Lucky Break by J. Minter

takes a sob story, mulls it over, and eradicates all feelings of residual love. She’s a genius.”
    I wasn’t sure about the use of the word
eradicate
when it came to emotional loss, but I didn’t think now was the time to argue.
    â€œI won’t scare you with the details—maybe I’ll just send you the link to her website. Then again, maybe the sunshine, the gelato, and perhaps an Italian
fling
will be enough for your broken heart?”
    â€œSigh,” I said. “I’m not really there yet, but I guess I’m going to give Italy my best shot.”
    â€œOh, Flannie, I wish I could go with you,” she said wistfully.
    â€œPlease! I would love to have the SBB-guided tour of the Amalfi Coast. I can’t guarantee I’m brave enough to cart you around on a moped, but … please come!” I pleaded.
    SBB sighed. “If only I weren’t committed to being in L.A. all week. I’m reading lines for
Gladiatrix
and I’m totally freaking out about it. I’ve only gained two pounds of muscle this week.” She paused. “Tell you what: if you come back from Italy and you’re totally over Jony—and in the meantime, I get the part—I will throw us both a huge We Rule celebration. Anywhere you want.”
    Behind me, Helga tapped my shoulder lightly.
    â€œWe’re finished here, Flan. I’ll let you get dressed. I hope everything works out for you, romantically and otherwise.”
    I mouthed thanks to Helga as I mulled over SBB’s offer. It was certainly tempting, and I did really want SBB to get the part. But from my mental state, being “totally” over Alex—well, it seemed so far away.
    I had to ask: “What if I’m not over Jony?”
    â€œWell then,” SBB said seriously, “we’ll have to resort to Bianca, won’t we? That’s not a promise—it’s a threat. Now get to Italy and get over him, okay?”

Chapter 8
TRAVELING IN STYLE
    Buongiorno, bella
,” a trim, dark-haired flight attendant whispered softly in my ear the next morning. “We’ll be landing in Naples in half an hour. Can I get you some espresso? A breakfast panini? Gelato?”
    I glanced down at my watch. It was barely past midnight New York time, but I could already see the sun peeking through windows of the eight-seater private jet my parents had chartered to take us to Naples. I blinked up at the handsome flight attendant, whose name tag read LUIGI. Even though I hardly ever passed up the opportunity to indulge in a little gelato, I hadn’t been able to stomach much since the breakup.
    â€œAn espresso sounds great,” I told Luigi, who winked and whisked himself off to the kitchen, giving me quite a view of the back of his fitted whitetrousers. Who knew my parents traveled with such attractive hospitality?
    â€œIsn’t he
fabulous
?” My mom leaned across the aisle. She had her sleep mask perched on her forehead. I looked over at the window seat next to her, where my dad’s own mask was still firmly in place over his eyes.
    â€œOf course, your father is my one and only,” my mom continued. “But when he put me in charge of staffing the jet, I figured it couldn’t hurt to hire eye candy, as long as they got the job done. You know what they say—a woman can never be too rich, too skinny, or surrounded by too many gorgeous men.”
    â€œDid somebody say gorgeous men?” my dad asked sleepily, pulling up his eye mask and the window shade. “Look no further, ladies.”
    My mom leaned over to kiss him, and an unexpected pang of sadness shot through me. I’d seen my parents kiss a million times, but never on the heels of such an earth-shattering breakup.
    I was relieved when Luigi returned with espressos for all of us, and super excited when he also brought these incredibly buttery Italian cookies that were phenomenal dipped in the coffee. Maybe I did have my