Chapter 11 #3
“It was none of that.” He shook his head. His shoulders rose and fell with a great sigh as he stopped walking and turned to face her. “Look, almost no one knows about this, OK? There’s only one other person I’ve told.”
“You are the only person who knows my birth name aside from Vilmari. So, we’re even. Let’s hear it.”
“Well, Franca knows your name. And Carola. And everyone at the immigration off—”
“Whatever. Speak,” she commanded, waving her hand to dismiss his stalling.
“OK, OK. I was having panic attacks.” He breathed out, sat on the bench. Hunched forward, he pulled his glasses off. “I told you that I loved the city for a long time and then I didn’t feel good there anymore. This is why.”
“Do you know what caused them?” she asked in a low voice, feeling the weight of his confession. She sat on the bench between him and the watermelon.
“No. At first, I thought it was something about my diet or some kind of vitamin deficiency. But it wasn’t any of that.
I was telling the truth when I said that everything was a mess when I came here to visit.
I wanted to help, not run away from New York.
But it’s also true that I’ve had no panic attacks since I’ve been here. ”
“So, you’re afraid to go back.”
“I’m not afraid. If I had to be there, I would figure it out. Maybe. I would have to.”
“But in the meantime, you don’t want to tell anyone what happened.”
“My family will only worry—or think it’s all in my head.
They are not exactly on top of the latest mental health information.
” He leaned back, pushing the hair off his forehead.
“Giada is the only one who knows. Sometimes I would call her when it was happening. She would do episode recaps of reality shows or tell me stories about silly things we did when we were kids to keep my mind off whatever was freaking me out. I love my family, but this is not something they could help with.”
“Well, I’m sorry for that. But it’s like I said, eventually you’ll have to do what’s right for you—not them.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t know if I like the sound of it,” he said, turning his face toward her slightly. “They invested in my future. I feel like that means I have an obligation—”
“Obligation? To do something that ultimately makes you feel terrible?” She shook her head. “See, this is why independence is so important. You can’t live on obligation, Andrea.”
“But I can’t live without it either.”
“Well, I can see why you’re stuck.” She stood, suddenly needing to move her legs.
“You seem to have this switch in your head that makes it possible to not think about this stuff. I don’t have that,” he said, looking up at her as she paced toward the sink.
“That’s what you think is in my head? A switch? That’s hilarious. All I do is think! I just know how to filter, Andrea, because I know that if I don’t, the drain gets clogged. Get it?”
“And you don’t think that you’re trying to ignore facts about your life because it’s safer? So you don’t get slowed down? I’m sorry to tell you, but I think I’m not the only one avoiding.”
“I think you’re wrong,” she said, turning back to face him fully. “I don’t avoid. I select!” Couldn’t he see that one of them was in control and the other wasn’t? He was so frustrating. Yet that vein in his neck pulsed in a way that made her want to feel it under her tongue.
“And I think you’re wrong,” he said as he stood facing her in a standoff. “It’s that you don’t like to admit things.”
“Like?” She leveled her chin.
“Like maybe you feel things more than you want to show.”
“Give me an example,” she said before realizing that she was suddenly both eager and afraid of his answer.
“Do you mean that?” He took one step toward her.
“Yes.” Electricity sparked over her skin as he advanced yet another step and brought his fingers to the small of her back, his mouth to her ear.
“Are you sure?” He pulled back slightly to see her expression, but kept his face one centimeter from hers, his winter-whiskey scent flooding her senses.
Heat bloomed in her chest. She’d sworn she didn’t want this to happen again, but when he licked his lower lip, her vision blurred.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth. She wanted to run her fingers down his neck and across the contours of his chest, then lower. She nodded, incapable of speech.
Andrea reached out to her face and pulled her closer, kissing her like she was air. His mouth was warm and the curve of his lip was as delicious as the first time she’d tasted it. She drew closer to him, tongues touching in sparks of light, and felt all of that heat pooling in her core.
“Don’t tell me you don’t feel that,” he whispered, his hands still holding her as he pressed his forehead to hers.
Her mouth on his again was her answer. There was no use denying how much she wanted him.
It blinded her where she stood. They stepped toward the wall together, until she rested her back against it, his hand immediately going for her hip.
She drew her arms around his strong shoulders and let him guide her leg up around his waist. Her fingers played with his shirt collar, pulling it aside so that she could lean in and taste the skin where his neck met his shoulder.
His fingers curled around her chin, bringing her lips back to his.
She gripped him tighter, pulling their bodies closer.
She could feel him against the underside of her thigh, hard as steel.
A loud dinging sound filled the garden, but she couldn’t pull herself away from him.
It sounded again, reverberating off the walls.
Andrea reached around to his back pocket, letting go of her leg and leaning away from her.
He squinted down at the phone. “I should get this.”
She straightened the strap of her tank top, which had fallen off her shoulder, and smoothed her hair back into place as he spoke. His voice on the phone was serious but not upset. She could tell the difference now. Finally he hung up.
“Everything OK?” she asked.
“Yes. Your documents are back. You can file them again.” He followed her eyes to his hanging shirttails and laughed. “I don’t think I can tuck this back in yet.” She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh herself. She cleared her throat.
“Great, should I go do that now?” She pointed out of the garden.
“Yes, I believe the comune is open,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Though the sindaco might need a moment to compose himself.”
This time, she laughed as Andrea turned away from her with his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, letting his hands fall away from his body with the thumb and middle fingers touching in the shape of mudra.
“OK, I’m ready,” he said. He tucked in his shirt and turned back, kissing her quickly. “Let’s go. Don’t forget the watermelon.”