Chapter 5
Roman
After seeing the David with my own two eyes, I feel a little badly about the bastard comment. He’s incredible. When I mention it to Niilo on our way out the door, he tucks his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and looks up at me, eyes shining clear-water blue.
“I think he’d forgive you,” he replies solemnly. “After all, we paid him nearly fifty euros.”
“Didn’t even have the decency to put pants on,” I mumble, earning a burst of laughter from Niilo. Grinning happily, I try to tone down how pleased I am when he laughs at my jokes. I’m really not that funny, as evidenced by the many friends who’ve never found me so.
Now that we’ve abandoned the worst of the crowds, and there is no possibility of being separated, Niilo lets go of me. I have half a mind to wade back into the sea of people, just to keep him physically attached to me in some way.
“What’s next on the list?” he asks, planting those hands on his hips and leaning into me for a view of my cellphone screen. I pull up my rather unhinged, and dismally unorganized notes app. Niilo’s dark eyelashes flicker as his eyes scan the page. He uses the tip of his finger to indicate one.
“Are you interested in art?” he asks. “This is a gallery of Renaissance art.”
I pause. I do like art, but I’m not sure I like it well enough to devote my very limited Italy vacation time to staring at it. I look down at Niilo’s silver-blond hair, shining in the sun.
“We could skip that,” I say slowly. He gives a short nod, still reading the list.
“I think you might enjoy the Basilica di Santa Croce, since you’re interested in history.
Even if you weren’t interested in history or art, it’s worth visiting simply because it’s beautiful.
” I nod in agreement, even though his head is ducked and he can’t see it.
When he reaches the end of my list, he pats my forearm and steps away.
I try not to feel too sad about the foot of space between us.
“May I make a suggestion that’s not on the list?” he asks, looking up at me.
“Of course.” As if there’s anything he could suggest that I wouldn’t be on board with.
“Piazzale Michelangelo is one of my favorite tourist spots. It’s just a viewpoint of the city, but it’s spectacular. It’s also very near the Basilica di Santa Croce, and they have cafes and things we could eat at. If you’d like.”
“That sounds perfect to me. Is it something to do at sunset, or…?”
“Actually, midday is the best if you want to take pictures, which”—his lips twitch as he looks at the phone clutched in my hand, home to hundreds of shiny new photographs—“I assume that you do.”
“Okay, so we go now. Do that first, grab something to eat, and then hit the basilica?”
“Perfect.”
As I’m starting to learn, Niilo being right isn’t the exception but the rule.
The view of the city from the piazzale is spectacular.
Actually, it’s beyond spectacular. It’s something so beautiful and stunning, there isn’t even a word in the English language to describe it.
Despairing for the battery on my cellphone, I dutifully make sure I have at least four pictures of every angle, and a dozen more with Niilo in them.
After the third time of me entreating him to “look at the camera!”, he humors me with a coy little smile on his face, and a glint in his eye that promises retribution.
“Why am I suddenly the only one in these photos,” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me. I take a picture, because, cute.
“I want some without me in them,” I tell him. “Just you.”
“And Florence,” he adds, dropping the mock scowl and fixing the grin back into place. I click the camera button again. Florence is great, but come on. We know who the real star of this show is.
“Okay—”
“—now together,” Niilo interrupts, pulling my phone away and striding off to find a fellow tourist to ask for help.
He manages to snare a German woman, who understands the assignment perfectly and holds her thumb down on the shutter button, flooding my album with pictures of me and Niilo. She declares us “a lovely couple,” and gives Niilo a look so dripping with affection, I half expect her to pinch his cheek.
“Any good ones?” he asks as she walks away, peeking at the phone as I scroll through.
“About a hundred,” I confirm happily.
“Excellent. Was there anything else you needed a picture of? That leaf, perhaps?” He points helpfully at a flowering bush that is, to be fair, very pretty. “Or maybe you should crouch down and retake all the pictures but from closer to the ground.”
“Okay, smartass,” I scold, tucking my phone away and maintaining a flat expression despite the teasing pinch of his mouth. “I’ll just have you take any pictures I need lower to the ground, seeing as you’re miniature.”
“You like it,” he says on a laugh, nudging me with his shoulder as we walk toward one of the cafes.
I reach over his shoulder to open the door before he can.
I do like that he’s smaller than me. Boy, do I.
Smaller but not weaker; smaller but holds space and moves through the world with a confidence I can only dream of possessing.
I’m not sure who Florence is trying to impress, but not even nightfall could dim her splendor.
Niilo’s hand has found its way back to mine, and only the quiet sounds of a city winding down accompany us on our walk home.
My feet hurt, my cheeks are sore from smiling, and my cellphone lost battery power two hours ago. I’m having the time of my life.
The heat of the day has given way to a balmy evening, the cobbled streets and sandstone bricks bathed in the warm light of the lampposts. Muffled laughter reaches us as someone exits a restaurant, something spicy and fragrant following on the breeze.
I’m pleasantly tired—drowsy enough to fall asleep instantly, were my head to touch a pillow right now—but so relaxed and content that I slow my steps even further.
I don’t want to make it to the hotel quite yet.
Tomorrow we’ll be back in the car, at the mercy of Niilo’s endless supply of regional knowledge and our whims. Tonight is our last night in Florence, and I want to bask.
“You’ve been in Italy a long time,” I comment softly, not wanting to disrupt the calm of the evening, but missing the melodic cadence of Niilo’s voice.
“A few months,” he agrees. “I’d been planning on moving on long before now, but something kept enticing me to stay.”
I send a quiet, heartfelt thank-you to the universe for engineering that for me.
“Do you know where you’ll go from here?”
“Mm,” he hums, thinking. Our linked hands swing gently between us. Feeling bold and romantic and maybe a little bit in love with both Italy and Niilo, I brush my thumb over the back of his hand. “It’s been a little while since I’ve been home, so I may go back for a visit.”
“Do you miss home?” I ask, surprised. In all our conversations—which, granted, hasn’t been that many—he’s never mentioned feeling homesick. I think of my own home, back in Seattle, and realize I don’t miss it at all, even though I’d feared spending the entire vacation wanting my own bed.
“Yes and no. I don’t miss my family so much as I miss having my own space.” I laugh, and he looks up at me, grinning. “I have a small loft. It’s a single room with a bathroom attached, but it’s mine and I love it.”
I nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. My introverted, loner heart longs for cozy, private spaces.
“I get it. I can’t imagine being on the road for so long; staying in hostels, and working in a foreign country. You’re brave as hell.”
“It’s very European to take travel years between secondary school and university. I just waited, and did mine after university to be contrary.”
We pass a church I’d noticed this morning, when we’d set off on foot from our hotel.
I’m slightly disappointed to see it, because that means we’re back.
No more walking with Niilo’s warm palm pressed to mine, or the smell of jasmine mixing with the more earthy aroma of the Arno River.
I bite back a sigh. Maybe it’s just the out-of-time feel of the city, or the way Florence’s beauty lends itself to romance.
Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t do a lot of dating.
Or maybe it’s just Niilo himself—graceful and lovely, and extraordinarily clever.
Whatever is to blame, the fact remains that I’m on course to set the world record for falling in love.
Falling in love with someone I met on vacation, no less, because when I make mistakes, I always double down.
Niilo is unavailable to me as a long-term option.
I know it, he knows it, and neither of us has felt the need to say so out loud.
But the truth is there, in the way we kiss and hold hands, but will go to our separate beds tonight.
Whatever is between us feels more than a one-night stand might be, but the chasm between vacation fling and long-term partner is too big to step across.
And, given that I’ve only known him three days, it’s a distance I shouldn’t even be considering.
It’s easier to blame Florence and David and the smell of citrus in the air for the feeling in my chest.
It’s Italy, not love.
“You look rather broody, right now,” Niilo comments, looking up at me beneath dark painted lashes. “What are you thinking about?”
You. Us. The magic of vacation and marble statues and gardens of roses. The madness and nonsensical nature of love.
“Nothing,” I say instead on a sigh. “Just missing Florence before we’re even gone, I suppose, strange as that is.”
“I don’t think that’s strange at all. Actually, I think that’s quite common. You love something so much, you know it’s going to hurt when it’s gone.”
Oh yes, it’s definitely going to hurt, I think later, watching his slim frame disappear into the dark of his hotel room. In fact, it already does.