25. Ivy
twenty-five
Ivy
Six Months Later
It’s hard to put my finger on why I feel tense.
It doesn’t make sense. I can’t recall the last time my life felt this steady and serene. It’s almost surreal how much has changed since I moved here for school.
The peace is almost unsettling, making me nervous. Is something big is about to happen? It’s too quiet, and that worries me.
The cobblestones in the piazza are warm from the late-afternoon sun. Lively chatter fills the air. I’m sitting at a small table near the Duomo with three of my friends from the Academy. Pierlo, with his dark, curly hair, startling green eyes and infectious laugh, is directly across from me, while Matteo and Lucia flank us on either side. The scent of strong espresso and a hot margherita pizza make for a perfect evening out.
Gazing at the beautiful architecture all around us, sketchbook in hand, I can’t believe I’m studying art here. The city is a vibrant classroom, with inspiration and masterpieces around every corner. From the grandeur of the Duomo, where we’re sitting tonight, to the timeless works at the Uffizi , the Galleria dell ’Accademia , and the Palazzo Pitti , Florence is a living gallery. It fuels my creativity every day.
“I’m telling you, Matteo, the new exhibit is going to blow your mind.” Lucia bats her eyes at her boyfriend. “The use of light and shadow is revolutionary.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it. I’m more interested in what Ivy’s working on. We’re supposed to be hanging out and she has her book.” He leans over and peers into my sketchbook. His eyes widen. “Well done. These are incredible. Who’s the model?”
Lucia points to a drawing of Cillian laughing. “He’s dreamy. Uomo di bell’aspetto . He looks so alive in this one. You’ve really captured his spirit.”
“This one is cool. There’s a lot of depth in his expression.” Pierlo studies another sketch where Cillian is gazing out the window, lost in thought.
Lucia flips to the next page and smiles. “ Che bello . And these… so many of him in bed. Was he sleeping next to you? They’re intimate and tender.”
Recalling the warmth of Cillian’s touch. The way his fingers used to gently trace patterns on my skin. His lips kissing every part of me. God, the way his embrace made me feel safe and cherished. I still miss him. I’d give anything…
Closing the sketchbook, I try to hide my blush. “Thank you. He was once very special to me.”
“Maybe he still is.” Lucia elbows me. “Nothing wrong with a hot older man to rev up the engine, eh?”
I laugh, taking a sip of my cappuccino. “Yeah. It was a couple of years ago. I’m sketching out ideas for our portrait week.”
“ You would make a beautiful portrait.” Pierlo’ s voice is softer than usual.
A new blush creeps up my cheeks. Pierlo has always been kind and complimentary, but tonight there’s something different in his tone, a hint of something deeper. “Thanks, Pierlo. The compliment means a lot coming from you. ”
Maybe it’s time for me to try to move past Cillian. Pierlo is very easy on the eyes. He’s kind, sweet, and an accomplished sculptor. He’s also my age.
Lucia exchanges a knowing glance with Matteo and suddenly stands up. “Well, I think it’s time for us to go check out the exhibit, don’t you, Matteo?”
“Absolutely. Ivy, Pierlo, enjoy the rest of your evening. Ciao .” Matteo waves as he follows her down a side street.
Before I can say goodbye, they’re gone, leaving us alone. An awkward silence falls over us, broken only by the clinking of cups and murmured conversations from nearby tables.
“Ivy, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now.” Pierlo leans forward and takes my hand.
My heart skips a beat. “Oh? What is it?”
“I’ve admired you for a long time. Not only as an artist, but as a person. You’re talented, and beautiful.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve been too shy to say anything, but I would love to take you out. Would you consider it?”
The sincerity in his eyes is touching, I appreciate his courage in speaking up. “Pierlo, how nice of you.”
“But?” he prompts gently.
“I moved to Florence after my heart was broken. I don’t know if I’m ready for anything serious.” I choose my words carefully because I don’t want to hurt his feelings. “I’m still figuring things out. ”
He smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “I understand. I only wanted you to know how I feel. No pressure.”
“I appreciate it more than you know.” I squeeze his fingers.
We finish the pizza and our drinks, chatting comfortably about our classes. Pierlo holds my hand as he walks me back to my flat. It’s nice. I like him. As we reach my door, he leans in and kisses me softly. I close my eyes, waiting for a spark, the feeling of soul connection.
But there’s nothing. No attraction. No magic.
He pulls back and I muster a smile. “Goodnight, Pierlo. Thank you for tonight.”
“Goodnight, Ivy.” His eyes search mine for something more. But I turn and head inside, closing the door gently behind me.
I kick off my shoes and head to the bathroom to wash up and put my pajamas on. As I brush my teeth, I can’t shake the emptiness I felt during Pierlo’ s kiss. He’s wonderful, but he’s not Cillian. No one ever will be.
Why can’t I be a normal twenty-year-old and hook up with different people without a second thought for the fun of it? I crave the freedom to move on, to let myself be swept away by someone new, but my heart stubbornly clings to Cillian with a grip I can’t seem to loosen.
I’m being ridiculous, holding on to these feelings. It’s not like he’ll give me another chance. He said so himself. Cillian has probably been with a million women since me. I can picture him now, effortlessly charming. Drawing attention to him like moths to a flame.
The thought of Cillian with someone else twists a knife in my gut, making me feel foolish and na?ve. The problem is, no matter how much I convince myself to let go, memories of how we were are seared into my soul. I miss everything about him.
Even though I should move on, my heart isn’t ready to let go.
It’s early, but I decide to go to bed and watch a movie. Halfway through, my phone buzzes—my parents are FaceTiming me from Seattle.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” I angle the phone so they can see I’m safe at home.
“Hi, sweetheart.” I see they’re sitting in my dad’s home office. “How was your day?”
I shift to my side and prop my phone up on my nightstand. “It was fine. I was out with some friends from school. We had coffee and pizza near the Duomo.”
“Sounds wonderful.” My dad has lost a bit of weight and he looks tired.
Rather than bring up his appearance, I use my father’s patented vague question tactic to shift subjects. “How are things going with the build? ”
“Eh—I’ve got to say, construction is going well.” His face brightens. “We’re ahead of schedule. Cillian’s father took over for a bit during his health scare. He’s stayed on to help. We’re not only back on track, Rory’s stayed on. He’s a hoot.”
Every cell in my body freezes at the mention of Cillian, but I have to keep my composure. “Sounds terrible. What kind of health scare?”
“Eh—it’s fine now.” Dad waves his hand in front of his face. “The project is moving along faster than expected.”
“Good to hear,” I mumble, though my mind is whirling. I want to call Cillian to check on him, but I don’t have his number anymore. I manage to remember I’m on a call with my parents and reengage without missing too many beats. “And how are you, Dad?”
There’s a pause. My mom glances at my dad and back at me. “Actually, Ivy, your dad is experiencing a bit of a health scare himself. They found some polyps during his colon screening.”
“What? Is he okay? Are you okay?” Blood whooshes to my ears.
“They were cancerous but we caught it early.” Dad leans in. “It’s a minor operation. I’ll be down for about a week. There’s no need to worry.”
My voice shakes. “No need to worry? I’m coming home. I want to be there with you.”
“No, Ivy,” he insists. “Please stay and finish your classes. I’ll be fine. Don’t disrupt your schedule.”
I try to process what I want to do. “Are you sure?”
“We’re sure.” My mom takes his hand. “It’s minor surgery. Really. The reason we called is I’m postponing my next visit by a few weeks to help your dad through recovery.”
I nod vigorously. “Of course. It makes perfect sense.”
After we hang up, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. Life is fragile. One minute everything seems fine, and the next, it’s all hanging by a thread.
At first, moving to Florence helped me escape the isolation I’d felt in Seattle. It took my mind off my broken heart. Lately, though, it feels like I’m just as alone here as I ever was at home.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my friends and love focusing on my art, but everything—my dad’s health, my future, and even my unresolved feelings for Cillian—bears down on me.
I’ll be twenty-one next year. I need to figure out what my path is and what, if any, role I want to play in my family’s legacy.
I’m grateful for my time here—it helped me figure out who I am. It’s given me the opportunity to live a regular life. Buy groceries. Cook and clean for myself. Do what I want when I want to do it .
And, let’s be honest, it allowed me to avoid running into Cillian after he rejected me.
I’m stronger now, though. Maybe it’s time to think about what comes next. Maybe I should go home and help my dad with the business and let him take a step back.
Maybe it’s time to stop hiding.