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IT'S BEEN SIX MONTHS SINCE I ESCAPED MY PERSONAL HELL IN SEATTLE AND THREE SINCE I GOT OFFERED THE INTERNSHIP OPPORTUNITY OF MY LIFE WITH DOCTOR CARLISLE CULLEN.
I can safely say that there's nowhere I would rather be than the place that my mother constantly told me about as a child. She grew up here, right in the heart of Volterra. Now I can see the festival, enjoy the stories that I can still remember, and make the most of the time off I've been given by Carlisle.
The Saint Marcus Day festival robe clung to my legs due to the Italian heat, but I didn't mind it much. Red painted the seas of people that cheered and booed at the statues made of the infamous vampires that were driven out of the city almost five-hundred years ago. I can picture the images my mother kept from her childhood, the ones she left out in the kitchen around this time every year.
Being here reminds me too much of her. I haven't gone back home to Seattle to see her since he and I broke up. Or since Chrissy left both of us to save herself from his... behaviors. If the city didn't hold so many toxic memories I may have planned a visit. But my mother isn't much of a calling person, and she barely responds to my texts or letters. She hates writing in English, and I don't think she can actually read it. I think papa reads it out to her in Italian when the papers come through.
I ignored the chirp of my phone as the crowds started to screech again in a mix of Italian dialects and what sounded like ancient Roman hymns. Taking down my hood to stop myself from overheating, I glanced over at the pebbled road that led to the clock tower. I hadn't gotten the chance to go in there. I know there's supposed to be a tourist attraction every Saturday for foreigners. The locals refuse to enter the place, though. Bad omens or something along the lines of that. Superstition runs wild in these old coastal cities.
Tampering with the edges of the silky red cloak, I stride over to one of the best views of the parade. Thousands of bodies huddled together to create a single mash pit of crimson sleeves and hoods. They moved as a singular motion, and once again I found myself out of place in what was my mother's old home.
Before I could return to the crowd in an attempt at fitting in and not looking like just another American tourist, I felt my gut almost tug in the pit of my stomach. My vision blurred for a moment, but I realized what I was feeling at once. The panic began to set in, but the impending panic attack didn't occur. Instead, my brown eyes glanced over at a brightly, almost neon colored car pulled into the edges of the crowd.
I'd recognize that face anywhere. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the immortal pixie cut of Alice Cullen. Carlisle hadn't told me that she was coming to Italy during this time of year. Better yet, the girl she was right beside - getting out of the car - I'd only seen her in perhaps one picture at the house. The one that Alice kept in her rooms with her long-time boyfriend Jasper. Bella Swan, the ex-girlfriend of the always depressive Edward.
