A young woman entered the shop, followed by an older woman Joy suspected was her mother. The two were in mid-conversation when they approached Joy.

“Hello.” Joy smiled a weak smile and rested her hands on the counter. She gulped down a knot in her throat.

“Good morning,” the young woman said. She set down her Prada purse onto the counter and tightened her lips. The look of frustration was familiar. It resembled Jaime’s face when they planned her wedding to Carl.

“I need to change my order for the flowers. For my wedding,” the young woman said without making eye contact.

Impressed with her English, Joy straightened her posture with confidence. “We can help you with that.”

Dina put on her reader glasses and typed something into the computer that rested on the counter.

As they waited, the two women chatted in Italian. The older woman gripped her purse to her body and looked down her nose at Joy, obviously talking about her.

The young woman smirked and replied to her mother in Italian.

Well, that’s rude. Joy raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry,” Dina said as she typed into the computer. “They are not talking about you.”

Joy jerked toward her in shock. It was as if Dina had read her mind.

Dina nudged Joy and pointed to the computer screen.

“Here we are,” Joy said in a singsong voice. “We have your order up on the screen.”

The two women leaned in.

“Your wedding date is fast approaching. Congratulations. How can I help—”

“We would like to have coral roses instead of the red roses,” the young woman interrupted, a frown planted on her face.

Joy swallowed the nervous knot in her throat. “All right. We can assist you with that.” She turned to Dina, but she was gone. “I mean, I can assist you with that.”

In the computer, Joy deleted the type of flower in the order and typed in “coral roses.”

“Anything else I can assist you with today?”

The two women argued in Italian, gesturing so wildly, they almost dropped their purses.

Joy recognized the argument. She and Jaime had argued regularly over the silliest things that didn’t really matter in the end. Maybe that’s what they need to know. Joy cleared her throat, and the women stopped arguing and faced her.

“You know, I helped my daughter plan her wedding last year, and we argued over the silliest things.” She chuckled.

But the women’s stoic expressions sent chills over Joy’s flesh.

“Anyway, in the end, none of it really mattered. All that matters is the love you have and the family surrounding you to support you.” Joy waved at the flowers. “These coral roses can be dried and framed in a lovely shadow box as a reminder of your special day, but in the end . . . it’s the love you and your fiancé have for one another that will sustain you through”—Joy’s voice cracked—“the hard times.”

“Cosa ha detto?” The older woman asked her daughter to interpret.

But the younger woman’s eyes shone as she listened to Joy. Her countenance softened, and she hugged her mother. She explained everything to her mother, and the older woman smiled softly at her daughter, gently touching her cheek.

“You are very right,” the younger woman said through faint tears. “I almost forgot.” She reached out her hand. “I am Isabelle, and this is my mother, Gloria.”

“Hello. I’m Joy.” Joy grinned at them and shook Isabelle’s hand. But then she sniffled. “You see, my daughter was left at the altar, and it almost destroyed her . . . and me.”

The women gasped and looked at one another, then returned their sorrowful gazes at Joy.

“It’s true.” Joy gulped. “And then my husband walked out on me.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth. “Oh no. Mi dispiace tanto per quello che ti è successo. Joy, I am so sorry.”

Gloria nudged her daughter, who explained the situation to her in Italian. When she heard what had happened, Gloria gasped too.

“And neither of us remember the flowers at the wedding.” Joy reached for a tissue. “My point is, get the coral roses but focus on what truly matters, okay?”

Isabelle made her way around the counter and embraced Joy. “I am so sorry this happened to you and your daughter.” She parted and offered a weepy smile. “And you are right. We were being petty and ridiculous.” She turned to her mother. “Mamma, concentriamoci sull’amore e non preoccupiamoci delle piccole cose.”

Gloria took her daughter’s hand and nodded.

“I told her we should focus on the love and not worry about the little things.” Isabelle smiled at Joy.

“My daughter found true love in Rome just last month.” Joy beamed with pride as she thought of Michael. “He is a good man. They are getting married in June.”

Isabelle clapped her hands together. “Roma.” Gloria nudged Isabelle to translate again.

“Ha detto che sua figlia si sposerà con un brav’uomo.”

Gloria’s mouth dropped open, and she took hold of Joy’s hand. “È meraviglioso!”

“She says that is wonderful news. We are both so happy for you.” Isabelle winked. “Rome is the city of love.” Then she waved her arms. “But Venice is the heart of Italy. I hope you find love here too.”

Joy shook her hands. “Oh, no. Not for me. I’m here in Venice for adventure, not romance.”

Isabelle tilted her head. “To be in the heart of Italy for adventure and not for romance?”

“Well . . .” Joy held out her hands. “I’m much older than you. I think love has passed me by.”

“No.” Gloria held up her finger. “Mai troppo vecchi per l’amore.”

“Mamma said that you are never too old for love.”

Joy placed her hand on her heart. “Thank you . . . uh, grazie.”

Before they left, they ordered more bouquets for the tables, boutonnieres for the groomsmen, and flowers to be delivered to Isabelle’s soon-to-be mother-in-law.

“She has been very kind to me. I want to show her love.” Isabelle handed her credit card to Joy.

Dina returned and observed the transaction. Her eyes widened at the total amount.