emily was without direction, without purpose. She scanned the black departure board, so many destinations flashing up in yellow, just waiting to be chosen.

Where to? Back to St. Tropez? To Antoine and his mansion and all that money tied up with guilt? Because of him, her grandmother never had a chance—a real chance—to be with Noah. Had he not interfered, would Catriona have married Noah, been as happy as Emily’s parents? People who had given her something to hope for when she was all grown up. Her very own living and breathing fairy tale, only without the happily ever after.

They had honeymooned in Paris, and there was a photograph, in their bedroom at home, of them kissing under the Eiffel Tower. Emily’s mother was dressed in a fifties-style skirt, her hair tied back with a pink ribbon, and she was holding an enormous balloon. It was ridiculous, but it always made her father smile because he said it was the happiest moment of his life, right up until he first held Emily in his arms and felt her tiny fingers wrap around his own.