Roman Crazy (38 page)

I sank into one of the big overstuffed chairs, staring up into the night sky. The city was quiet this late at night. And I needed that to help me sort out the thought that came into my brain whenever I thought about leaving Rome.

I didn't want to leave Rome.

And the part that I felt guilty about was . . . I didn't want to leave it even for Marcello.

When I graduated from Boston College, I'd more than the one offer. There was Manhattan, strictly entry level, practically no pay, but an opportunity a twenty-two-year-old rarely gets. SFMOMA in San Francisco wanted me to apprentice in their art conservator program and learn from the masters in my field how to best preserve these priceless works of art and then I was accepted into the master's program for art conservatorship at Washington University in Saint Louis—an incredibly difficult to get into program and a huge honor for me.

This was different, though. None of those paths would have included Marcello. This
had
to be different.

But could I give up who I was, again, just because he was my One?

I stayed up all night, watched the sun rise, and knew that I had to tell him the truth.

STILL WEARING HIS SWEATER,
I was sitting in the chair on his side of the bed. I couldn't be in bed with him when I told him this.

“I can't go with you to Brazil.”

As hurt filled his eyes, I said, “But before you say anything, please hear me out.”

He nodded.

“I love being here. It's so busy and boisterous; there's so much energy and so many people. I never know what's going to happen next here, and I love that. I don't know where I'm going to live, I don't know how long I'm going to be able to keep a job if the work visa falls through. My life is upside down and inside out, and it's exciting and scary as hell—but I love it.”

He said nothing.

I smiled at him. “And I love you. I love you so much, and I feel so lucky not only to have found you again, but to actually
be
with you.”

Stand firm, Avery
.

“Then you give me this incredible news about this job, which is wonderful, and I am so very proud of you. But I can't uproot my life to follow you halfway across the world. I've just started
growing
roots, Marcello. They're barely in the ground.”

He sat quietly, taking it all in. When he finally spoke, he sounded confused. “Then I would think this would be the
best
time for a move like this—no?”

I sighed. “That could be true—except for one thing. After everything that happened with losing the baby, I put someone else's career, happiness, and choices ahead of my own and I buried myself. If I go with you to Brazil, I'd be doing it all over again. Even though I'd be with the man I love this time, I can't do that to myself.”

He was silent. Listening. Comprehending.

I climbed out of the chair and onto his lap, wrapping my arms around him. “Marcello, I love you more than anyone on this
planet. And I will wait for you here. I'll come to visit, I'll call you every day, I'll Skype you and dirty text you and send you naked pictures, and I'll do everything I can do to make this work. But I can't live someone else's life. Not again.”

“You are not going with me to Brazil.”

I shook my head, trying to hold back the tears that were already falling. “I love you so much,” I whispered, kissing his sweet, sad face all over, eyelids, cheekbones, eyebrows, tip of his nose and all along his lips. “But I can't.”

He kissed me back, but said nothing.

I SPENT THE NEXT FEW
weeks second guessing, third guessing, fourth guessing, and yes, fifth guessing my decision.

Pros for Going to Brazil

The food is incredible

The beaches are supposed to be great

Carnivale

Caipirinhas

The man of my dreams asked me to move there with him, and who the hell says no to that . . .

Pros for Staying in Rome

Me

There were other reasons, sure. But what it all boiled down to was creating a new life for myself that would be complemented by a man, but not defined by one.

This is what I told myself the entire time Marcello was house hunting in Rio de Janeiro, Skyping with me, and showing
me pictures of homes overlooking the ocean and the
Christ the Redeemer
statue in the background, blessing the city and all those lucky enough to live there.

This last part was uttered by a certain Roman.

And I had to tell myself this again when the nights came, and I was lonely and missing him in my bed. And the mornings, when I was missing him with my coffee.

But other than that, I was getting along. Classes were wonderful, work was great, I was meeting some new friends and establishing a little circle of my own.

God, I missed him saying my name, stretching it out while he stretched above me, thrusting low and deep and telling me how much he needed me, how much he loved me . . .

I considered printing up my Rome Pro list and having it laminated for exactly these moments.

For all the guilt he was giving me, which was a lot, Marcello was being as supportive as he could be with my decision to stay in Rome. He was proud of his
testa dura
(which I found out through Google meant,
a hard head
) and said we would figure everything out even if I was stubborn. That he and I were in it for the “far run” and he could see us “walking off into the horizon as the sun was setting.”

Oh, God, it was torture. And the closer it got to the date he was leaving for good, the worse it got. We spent every minute we could together, saving up memories for when we wouldn't be together.

I was trying like hell to keep things light and bright and easy breezy, but it was so hard to do sometimes. But I didn't want him to leave sad.

So I decided to throw him a party.

W
HENEVER I WAS NERVOUS
about a fancy party in Boston, I pregamed it with my parents in the sunset lounge of the club. A glass of wine or a shot of Jack with my dad, and things didn't seem so bleak.

But I couldn't get sloshed tonight, no matter how much I thought it would make Marcello's going-away party more bearable. I'd save the heavy liquor and tears for after his flight left to Buenos Aires.

I smoothed my dress, loving the feeling of the linen beneath my hands. He loved this dress, since I had worn it to the giant family dinner in Pienza. He lightly touched the linen cutouts before he told me that he loved me.

“Happy thoughts, happy thoughts,” I chanted, trying to abate the tears. I didn't have time for
another
full face of makeup.

The firm had arranged for a private dining experience outside the Pantheon. They'd consulted there a few years ago and held a favor that they were cashing in tonight.

We had a plan. After he got settled, I'd join him for a long
weekend whenever I could. He'd come to Rome whenever he could. We
would
make this work.

“Avery, it's here!” Daisy called out from the living room.

Marcello, as the guest of honor, was going to be late. Since it was about him, I didn't feel right walking in on his arm, so Daisy and I were heading over together.

What I didn't like was that I hadn't seen him all day. He'd begged off meeting for lunch because he had to go into the office for last-minute work. With the sand slipping through that damn hourglass, I wanted to get in as much time with him as possible.

“You're going to stop traffic in that outfit, honey,” Daisy said as I walked out of the bedroom. She was probably sensing that I needed the extra oomph. “The lipstick? Killer with a capital K. You're getting some great good-bye sex.”

I smiled and checked my hair in the hall mirror. Corkscrew curls shooting out wherever they felt like it, which Marcello loved. My makeup was light, but my lips were painted red.

“I'm counting on it,” I said, grabbing a bloodred shawl from the couch, along with my clutch.

After we arrived, we snacked on some delectable appetizers, marveling at how they had transformed the stone courtyard of the Pantheon into a stunning party venue.

Ten gorgeous wooden farm tables were laid out around the fountain, benches tucked up beneath them. Above were sheer linen umbrellas spaced out just enough that they didn't block the navy-blue, star-speckled sky.

But the real gem was the Pantheon. You could see the majestic building from every angle and every table. Guests milled about talking to their coworkers—about children and what projects they were working on now—but their eyes always flitted
back to the statuesque columns or the sweeping open doors, where you could see the moonlight from the oculus shining on the floor.

Then Marcello arrived, looking unstoppably fuckable. He wore the hell out of his well-tailored khaki pants and white oxford shirt. With his sleeves rolled to the elbow, he was perfect for the late Italian summer weather.

He shook hands and kissed where he had to, but his eyes never left mine. He'd move on to another person to speak with, and glance my way and wink. We circled each other in a cat-and-mouse game that nobody knew about but us.

Except for Daisy, who was bursting with excitement. “With all the sparks flying between you two and all of the flammable liquid, this part of town is going up in flames tonight. Tone it down!” Daisy teased, before making her way up to the head table.

She'd be introducing Marcello, who'd been fretting all week about what to say, saying good-bye to everyone he worked with.

For now,
I reminded myself. Saying good-bye for now.

He whispered something to Daisy, and her face lit up in a broad smile. She searched the small crowd for me, then picked up a knife and clinked on her glass to get everyone's attention.

I moved to take an empty seat toward the back, in case I broke out into hysterical sobs and needed to make a quick escape to the ladies' room in one of the nearby restaurants.

“
Buona sera,
everyone,” Daisy started. “I'd like to thank you all for coming here tonight to say
arrivederci
to Marcello.”

I tuned her out, staring at the man she was praising. I loved hearing that he was universally respected by his peers, but I loved watching him more. He laughed at her little jokes, and feigned hurt when she hit below the belt.

But something was amiss. Though he was smiling at all the
right places and laughing where needed, his eyes were on me. He hadn't taken them off me for more than a few seconds at a time all night, but now I felt like he was trying to convey something.

When it was his turn to speak, he simply thanked everyone for coming before introducing his second in command, Federico. Who would explain everything . . . wait, what?

The confused audience started slowly clapping and whispering as Marcello stalked through the tables until he stopped at mine.

“What's going on?” I said, scooting over so he could sit beside me on the bench.

“Weren't you listening?” he asked, brushing a wayward curl from my forehead. “
Tesoro,
tell me you
heard
that.”

I smiled awkwardly and shrugged. “It was hard to pay attention when you look so damn good. You need to get dressed up more often; it's killing me.”

He laughed, loud enough that Federico stopped talking to shake his head, saying, “And now we know why he's staying.”

Dozens of heads turned toward us, smiling and tilting to show they were happy. But why?

“Oh my God—did he say you're
staying
?” I blurted loudly, then slapped my hand over my mouth.

He gently pulled my hand away. “Please do not smudge those lips. Not until later. And yes, I am staying.
We
are staying here.”

This time when the tears threatened to fall, I let them; elated tears could ruin my makeup with abandon.

“How? Why? What happened?” I pulled him into a hug so tight that I pulled him off the seat and practically into my lap.

“
Tesoro,
easy.” He gasped, pulling my arms from around his neck. “
You
happened.”

“But we had a plan. You were going to go and—”

“I talked to my boss today, and I told him that now is just not a good time to go. Incredible opportunity of course, and I thank him for this, but that I could not leave Italy at the moment. I'm settled here, and we need you settled here. We've got plenty of time for an adventure later on.”

“But this was your big chance!” Wait, why the hell was I arguing?

“It is not as important as my second chance with you.”

I promptly sat on his lap, wrapped my arms around him, then laid a red lipsticky kiss on each cheek and solidly on his mouth.

“There aren't enough words in all the world to thank you for staying here. For me.”