Shout-Outs: Guest and Alana Lissens

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Rated: T

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Chapter 5

One day in July, Isabelle came to take Betty shopping in Milan for a wardrobe that was more befitting a young villa owner in Italy. There was nothing wrong with her clothes, the older woman had explained, except they were so glaringly American.

Betty, who had been wearing pastels and cardigans for as long as she could remember, was more than eager to put herself into Isabelle's stylish hands.

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"You wear your hair in tight ponytails too much," Isabelle said when Betty was seated in her convertible, leaning over to gently tug the other girl's hair out. She tossed the worn blonde elastic band out the window. "Ah! There we go that is much better! You look less pained now! Much softer!

"The first rule is to loosen up a little. You are still so young! There is no need to pull your forehead up that high. The next thing is to ditch that floral blouse you're wearing. There's no need for you to be so covered up!"

Betty quickly unbuttoned her second layer and discarded it, leaving her with a light pink tank top and denim shorts.

"Much better," Isabelle said approvingly as she put her car into drive. "You're too young to not show off your figure. And now that Forsythe is back in your life. . ."

Betty shook her head, launching into the thing she had been telling everyone. "No. That's in our past, Isabelle! There is no way we'll get back together. He's here to write his novel, when that's over then he'll go back to the United States and I'll stay here."

"He could be your writer in residence and something more," Isabelle answered, her eyes twinkling.

"Something more?" Betty repeated. "Do you mean he could be my lover?"

"In a way, yes. But something so much more than that, you don't really have it in you to be somebody's lover though. Not in the technical sense of the word anyways. I bet that if you asked him to stay, he would. You can write anywhere and whenever he needed to meet with his agent and publishers, he could get on a plane and be there in a New York City minute."

Betty sighed. "If only it were that simple."

"If only you would stop complicating things!" Isabelle answered. "Listen, I don't know what happened between the two of you. It's between the two of you and should be kept in the past. But you know I am all about second chances. I had one. . . I had two."

"Two?" Betty asked.

"Both times with Luca," Isabelle explained. "The first time was when we met after my first husband died. The second one was when I got scared that Luca would leave like Antonio had, I ended things before I could get hurt again. Of course, it wound up hurting all the same. As fate would have it, Luca was still waiting for me to come to my senses. It would have served me right if he had never spoken to me again.

"I said the most terrible things before I left him. I wanted to give him a reason to hate me, to reject me. But he knew. He knew because he felt the same way."

"I-I was afraid," Betty repeated the story she had told Enzio. "I didn't want to get lost in the shuffle of the fame and the fangirls. I didn't say anything terrible, we parted as friends. But I don't know how we can fix what we broke."

"It's quite easy if you want to," Isabelle said. "All you have to do is wear your nicest perfume and your nicest dress with your best lingerie underneath and tell him exactly what you want. Sometimes men need to be told these things because they're helpless otherwise. You still love him, don't you?"

"I-I do," Betty admitted in a low voice. It had been so long since she'd said it aloud, it sounded as foreign as the Italian language did to her untrained ears.

"Then what's holding you back from telling him? He deserves to know how you feel, you know. You have to promise me that you'll be brave and tell him before he leaves, Elizabetta. You have to!"

"I don't want to make him feel like he is obligated to stay. And if I say those words to him, he will stay because he takes I love you seriously. He always has."

Isabelle reached over and put her hand on Betty's knee. "Then maybe it was meant to be. Love can cross oceans, darling. You need to stop being so scared. A life without love is no life at all."

"Do you always speak in movie clichés?"

"Maybe a little. But American movies has some of the best lines!" Isabelle laughed. "You had me at hello, it's such a classic!"

Betty smiled. "Yeah, I like that one too. Even though it is a bit over the top and something nobody would say in real life."

"But it's a movie, they're allowed to be a bit over the top and to say things nobody would say in real life," Isabelle answered. "Nobody goes to the movies to hear them say things you would say in everyday conversation. We all want to be swept off our feet."

"I guess you're right," Betty agreed.

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They spent their afternoon shopping in Florence. Isabelle replaced Betty's wardrobe with bold golds and reds and blues and floral prints. With flowy dresses and miniskirts and black, turtleneck sweaters and more shoes than she had owned in a lifetime.

"You are quite beautiful," Isabelle told her as she tucked Betty's hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. "Just like a young Grace Kelly."

Betty stared at herself in the mirror. "Grace Kelly?" she repeated.

"Yes," Isabelle replied as she pulled out her credit card. "This last purchase is on me. I won't take no for an answer!"

Betty looked down at the nude crepe, silk Fendi dress, and the golden cuff, and burgundy, velvet sandals with heels. She'd been frugal the whole day, shopping only at consignment shops. Italian women were generous donors, most of the clothes still had the tags on them and she'd gotten them all for a fraction of the original buying price.

"Are you sure?" she asked after a beat.

"Elizabetta, I have the money! Do not concern yourself with such matters!" Isabelle waved her concerns off. "All I ask for a trade is that you go home and ask Forsythe to get dinner with you tonight. This outfit cannot go to waste on you making a meal in your own kitchen!"

Betty sighed as she turned around and looked at herself in the three-way mirror. "I don't know."

"It's not like I'm buying you an Oscar De La Renta to wear to the Oscars. You can wear this every day!" Isabelle told her. "Put on a pair of leather sandals and a belt, and you've got yourself a lovely day dress. It's very fitting for a young lady in your position. Oh please, let me buy it for you Elizabetta!"

Betty closed her eyes. "Okay, okay! You can buy it for me!"

Isabelle clapped as she led her to the cash register. "And you will ask Forsythe to have dinner with you?"

"Yes," Betty said begrudgingly. "I will."

Isabelle smiled a triumphant kind of smile, swiped her card and signed the receipt with a flourish.

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When she got home, Jughead was working out in the garden with Enzio. He had a streak of dirt across his face, Betty wanted to laugh. It wasn't what she would expect a hot young author to do. Not even one she had known since they were both in diapers.

Jughead looked up from the row of sunflowers he was planting and smiled at her. "I trust your shopping trip was successful!"

Betty twirled around for him. "According to Isabelle, I don't look like a tourist anymore. I look like I belong here."

"As you should!" Jughead answered, dusting his hands off.

"Go and get cleaned up!" Betty told him before she lost her nerve. "I know Enzio has you hard at work but I'm the boss around here and I'm going to take you out to dinner!"

Jughead stood up and looked at her. "It would be a shame to waste such a lovely dress on just me and Enzio keeps raving about parmesan ravioli. I think I need to try it for myself."

"Of course! I'll just go and tell Enzio we're done for the day while you bathe and get changed."

A little while later, after Enzio and the rest of the crew had left, Jughead came out into the kitchen wearing a white button down with his sleeves rolled up and black pants that were cuffed.

"Well?" he asked. "Will I do?"

"I think you will do quite nicely," she answered, smiling at him as she went over to him and wove her arm through his. "Come on, let's go and get something to eat. I'm starving!"

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The Diary - July 1st

Jughead and I went out to get dinner tonight. We had parmesan ravioli and red wine and affogato for dessert. There was too much espresso in the gelato and now I'm sitting up because I can't sleep. The caffeine has made me jittery and wide awake. But maybe it's something more than that.

I went shopping with Isabelle today and she is a part-time stylist, part-time therapist. She had me admitting things aloud that I haven't admitted aloud in a very long time and I wasn't even drunk.

I love him.

I, Elizabeth Cooper, am still in love with Forsythe Jones the III. Of course I have known this for years despite my protests that it's over between us. I think I've said it aloud so many times so I can start believing it for myself.

My mind is reeling with "what ifs?"

I know whenever he writes the last chapter in his book, he'll be gone again. There's no reason starting something that'll have a quick end.

I am here in Italy long-term. Maybe forever if everything goes according to plan.

Isabelle says that he can write from anywhere but there will be book tours and interviews on Live With Kelly & Ryan. He's one of Oprah's favorite writers. His first novel was one of her book club picks.

The whole world is waiting for him. The whole world loves him and I have nothing to offer him except for my heart and my dreams and a place changing sheets in guest rooms. And what would his fans say if one ever stayed here and they caught him serving wine and cheese? Or leading a discussion about Meryl Streep movies on Friday night?

His fans think they have some claim to him and I do not want to be at the receiving end of their jealousy. Not again.

Of course there is the other end of the "what ifs?".

What if this is meant to be and he showed up on my doorstep because it is time for us to get back together? To make it work?

All my fears and insecurities are in overdrive right now.

I am afraid I'll burst. And that if I do, I'll say something that we'll both regret as soon as I say it. But I do not want to live the rest of my life alone in this beautiful country.

He's across the room from me. I wonder if he's sleeping soundly and blissfully unaware of my feelings. Or if he's tossing and turning, thinking about me. Maybe he's trying to write the next chapter in his book since Enzio had him working in the yard all afternoon and he probably didn't have the chance to do it earlier.

He's always been a night owl. . .

I have to do something to distract myself, or I'm afraid I'll do something crazy. After all, crazy hasn't been my specialty in a while.

TBC. . .

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Author's Note:

I'm BACK! I'm just as frazzled and at my rope's end like I was before I left. So much for vacation, ammiright?

Anyways, don't think everything is going to be so easy going forward. Betty might have admitted that she still loves Jughead but I have some stuff to get them through first! I hope you'll tune in for what happens next. In the meantime, tell me what you thought! I love hearing from you guys.

Until Next Time!

Love,

Holly, 8/14/2017