Roman Crazy Read Online Free

do. My life was my marriage and everything that came with it. Take that away and what was left? I’d given up so much when I married Daniel Remington. If I wasn’t Avery Remington, who the hell was I?
    So I called Daisy back and asked her that very question.
    â€œWhat am I going to do?” I asked. “Is hiring a hit man off the table?”
    She sighed. “Bless your heart, but yes, it’s way off the table. As much as I want to inflict pain upon Daniel, I don’t know that it’s the wisest move right now.”
    â€œThen I repeat. What am I going to do?” I whispered, blotting my eye with a tissue from my purse. “I met with a divorce lawyer, Daisy, a fucking divorce lawyer! What is happening?”
    â€œDo you want to divorce him?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDo you want to divorce him?”
    I sat there in my car, unable to answer the question. “I mean, I kind of have to, right?” I asked.
    â€œYou don’t have to do anything, Avery. I’m certainly not going to tell you whether you have to do anything you don’t really want to do.”
    Even though she couldn’t see me, I nodded.
    â€œSo I’ll ask you again, kiddo, do you want to divorce him?” she asked quietly.
    She couldn’t see me, but I was still nodding. And then in the tiniest of whispers, I answered . . . “Yes.” I took a breath, then said it again, stronger this time. “Yes.”
    â€œOkay then,” she answered.
    I saw Bitsy leaving the front door, and I scrunched down so she couldn’t see me. “But I can’t be here knowing that everyone’s talking. I don’t want the sad looks or the poor Avery that will come with it.”
    â€œCome here,” she said, no trace of jest in her voice. “Don’t think. Just come here.”
    There was running away from my problems, and then there was running away.
    â€œMaybe a week or two would do me some good,” I admitted, thinking about what I would miss if I just picked up and left thecountry. I peeked over the steering wheel to see Bitsy getting into her own penis gift. The lawyer could wait a bit. It’s not like Daniel was going to file. His balls were in my court after all.
    â€œA week or two is nothing. Listen, it’s the beginning of June and I have a spare room. And plus, I’m barely ever home anyway. You’d have the place to yourself. I know you’d love this city, and the weather is to die for! Think about it. You could eat great food, see beautiful buildings, visit museums. You could sketch.” From across the ocean, on another continent, I could hear my friend’s excitement. “Come and spend the summer with me.”
    â€œA summer in Rome?”
    â€œWasn’t that a movie?”
    â€œI don’t think so, but—”
    â€œStop stalling. No buts. No overthinking, no stressing. Just do it. Go home, pack your things, and I’ll call you back with flight info. I’ll see what I can get that leaves ASAP so you don’t chicken out on me.”
    She hung up and I stared into the visor mirror. Touching the pearls at my neck, I frowned, not recognizing myself. Yes, I was put together, and yes, I looked the part, but I wasn’t happy. Thinking about it, I couldn’t remember the last time I was.
    Nodding once in silent affirmation, I slammed the car into drive.
    I was heading off to spend my second summer abroad.

R OME IS A BEAUTIFUL CITY. I’m pretty sure. I hoped one day to see it. Because right now, all I could see of it were the cobblestones below my feet, and the occasional look up to check a sign or a house number. Then back to the cobblestones, which appeared uneven because:
    1. They likely were uneven.
    2. Navigating cobblestones while wearing one stupidly high shoe and one recently lowered shoe was unwise at best.
    Why did I wear heels on the plane? Ah yes, because I wanted to appear composed,