Lucky Break by J. Minter Page A

appetite back. I focused my attention on drowning my sorrows in sugar, caffeine, and theridiculously beautiful views outside as the plane came into Naples.
    From the moment we touched down, I could feel the energy of Italy. We were only at the airport, but I sort of have a sixth sense about these things. Out the window, I could see the ground crew shouting orders at each other with a ferocity that reminded me a little of New York, but mixed with a cool European vibe.
    When we deplaned and followed the ramp toward customs, there was a definite bustle in the airport around us. Noisy tourists shoved past each other, and everyone was shouting in different languages. But somehow, there seemed to be a shield between my family and all the other noise. Nothing fazed us. We marched straight through customs, and our bags were waiting for us in the town car parked outside. Less than twenty minutes after landing, we were on our way to the private ferry that would take us down to the Amalfi Coast.
    I checked my watch again. It was a goal of mine to stop being obsessed with what time it was in New York, but so far, I hadn’t made much progress. It was nine in the morning Naples time, which meant it was three a.m. in New York. I hoped Alex was tossing and turning miserably in his bed. Either that orhaving nightmares about what a huge mistake he’d made by cheating on me … Hold on. I could
not
spend a whole week thinking about what Alex was up to every second of the day.
    Better to think about my friends in Paris. I tried to imagine them—would they be enjoying croissants and cappuccinos along the Seine by now? No, they’d only landed an hour ago. They were probably still stuck at baggage claim at Charles de Gaulle, where my online research had told me that the ground crew went on strike at least three times a week. I knew I should have told Camille to expect delays at the airport when I handed over the GPA binder. Would they be able to manage without me?
    I pulled out my phone and sent a hurried text to make sure that everything was going okay so far.
    â€œFlan.” My mother’s voice interrupted me from across the town car. “Why the furrowed brow? You’re in Italy, if you hadn’t noticed.”
    As usual, Mom was right. With the kids on bikes, tiny cars, and teens on scooters, it was hard not to notice that we were in Italy as we zoomed through the crazy streets of Naples. And I thought New York taxi drivers were insane. But even with the blaring horns of nearby cars ringing in my ears, the ease of traveling with my parents was soothing.
    â€œHere we are,” my dad said as we pulled into a small marina. “Right on time—and of course, there’s Alfonso with the
Duchess
.” He gestured to a gleaming white yacht at the end of a marina. “It’s a beautiful boat, Flan. You’ll love the captain, too; he tells the best stories about his days in the Navy—”
    â€œRichard, do you want to bore your own daughter to death?” my mom interrupted. “Flan, trust me, do not ask Alfonso about the war. You just sit back, relax, and enjoy the sea breeze on your youthful skin, okay?”
    â€œSounds good to me.” I laughed.
    I followed my parents down the dock toward the
Duchess
. She was an eighteen-foot yacht with a large, pristine deck, and sails that extended way up into the sunny sky. Somehow, the town car driver hauled all three of our bags over his shoulders, and even lifted my carry-on bag in the crook of his arm. There was someone to do everything for us here.
    â€œSpecial delivery,” a good-looking guy about my age said with a grin. “I know you love our margherita, Signore Flood.” He had dark hair, dimples—and the biggest box of pizza I had ever seen, balanced on his shoulder.
    My dad shrugged at me. “I always have one of Tony’s famous pizzas delivered to the docks when weland. It just starts the trip off right.