Wish You Weren't Here

Chapter 40

James

The final lecture series of the course has always been my favorite. Centered around The Ideal City of Urbino, we take each element immortalized in the painting and discuss its purpose—its symbolism and function during the Renaissance era. Once the students feel well versed in the art, they take to the streets with their phone cameras to immortalize their own ideal city using bits and pieces of what Urbino has to offer. Every year the work that I receive manages to impress me in some new way. Seeing the city I adore through the eyes of those who are newly falling in love with it is both inspiring and humbling. It reminds me that Urbino is the ultimate muse.

This year, I’m enjoying this final assignment more than I ever have, because as I roam the streets, watching our students flit here and there with wide smiles and phones held aloft, I have Ava by my side. The back of her hand brushes against my knuckles and I feel myself tense with the effort not to lace my fingers between hers. This week has been purgatory, her leg brushing against mine while sitting beside me at dinner or watching her lean over the students to discuss the lesson, but never being able to touch her for more than a moment. Venice can’t come soon enough.

“I’d photograph the pizzeria for my ideal city,” Ava says, smiling at a group of girls who are trying to capture the cathedral and the duomo in the same shot. She looks back to me and catches me studying her profile. “It would stand smack dab in the center of my perfect town. What would you photograph?”

“All of it,” I tell her. “There isn’t a thing I would change about Urbino.”

She makes a thinking noise and looks sidelong at me.

“You’ve never wanted to leave? See the world or go back to New York?”

I shake my head and shrug.

“There’s nothing left for me in New York. Everyone I love is here,” I say and a speckling of red appears across her cheekbone. Was it the L-word that has her looking beautifully uncomfortable? I take a step to close the distance between us and then stop when a group of students yells their greeting to us from the alley. Ava strolls away, hands folded behind her, perfecting the Italian art of passeggiata.

“What if Oxford calls and offers you a position? The most prestigious university in Europe and they want you? What then?” she asks, veering toward the cathedral’s white stone side wall.

“I’d thank them for the opportunity and ask Nina what’s for dinner,” I tell her.

She laughs, her smile as bright and white as the side of the church.

“What if National Geographic saw your work and wanted to employ you exclusively?”

I stop following her, and she takes a moment to notice that I’ve lagged behind. Has she been talking to Leo? I narrow my eyes and study her, but she just lifts her brows and waits for my answer—which should come easily enough since I’ve been doing it for several years.

“I’d politely decline,” I tell her. I don’t add that I’d then ignore every subsequent offer by said publication owner.

“There must be something that would entice you to leave Urbino.”

“I’m leaving Urbino tomorrow, so something did entice me.”

She leans back against the church and watches me. I look around the piazza, finding nothing but glorious silence and empty tables. The need to kiss her shakes me so hard that I don’t even bother looking around before I lower my mouth to hers. She softens immediately, the wall behind her and my hands at her hips keeping her standing. She parts her lips just enough for me to try get my fill of the way she tastes. I want her so badly it hurts, but the sound of laughter forces me to pull away. Awareness sadly seeps back over me like I’m waking up from the most wonderful dream.

“Ava,” I whisper, stepping to her side and leaning against the wall so she’s hidden from the piazza’s view.

“Hmm?”

She turns her face toward me and I imagine mixing the color I see on her cheeks.

“Why do you want me to leave Urbino?”

She swallows—looks from my mouth to my eyes and back to my mouth.

“I pushed my flight back,” she says, ignoring my question altogether.

I let out a breath and feel every muscle in my body relax. That’s wonderful news. More time. More Ava.

“How long?” I ask.

Say a month. Say indefinitely.

“Three days,” she says, running a finger beneath my jaw. Her touch scrambles my thoughts as I try to process three days of extra Ava.

Seventy-two hours.

“That’s not enough,” I say.

She shakes her head and puts her hand in the center of my chest.

“It’s never enough.” She lifts onto her toes and kisses me softly, and it’s over before I have a chance to pull her against me.

“Show me the duomo,” she commands, heading back to the front of the church.

I rub at the place where she touched me beneath my jaw and turn to follow her, watching the way her ponytail brushes against the bare skin of her back. I’ve been there—felt that softness and can’t wait to go back. Madonn. I look to the sky and steel myself before following my temptation into the house of God.