Capri Cavanni Room -

Of course, her grand-nephew in Milan didn't care about ghosts. He cared about euros. So here Liam was, an architectural historian hired to document the estate before it was gutted and turned into a luxury hotel.

They covered every other surface—tied in faded silk ribbons, stuffed into the marble fireplace, piled on the vanity, spilling from hatboxes stacked to the ceiling. Liam walked slowly to the vanity, his shoes silent on the Persian rug. A single letter lay open, the ink a faded sepia. capri cavanni room

Liam stood up, holding the journal against his chest. He looked at the purple door, the piled letters, the empty chair facing the sea. Of course, her grand-nephew in Milan didn't care

The room still smelled like her.

My dearest Capri, it read. They tell me I am a fool to keep writing. They tell me you are a myth, a face on a screen. But I saw you that night at the Riviera, and I know you are real. You looked at me. You saw me. I will wait on the balcony of the Grand Hotel until the day you come down to the sea. They covered every other surface—tied in faded silk