Chapter 45
Ava
When you’ve envisioned a moment over and over again so many times, something trippy and déjà vu-like occurs in your brain when it actually happens. Time slows down and I’m suddenly under water. St. Mark’s is under water. My senses home in on the strangest minutiae. Like the small white scar on Ethan’s temple where Tammy allegedly bit him when they were three. Or the sound of his Gucci loafer tapping against the gray stone beneath it. The unnatural softness of his fingers as they take my left hand off my lap and begin to push something cold onto my ring finger.
I look down to see the ring, the reflection of a thousand candles illuminating the huge rock from within. A flash momentarily blinds me, and I think the diamond has exploded, but then I realize I’m being photographed. I’m used to that, surely, with James’s lens constantly aimed on me.
James.
I pull my hand back quickly as everything starts to clear and the ring clatters to the stones beneath my chair. The water drains from St. Mark’s. Time snaps back like a rubber band, and the reality of what’s happening settles in. Where is James?
I look around, ignoring all the wide-eyed faces turned my way, searching for the only one I want to see. But he’s nowhere to be found.
“Av—”
“Ethan, I need you to get up,” I say softly, meeting his eyes.
He opens his mouth to argue but sees something on my face and lets out a long breath. I reach down and pick up Olivia’s heirloom ring and place it back into the folds in the satin cushion. It should hurt, handing back the thing I wanted so desperately only a month ago, but the only thing I feel is a desperate need to find the man who isn’t here in front of me.
“Alright,” Ethan stands, nods, and smiles to the people around us, ever the politician. “Let’s walk.”
He holds out his hand and I take it, letting him tug me through the tables and the fluttering crowd that hovers and descends like the pigeons on St. Mark’s Square. We stride across a bridge that runs parallel to the Grand Canal, and as the crowd dwindles I notice a woman following us with her camera.
“Ethan, we have company,” I tell him and he just nods.
“Evette, could we get a bit of privacy?” he asks the woman, and she stops, rolls her eyes, digs into her pockets, and lights up a cigarette.
Ethan pulls me out of earshot and looks out over the canal.
“You hired a photographer?” I ask, watching the side of his face.
“Olivia did,” he answers.
“How did you find me?” I ask, but I know the answer.
“Olivia,” he confirms.
Of course. Olivia. Tammy was talking to her last night and she must have let it slip about James and me driving her to Venice. Olivia panicked and sent in the cavalry. Is any of this actually what Ethan wants?
“Before you start over-analyzing everything, this wasn’t just my mother’s doing. Yes, she played a part, but this was my idea.” He lifts the ring box, shaking it a little. “This is what I want,” he says, turning so that I can read every emotion that plays across his face.
I narrow my eyes and try to decipher what’s real and what’s a show, and realize I’ll never know. In fact, I’ve never been able to tell with Ethan. The veneers were always a part of our relationship, and at the time I could handle the show. I preferred it. With all of the smoke and mirrors it was easier to hide my own wreckage—pretend it didn’t exist and jump right into the role.
“It’s not what I want,” I tell him. “Not anymore.”
He shakes his head slowly, studies me like he’s never seen me before. And maybe he hasn’t.
“That’s ridiculous, Ava. How could a few weeks change years of history and commitment?” he asks.
It’s a damn good question. A question that I’m not even sure I can fully answer. But I know without a doubt that it has changed. I have changed. Fundamentally.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, watching a gondola row by with a couple snuggled together in the passenger cabin. The sight of it makes my chest ache, because I know exactly where I want to be and with who. “Something in me—shifted. I’m different now. I—”
“You met someone,” he says. His tone is matter-of-fact, but I can see around his eyes that there’s anger. Pain. Maybe regret? Something more than the stoic grace and easy composure he usually wears.
I nod.
But that sentence isn’t enough. I’ve met someone, yes. I’ve met a whole family of someones. A whole village of someones. All of them slowly filling that space in my heart I thought would forever be vacant, like beautiful street art on a condemned building. James is so much more than that. He’s not just filling space—he’s adding space—knocking down walls and stretching my heart in ways I didn’t think possible.
“Ava, this is crazy. You’ve known him for a month and you are willing to let us go?”
I nod.
“It’s not just him,” I say softly. But I don’t go on. There’s no way to make him understand and I don’t owe him the attempt.
Ethan reaches for me and stops, his hand hovering midway between us like he’s suddenly remembered I’m not his to touch.
“If I hadn’t given you that calling card …”
His voice trails off. I take the hand that’s still hovering between us and wind my fingers in his.
“I’m grateful that you did,” I say.
If he hadn’t, I might never have woken up. I would have stayed on that stage for the rest of my life, always wondering what it would be like to cut the strings and step down into the audience.
He shakes his head and looks out over the canal.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell him and he reaches out and pulls me into his chest.
He holds me there as the sound of the water laps gently against the stone, and when he lets me go—this time it’s for good.