Wish You Weren't Here

Chapter 52

James

All through dinner I can’t help but notice how natural it is to have Ava at our table. She helps Nina in the kitchen without being directed, like they’ve been running a restaurant for years. She challenges Leo like she’s his daughter. And she can silence Maso with just the lift of a single eyebrow. Not that it hasn’t been this way before tonight, but now with her hand on mine as she laughs at Nina’s story about the time I brought home a wild horse when I was fifteen, it has never been more obvious that Ava belongs here with me. With us.

I take another sip of wine to try to clear this terrifyingly dangerous train of thought before it derails me completely. Does she feel it too? This sense of rightness? She runs her thumb up the side of mine and then stands to clear the plates for dessert, and I follow suit.

“Do you really want to help or are you trying to have another make-out session in the kitchen?” she whispers over her shoulder as she steps over Verga. He sees the plates in her hands and immediately gets up and follows after us. He knows the drill.

“Both,” I tell her.

She lays the plates down on the floor and Verga gets to work.

“Well, judging from the smell, we have about a minute and a half until Nina is in here fussing over the cakes, so—”

I absorb the rest of her words with my lips and she makes the soft little moan that I’ve come to love. When I pull back, she’s flushed, out of breath, and the smell of warm chocolate is the only thing keeping me from dragging her out to the guest house and getting her to make that sound again.

“Le torte sono pronte, Gi!” Nina yells, and I smile down at Ava.

“Told ya,” she sings just as Verga lifts his head and starts bellowing like a fire alarm. He takes off, stepping on the plates and sending them clattering against each other.

I watch him barrel out of the kitchen and through the door, barking like crazy as he goes. Even my whistle doesn’t stop him as I follow him back out into the night, leaving Ava to handle the cakes.

By the time I make it off the porch, the barking has stopped and Verga is lying on his back in front of a gentleman in a three-piece suit with well-groomed silver facial hair, who is crouched over scratching the dog’s belly. Both Nina and Leo are up and fussing, making apologies for the dog, though that’s obviously unnecessary because the stranger is clearly enamored with him.

He looks up and sees me and straightens out of the crouch.

“You must be James,” he says, and the British accent touches my brain and rings the bell. I’ve seen this man before—on a Google search—but still I can tell it’s him from the hours of stalking I did when I was young and na?ve.

“And you must be Greer Davenport,” I say, taking a step forward and holding out my hand.

So this is what Leo and Nina were up to. He shakes my hand and smiles, the shadow of an apology at the corners of his mouth.

“Torta time!” Ava sings from behind me, and I turn to find her holding a tray of chocolate lava cakes aloft. She catches sight of Greer and smiles.

“Ava, this is Greer Davenport,” I tell her, and she shifts the tray and puts out her hand for shaking.

“Are you staying for cake?” she asks him, and he shakes his head.

“I actually just need a quick word with James and then I have to meet someone in town,” he says, glancing my way. I nod and gesture toward the side of the house.

“It was a pleasure to meet you all,” he tells my family, then follows the brick path around the porch toward the back.

“So this was what they were up to,” I whisper to Ava before following. She nods, and I can see she wants to ask me something, but she turns away from me and starts putting the plates of cake on the table.

“Good luck, son,” Leo murmurs, clapping me on the back as he passes.

I roll my eyes and head for Greer. I’ll handle him and Nina later.

When I find him, he’s sitting on a chaise beside the pool scratching beneath Verga’s ears.

“I’m sorry for dropping in like this, but I figured my emails and voice mails weren’t up to snuff,” he says watching me approach.

“I appreciate everything you’ve offered me—I really do—but I’m not willing to relocate,” I say.

“I can see why, now.” He pushes the chaise beside him out with his foot so I can get between and sit. “There’s been a change in the offer. I’ve spoken to the dean of studies at Cambridge, and he’d like you to come on as an adjunct for a semester teaching—art history, of course—while you shoot for The Post.”

I let out a breath. Cambridge? Ava’s voice floods my brain. What if Oxford calls and offers you a position? The most prestigious university in Europe and they want you? What then?

Greer keeps pushing on. “We’d start with profile pieces and branch out from there. We have some pretty big names in the lineup, James. And your talent with portraiture is exactly what we need. Obviously, you’ll be well compensated for your work, and Cambridge will pay your rent.”

The buzzing in my ear starts to drown out Greer’s pitch as he goes on about social media following and my launch. When he starts to talk about the flat where I’ll live, I put my hand up and stop him.

“Mr. Davenport, I’m very grateful for the opportunity you’re offering but—”

“Don’t answer. Just talk to your family and think about it. I know there’s a lot riding on this decision. I’ll be in town for three more days,” he tells me.

I should shut this down. I don’t need three days. I need to say no and move on—clip the wings on this silly hope that’s floating around my head.

My family is here.

And you don’t leave family.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, standing.

Greer puts his hand out for me to shake, gives Verga one last scratch beneath both ears, then turns and leaves me beside the pool. I plop back down in the chaise and look up to the stars.

“London is nearly two thousand kilometers and a channel away. It’s too far,” I whisper to Verga.

He puts his head on my lap and lets out a dramatic sigh.

I picture the stone courtyards of Cambridge—the bustling art galleries of Soho. It’s a world far away from the peaceful hills of Le Marche. Far away from the laughter that makes its way around Zia and Zio’s villa into the air around me. Far away from the people I love the most in this world.

But that’s the thing about dreams and love. They don’t give a damn about distance.