Queen of Hearts (Wonderland 2)

Chapter Two

Lyriope

This should be a dream, and yet it feels like a nightmare. I just flew first class to Italy. I should be ecstatic. I am literally completing a life bucket list item, but the only emotion that I’m feeling is fear.

I boarded the plane as Sasha Morelli. My cousin. She booked and paid for my ticket, which was my first time ever flying first class. The entire trip, I kept expecting the flight attendant to approach me with the knowledge that my real name is Lyriope Bailey, and I was breaking the law by impersonating someone I wasn’t. I remained in my seat, tucked against the window with a full bladder. I didn’t even want to get up to use the restroom in fear that I’d draw attention, and everyone would see me for what I was. A fraud.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” the customs official asks me as he holds up my passport and stares at it and then at me.

I hold my breath, hoping to God the photo matches enough that he doesn’t see right through the fact that it’s Sasha smiling back at him. “Pleasure,” I somehow manage to say. “I’ve never been.”

Fuck. Sasha Morelli has been to Italy. There may be a stamp in that passport already from her visits.

“Well… I haven’t been since I was really young,” I correct. “I’m excited to be able to see it now as an adult.”

I’m talking too much. Nervous energy is surging through me.

He seems to be studying the picture longer than the other officials are doing with the other passengers, but I simply stand before him and focus on remaining composed. Will our matching dark hair and dark eyes be enough? We look alike, but not identical. Was this foolish thinking that I could actually get past customs as someone else?

He finally stamps the passport, closes it, and hands it back to me. “Enjoy your trip.”

Releasing the breath I have been holding, I continue toward baggage claim. I only have my carry-on and one other bag and am nervous that I don’t have enough to get by on. Sasha had told me that a driver would be waiting for me with a sign. She had informed me he’s from the property I’ll be staying at, and not to worry because no one has seen Sasha since she was a child. They will have no way of knowing that I’m not her. She said she called ahead and notified them of her upcoming vacation.

Luckily, the Florence airport is much smaller than JFK, my bag arrives quickly, and with a quick scan of the area, I see a man in a black suit holding a sign with the name Sasha Morelli on it. I approach him and smile. I’m not sure what to say. I’m not even sure if he speaks English.

“Ms. Morelli?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes.”

He doesn’t introduce himself, and I assume it’s because I’m supposed to know who he is already. Hopefully there is no reason to have to call him by name until I hear someone else address him.

He glances at my small bags and then asks, “Should we go collect your luggage, Ms. Morelli?” His accent is thick, but I’m grateful he knows English, which is good since I don’t know any Italian at all.

“I just brought these,” I say as I realize how unlikely it would be for anyone to travel for vacation with only two small bags. Especially a Morelli. I quickly try to cover up with, “I plan on doing a lot of shopping. I want a completely new Italian wardrobe.”

“Florence has some of the best shopping in the world,” he says, taking my bags from me. “I’d be happy to drive you into the city once you get settled.”

I nod and smile, unsure how Sasha would respond. I have to keep telling myself that Sasha was only a child the last time the staff at the Loro Ciuffenna house saw her. They won’t know it’s me. They won’t know this is all a lie.

Unless they ask questions…

I’m not even sure if I can remember the names of Sasha’s siblings.

Thankfully, the drive to the small Tuscan medieval town is quiet. The driver only speaks occasionally about how the weather has been lately, or how traffic is getting worse than the last time I visited. He doesn’t ask me any personal questions which allows me to at least breathe during the forty-minute ride.

The passing scenery is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I’ve watched movies that take place in Italy and seen pictures on social media. But never could anything capture what this country actually looks like unless you’re seeing it with your own eyes. Rolling hills, vineyards as far as the eye can see, cypress trees that seem to be painted by a master artist, ancient buildings that still stand from the Roman Empire days, and a magic that nearly sizzles in the air.

When we finally reach Loro Ciuffenna which nestles in the mountainside of Tuscany, I can instantly see why the Morellis wanted a vacation home in this small medieval village. It sits right on a river that cascades down a mountain with large boulders and foliage all around. Every building in the town is from another era, a time so long ago, and the historical beauty is breathtaking. It doesn’t seem real. The colors of the structures are bright yellow and orange which pops against all the natural green of the trees. A large bell tower dominates the view as we pull into the town, and I can hear it chiming as we arrive.

We drive down a dirt road along the river, passing a small house and vineyard with only three grapevines, several chickens, and a black rooster perched on a fence looking down on a lazy tabby cat sleeping in the setting sun. Laundry is hung outside, and I can see an older lady watering her tomato plants.

I roll down the window so I can take in the fresh smells of the Italian countryside, and for a minute I feel at peace. All is right in the world. Everything is perfect.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been here,” the driver says.

“It has.”

“Violet has fixed up the west wing room that overlooks the waterfall. We weren’t sure which one you’d prefer, but that one has the sound of water to help you sleep at night.”