AN: Thank you so much for all the feedback on the first chapter! Super pleased to know that we're off on the right start again. Enjoy!

Her first night in paradise was sleepless; tossing, turning and entangling her restless limbs in the soft sheets and scratchy comforter. She spent hours curling then stretching, trying every comfortable position as the old bed frame creaked and groaned under the weight of her body.

The room played tricks on her, using the shadows and her sleep-deprived mind to create illusions. The trinkets on top of the dresser became rodents with sharp teeth and the glistening gold paint became glowing yellow eyes. The lamp and coat-hanger converged to produce a man's silhouette, watching her in amusement as she struggled to find sleep.

Overcome with childish fear and paranoia, she jumped from the bed and flicked on the light, confirming that the furniture wasn't morphing into her greatest fears.

The bed released a deep, guttural groan as she lowered onto its edge. A soft murmur of voices reached her ears, but were indistinct, and she couldn't make out a single word. Maybe whoever it was didn't want her to overhear. She imagined two Victorian-era maids gossiping about her in the hall. A strange, nearly naked lady flopping around like a dying fish on the bed was the most entertaining thing the ghosts had seen in a very long time. She smiled to herself at the crazy idea her loopy head came up with, but the voices continued, and suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore. Was this an actual hallucination?

She recognized a word, "Honey," and then the speaker, Sharpay. She listened a moment longer and deciphered a whole phrase. "This is so unfair," she whined. The bed moaned as she stood, but once she held the cold metal handle in her grasp, she froze. Her instinct to intervene conflicted with the realization that doing so would prove two things. First, she couldn't sleep and that would raise concern. Second, she was eavesdropping. She dropped her hand to her side and gave herself permission to listen longer and decide then if it warranted intervention. But now the voices had ceased. All was still and silent in the house again.

She recognized the sound of the floorboards in the hall groaning under the weight of someone's gait, then the door suddenly opened. "Jesus!" Sharpay gasped and gripped the front of her pink night gown in surprise.

Gabriella was caught like a child who had just been seen sneaking cookies out of the jar.

"Did we wake you?" Sharpay asked. "I saw the light under the door."

"No, I was already waking up." Gabriella carefully lied. "This jetlag is really toying with my sleep schedule."

Sharpay stared off, momentarily lost in thought. "How much did you hear?"

Gabriella wondered how much truth to say. Sharpay looked anxious, afraid to hear how much she knew. Gabriella confessed, "Something about being unfair?"

Sharpay inhaled deeply through her nose and ran her fingers through the hair on top of her scalp. Gabriella saw the stress forming in the wrinkles on her forehead and realized too late that this was too much truth. "I'll make tea," Sharpay said.

Gabriella followed her through the hallway, tempted to pinch the back of Sharpay's shirt so she didn't get lost in the pitch-black nothingness. They turned around the corner where the light from the foyer illuminated the bottom of the stairs, and Gabriella tightly gripped the railing as she descended with her feet turned to the side across the narrow steps. The marble tile was cold yet relieving on the rough soles of her feet, and she followed Sharpay to the kitchen.

Sharpay leaned her hips against the counter stood on her toes to reach inside the cabinet above the knives. She carefully removed a small yellow kettle, a finger pinched over the delicate lid to keep it from sliding off. Gabriella was perched at the island across the sink, watching Sharpay's face as she concentrated on the tap water slowly pouring into the kettle. She became conscious of the silence once Sharpay turned the water off, and wondered if Sharpay could hear it too, or if she was busy replaying whatever happened in the bedroom and also deciding how much truth to share as well.

"How about herbal tea, to help you sleep?" Sharpay suggested.

"Please." As Sharpay disappeared into the pantry, Gabriella asked, "So, what was going on tonight?"

"I don't really know," she called out, her voice reverberating a small echo from the confines of the pantry. "Rinaldo promised me he'd stay in Positano the whole month. But the vineyard is having some issues with broken machinery, so he and the guys are going up to Campinola until it's all fixed, which is going to take Lord knows how long."

"All the guys are going up?" Gabriella asked with her hope disguised as clarification.

"Yes. If they don't make it back by Wednesday they'll miss the opera!" She dropped the canister of tea bags on the granite counter with a pout. "Maybe we should go with. I think the others would like to see the estate."

"But some quality girl time might be just what we need to get everyone introduced to each other."

Gabriella watched her expression to see how she liked the idea, but Sharpay forgot to respond, or became too engrossed in another worry to remember to. Gabriella wanted to press and confirm that she would be spared of Troy's presence for another few days, but just then the kettle whistled, and there was a sound from the foyer, brief and quiet, but distinctly metallic. Sharpay turned around to attend to the tea, and Gabriella looked through the doorway and past the shadows to the foyer where a red envelope lied on the center of the cold tile floor.

Gabriella tried to make sense of it. She assumed that mail worked differently in Italy, and perhaps the mailmen came at night. She went to the envelope and held it in her hands. Her fingers traced the crisp edges, sharp enough to cut, then flipped it around to read the recipient inked in gorgeously deliberate cursive: To The Blonde.

Intrigued and amused, Gabriella took the envelope to its recipient bouncing tea bags in a pot of hot water. She hid the red envelope behind her back and teased, "I think someone has a secret admirer!"

Sharpay's eyes snapped to Gabriella with immediate recognition as if she already knew what happened, although Gabriella still had the envelope hidden. Then Gabriella set the envelope on the counter where Sharpay could see. There was very little indication of how she felt behind her stone gaze, but Gabriella knew it was bad, and was compelled to apologize although she didn't know what for.

"Where did you get that?" Sharpay asked, her voice almost at a whisper.

"Your foyer. Must have slid in through the mail slot."

Sharpay cracked a weak smile, but it didn't convince Gabriella. "Rinaldo is probably thinking I'm mad and overreacting for being out of the bedroom this long. Enjoy the tea. I'll see you in the morning."

"Are you-"

"Goodnight Gabriella."

She watched Sharpay's figure disappear into the shadows before she turned behind the wall. She had never been so readily dismissed by her, not even when she was her employee. Did Sharpay have a double life, leading on a secret admirer while dating Rinaldo at the same time?

The herbal tea seemed to do the trick and Gabriella fell asleep finally at four in the morning. She awoke to the roar of an engine and the brightness of the afternoon sun flooding her room through the thin curtains. She approached the window and prepared herself for the view, knowing it had the capacity to inspire happiness like she hadn't known for years, and it didn't disappoint. The variety of colorful homes led her gaze down the cliffside and out to the harbor where the boats appeared as little white bugs from this distance. It was a captivating scene, the people and cars bustling around, the breeze disturbing the greenery. She stood there for some time, smiling to herself and taking it all in, knowing the whole time this was a memory in the making.

Gabriella came down the stairs as Sharpay was returning, leaving the front door propped open to welcome the sunlight and breeze inside. "They're gone," she said solemnly. "I just kissed him goodbye."

"Did he say how long it will take?"

"He'll know when he sees the damage. He said he'd call."

"Okay," Gabriella said, unsure what else to do or say.

It was strange now, knowing there was something Sharpay wouldn't share with her. Their time together in California and the years that followed brought out nearly every memory and secret. They discussed everything - fears for the future, the pain of their pasts. But now there was a red envelope without a purpose or an explanation, and none of Gabriella's assumptions painted Sharpay positively.

Gabriella asked her, "What was that last night?" The lack of change in Sharpay's features said more than any expression could. No answer was her answer, and Gabriella quickly learned not to ask again. She switched subjects instead. "I need breakfast."

Gabriella prepared fresh, hot oatmeal topped with sliced almonds and a dollop of peanut butter. The familiar four - Tiara, Emma, Lea, and Jackie - sat together at one end of the table, sharing small bowls of cubed fruit and seeds. Seated alone on the opposite end of the massive oak table was a woman with a long purple and black braid reaching her waist with skin beautiful and dark like Lupita Nyong'o. The squareness of her jaw and the prominence of her cheekbones added to the similarities of the Oscar-winning actress.

"I love your hair," Gabriella said as she took the seat across from her.

"Thanks."

Gabriella took a bite of oatmeal and continued to stare, rudely. "You know who you look like?"

"Lupita Nyong'o," she responded with clear certainty.

The bite of oatmeal became lead in Gabriella's stomach, heavy and uncomfortable. She felt the heat of embarrassment and shame rise like the blood in her face. "Oh my God, I bet you get that all the time. I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean anything insensitive by it."

The woman dismissed her apologies with a shake of her head. "It's okay. My black friends see it, too. No offense taken. Just don't ask to touch my braids and we'll be cool." She smiled.

Gabriella nodded, awkwardly stuck for what to say.

"I'm Ivonne," she said. "What was your name?"

"Gabriella Montez. I worked for Sharpay for a few months."

"She's told me about you," she said admiringly, like she respected her for the role she played in Sharpay's stories. "You two are close." Gabriella nodded while Ivonne stirred her bowl of cereal and asked, "What do you think of Rinaldo?"

Gabriella shrugged. "Quiet," she said.

"It's the quiet ones you have to keep an eye on." She winked.

A gust of Chanel perfume wafted by, and Gabriella glanced over her shoulder, watching Sharpay as she joined the other four at their end of the table.

They walked through the plaza in rows of two like Madeline, but with the energy of Mean Girls. Sharpay led at the front, followed by Tiara and Emma, then Jackie and Lea, and finally Gabriella and Ivonne at the tail. Gabriella enjoyed the faces of the locals passing by, men and women alike, their eyes lingering on them with disbelief and curiosity. No one else dared to strut down the streets of Positano in a skin-tight, hot pink mini skirt and white tank top with foreign words bedazzled in pink rhinestones. No one except the dazzling queen of pink, Miss. Sharpay Evans. She took every step not like she belonged there, but like she owned it. This was her city and everyone else was merely a guest.

Sharpay paused at the door into the boutique. "This lady knows her shit," she said over her shoulder to the posse behind her. "I wouldn't dare go to anyone else in the city. They always make me look fat."

Tiara dramatically gasped and said, "Impossible!"

The women entered the little shop and were greeted by a platter of mimosas. Gabriella nabbed two for herself. The four flocked to the rack with the latest season while Sharpay disappeared with the seamstress and Gabriella and Ivonne stood purposelessly in the center of the shop. It became clear to Gabriella that, like herself, Ivonne didn't quite belong to the excessive wealth Sharpay and the four could afford. She asked Ivonne how she and Sharpay met.

"My family has worked for Rinaldo's for generations," Ivonne said. "The women clean the estate and the men are hands on the vineyard. I met her once they started dating, and I help the both of them around the house in Positano now."

Gabriella asked, "So, in a way, do you work for Sharpay?"

"I suppose. But I consider her a friend more than a boss."

"I'm very familiar with that feeling."

The seamstress called Sharpay over, and everyone gathered around. Gabriella shared a long couch with the others and watched as Sharpay was examined with a meticulous eye. The seamstress pinched the fabric on the small of Sharpay's back and said, "If you like this one, we can take it in at the waist to accentuate your figure." She let go of the waistline and ran her fingers along the inch-wide straps over her shoulders. "Looks like we'll need to give some more length to the strap. You have such strong and sexy shoulders."

Sharpay said, "That's code for manly, ladies."

The group laughed and the seamstress teased her, "Oh Sharpay, it wouldn't hurt you to take a compliment."

Sharpay smiled and rolled her eyes. "What does everyone think?" She gave a twirl, the fringe on the skirt and across her bust blooming around her body.

Everyone except Gabriella and Ivonne voiced their approval with excited squeals and a flurry of compliments.

Sharpay asked, "Ivonne?"

"I don't like fringe."

The air was sucked from the room as Sharpay pursed her lips and considered Ivonne's opinion. Gabriella realized the other four probably never went against Sharpay and were terrified to see the monster they imagined she morphed into at any slight disagreement. Sharpay could be blunt and at times rudely so, but Gabriella understood something about her that the others evidently didn't. She was always ruthlessly, unapologetically herself. She never skirted around the problem, never bullshitted. It was a characteristic meant to be celebrated, not feared. But maybe Gabriella could appreciate the truth in a way they didn't.

Sharpay asked, "Gabriella?"

Gabriella said, "Not your color."

Sharpay looked to the seamstress and opened her mouth to talk, but the seamstress was faster to reassure, "Of course we will dye it in hot pink. Anything for you, Sharpay."

"I love the sound of that."

It wasn't until lunch that could Gabriella confidently confirm that Sharpay was, in fact, avoiding her.

She passed by again, this time with a platter of cheese in one hand and meats in the other. She had already brought in the olives, the escargot, the shrimp, and the tea sandwiches. Gabriella offered to help each trip, but Sharpay quietly peeped the same response each time, "I'm good."

Gabriella decided that on her next trip in she would confront her, but Sharpay must have anticipated the plan because she didn't come inside again. Gabriella joined the others on the patio, a massive cover looming over the glass table and outdoor chairs. She took a seat next to Ivonne, and asked for a napkin that she knew Sharpay had forgotten inside. When she excused herself to retrieve some for the group, Gabriella silently followed.

At the dinner table, Gabriella asked her, "Can we talk?" She noticed the subtle, tense rise in Sharpay's shoulders.

"Not now," Sharpay snapped, annoyed with her persistence. She began to walk around her, but Gabriella put her arm against the wall like a bar to trap her in.

"I'm just curious, Sharpay. I don't deserve punishment for that."

"I could handle curiosity. It's your judgement I take issue with."

"Judgement?"

"I can see it in your eyes. You think I'm cheating on him, don't you?"

"The possibility crossed my mind, but you're not giving me any more explanation to-"

Sharpay interrupted, her voice snapped like the crack of a whip, "I would never, ever cheat on someone. Especially a man as wonderful to me as Rinaldo."

"I believe you, Sharpay. I just want to know what's going on."

Sharpay contemplated, calmer by some degree but with a fire still present in her eyes. "Meet me in the kitchen at midnight."

While the day had been mostly splendid, the night was soured by a realization. Gabriella was in her room, toweling off after a hot shower, when she noticed the darkness outside. It was night, meaning the day was over, meaning she had lost a day of time between she and Troy's eventual reunion.

She lied in bed and stared at the ceiling, breathing in counts of four. It was half an hour before she was to meet with Sharpay and receive an explanation, but some foolish curiosity was festering. For whatever reason, or whatever feeling without a reason, she wished to see Troy's room. She could compare it and he against the dorm room she could recall vividly - the claustrophobic bathroom and the rotating selection of videogames sprawled across the floor. She hoped a glimpse into his new habitat would expose the changes, the intricacies of this unfamiliar man he had become.

She stepped out into the hallway, braless beneath an old high school sweater, and shorts. She looked down the empty hallway for some time, listening to the silent, vacant noise. The metal handle's dim glow was hypnotic, drawing her closer and closer with the lure of secrets just beyond its lock. She easily turned the handle and found it odd he left the door open.

She entered the dark room, and on the top of the dresser facing the bed, she spotted a single guitar pick. The plastic was hard in her hands, with a fake marble pattern.

5 ½ years ago

In the corner of Troy's dorm room sat a battered acoustic guitar whose bleached maple wood was coated in band stickers and dents. She'd learned the whole backstory – his aunt Carol, an elementary music teacher, gifted him the guitar and a set of instructional VHS tapes for his thirteenth birthday. At first his parents were weary of the ruckus he'd make, but they eventually came around and got him in lessons once he mastered the tapes, if only to get the sound out of the house. Somehow they found Pete, an amateur punk rock guitarist with a sleeve of tattoos and gauges the size of Troy's wrists. He wanted Troy to learn to play by ear and insisted so much so that he tore the beginner's booklet his parents sent with him in half. He used words like fuck and shit whenever he fumbled on a chord, and that made him especially cool in Troy's eyes. Now Troy was a magnificent strummer, and although he never learned to read sheet music, he easily caught onto any song and parroted the notes with the careful plucks of his fingertips. Sometimes, if Gabriella managed to coax him, he'd sing for her too. It felt something like nostalgia every time he sang. She could fall in love with the songs all over again, a visceral collision between the familiar and the new.

The image of the guitar slumped against his closet door would be forever burned in her memory. She was anchored to it, using it as a crutch to stabilize herself against the twists and spins she put them both through.

"Can't we just…isn't there something…?"

"It's not my choice, Troy."

"Long distance? We could make that work."

"It's not the right time."

"C'mon, Ella. There has to be a way."

He was pleading, and she hated herself for reducing him to such a desperate mess.

This was all her fault. The scholastic decathlon whiz kid assumed it would be easy. She didn't study and once the bad grades started coming in, she didn't change any habits. She was distracted, her mother said, blaming her for finding a boyfriend instead of studying day and night like she told her to. After final grades came in, Mom was furious and refused to pay another cent towards next semester's tuition. She convinced Gabriella to come home and figure out what she was going to do, make a plan, before she returned. But home was where expectation and smoke stained the walls yellow, coated in toxic fumes. Gabriella cycled through countless odd jobs to afford a new home away from Mom's cloud of disappointment and stale cigarettes. She was never able to return to Stanford.

"I'm sorry, Troy."

"If this is really the end, then there's one last thing I have to do. I'm a sentimental guy, as I'm sure you've learned." He reached into the drawer inside his nightstand and pulled out a guitar pick. "I want you to have this. It's the very first one I used. Remember me, Ella." She took it from him, tracing her finger along its small, jagged chip. She put it in her back pocket and turned towards the door, hoping to make it out before she or he could break down again.

Troy followed her and said, "When we think about the last things we ever said to each other, I don't want you to remember this pain. I want you to remember how I felt about you and what you meant to me. I want you to remember this." His fingers laced through the soft hair behind her ears, his thumbs rested on her cheeks, and his palms held her jaw. He bent to her height and leaned in inches away from her until all she could see was his face. Afraid he would try to kiss her, she grabbed his forearms. He paused for a moment as if he was waiting for the memory to start recording. His eyes drilled into hers with focus, and he delivered his final words with clarity and intent. "Ella, I love you." He lowered his hands, stood straight, and waited for the reciprocation.

"I know."

Today

"What are you doing in my room?" The voice cut through the silence so suddenly she yelped out in surprise.

She held her chest as if that could help her catch her breath. She looked at the black silhouette in the doorway, unable to see his face in the darkness, but knowing exactly who it was. "I thought you were at the vineyard."

"Clearly. What are you doing in my room?" he repeated, but harsher now.

"I was…curious."

He moved and she flinched. Everything came to light with a flip of the switch. He carried a duffle bag over his shoulders, an aggressive stare aimed at her. "Don't you think it's a little invasive to go into someone's room while they're gone?"

"It is. I'm sorry."

Her words went unanswered. He moved into the room and dropped his duffle bag on the bed. "You didn't take anything, did you?"

"No, I…" she felt the pick pinched between her fingers, and her hesitation caused him to look. She ashamedly approached him and offered it back, and he slowly opened his palm to accept it. He stared down at the pick and rotated it, studying it for blemishes, for any damage she might have caused in the brief time she had it. "I'm sorry," she said.

"You already said that."

Gabriella caught the message loud and clear. She wasn't to enter his room again, and she was to be subjected to his passive aggressive shaming until he ever decided to forgive her. "It won't happen again," she promised as she stepped out into the hallway. The door slammed shut as she walked away, and she heard the click of a lock.

Downstairs the tile was frigid as she passed through the foyer, a gust of freezing air seeping in beneath the front door. She paced the kitchen restlessly, waiting ten, fifteen, thirty minutes after midnight.

Sharpay never appeared.

AN: Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought. I'll try to have the next chapter out within two weeks from today.