Chapter Fourteen
I spend another three weeks in very near bliss.
Not gonna lie, it’s pretty awesome.
I’m blowing through this book as if the words are literally flowing from my fingertips onto the screen.
Every day feels better than the last. My characters feel real, three-dimensional, realistic, and likable.
Hell, I’m rooting for them, and I already know they’re going to end up together. I’ve never written this quickly. Never.
Scott is flabbergasted when I tell him I’m almost done.
I can tell by his stuttering and how long it takes him to formulate a complete sentence, and there’s a part of me that’s mildly insulted, but I let it go.
He finally figures out how to speak coherently, and then his joy is apparent.
He says he’ll send my news through the proper channels, and by the time we hang up, he’s almost giddy. So am I.
My mother is ready for me to come home, and I’m not surprised.
This is the longest I’ve ever been away, and she’s feeling it.
I am, too, if I’m being honest, but Rome has started to feel almost like a second home to me, and I’m not sure what to do with that feeling.
But I miss my family. I miss my friends.
I miss my house and my yard and my stuff and the rest of my wardrobe.
But then there’s Marina.
We’ve spent time together almost every day over the past three weeks and change, and it feels like life now, if that makes sense.
We talk every day. We go out. We also stay in.
I’ve had more sex this month than I think I’ve ever had in my life.
I’ve learned her neighborhood and could probably find my way around with no issues at all.
I keep a toothbrush in her bathroom, and she bought my favorite body wash online and surprised me with it one morning when I stepped into her shower and there it was.
I have a side of the bed and a drawer, and a couple of her T-shirts that I’ve taken over as my new pj’s.
It’s all very domestic.
It also scares the shit out of me.
Maybe that’s why I say what I say tonight when we’re cuddled on her couch watching a movie.
Marina is super tired, having given two tours today and sat in a very long meeting with the owners of the company she works for.
We spent dinner talking about that meeting, what was said, how much she disagrees with it and how badly she wants to be the one in charge of the tours.
I let her vent, because I got the sense that she didn’t want help with a solution, she just wanted to be mad for a while and have somebody else nod along, so I did that.
Now we’re watching a rom-com on my Netflix account.
We have the subtitles on in Italian, which tells me that she’s very tired and doesn’t have the bandwidth to translate in her head right now.
She’s lying in my arms, and we’re cuddled up all sweet and snug and comfortable.
My timing couldn’t be worse.
“So, I think I’m going to head home soon.” I say it quietly, matter-of-factly. Reggie sighs from his spot on the chair, as if annoyed with me. I shoot him a look.
“Oh, okay. I thought you’d stay over tonight.”
Oh. She thinks I mean home to the hotel. Crap. I clear my throat. “No, I mean home home. To the States home.”
If she hadn’t been lying in my arms, I probably wouldn’t have noticed her stiffen, but I can feel it. Her entire body goes very subtly rigid for a split second and then relaxes again.
“Ah, I see.” She swallows audibly, and then she’s silent.
I wait her out for what feels like hours, even though I know it’s only a minute or two. “You okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I shift so I can look at her face, and her gaze is riveted on the TV, so I pick up the remote and pause it. “What’s going on?”
I see the muscle in her jaw tighten, so I know she’s clenching her teeth. She doesn’t look at me. “Nothing.”
“Marina.”
She sighs. “Is it so bad that I don’t want you to go?”
“Of course not, but you didn’t think I’d stay forever, did you?” I don’t mean it to sound callous or unfeeling or abrupt, but I’m afraid it may have come out as all three when I see the hurt that crawls into her eyes and makes itself at home there.
“No.” She looks like she’s got more to say but seems to press her lips firmly closed.
“Sweetie,” I say, softening my voice. “I have to go back. You know this.”
“I know,” she says, and her voice is barely a whisper. Finally, she looks at me, and her eyes are wet. “I will miss you.”
The combination of her tears and the slight break in her voice tries hard to undo me. It very nearly succeeds, and I pull her in close and hold her tightly. “I’ll miss you, too,” I manage.
Our lovemaking tonight feels different. And I know how corny and cheesy and romance-novel-hokey that sounds, but it’s true.
We feel urgent, almost desperate. It’s more than the act itself—which is always amazing with Marina.
God, I’ve never been with a woman so focused on my pleasure.
But tonight, it’s more than physical. It’s emotional.
And I’m not gonna lie, it’s been sliding toward emotional for a while now.
But this? This is…it’s heavy. And erotic. And deep.
When we first start, she doesn’t look at me, won’t meet my gaze.
But after a few moments pass, and she looks me in the eye, it’s as if she can’t look away.
I know I can’t. We kiss passionately and deeply and thoroughly.
I feel her hand between my legs, pulling my underwear down my thighs, then sinking into my wetness, which is copious right now.
Her fingers slide through my folds, touching every nerve ending and sending my arousal higher and higher.
But it’s when she pushes inside me, when she sets up a rhythm of in and out, slowly at first, then a little faster, a little harder, and I’m gripping her shoulder with one hand and her forearm with the other, it’s then she looks into my eyes, and—I swear to God—into my very soul.
She drives into me, and I rock my hips to her pace, and I stare back into those dark, dark, loving eyes of hers.
What I see there is enough to bring tears to my own eyes, except my orgasm hits at that moment, and I explode.
My hips raise up off the bed as Marina adjusts to stay with me, her thumb massaging the outside of my center while her fingers push inside over and over, in and out, taking me higher, drawing it out to impossibly endless joy.
My God. Oh my God.
Did she whisper I love you ? I thought I heard it, but honestly, with my own blood rushing in my ears and the strain of all my muscles, I can’t be sure, and I don’t have the energy to devote to wondering.
I push it away and colors blossom behind my eyelids like my body’s own personal fireworks.
I’ve never felt like this. Ever. And I’m having a hard time with coherent thought.
When I finally begin to come down, my hips settling back to the mattress, the steely grip of my fingers easing up, having left marks in Marina’s skin, I open my eyes to meet her face, looking down at me.
There are tears in her eyes and the expression on her face is filled with so many things—wonder, joy, sensuality, arousal, and yes, that one other thing I don’t want to deal with, because I have no idea how.
I swallow hard.
We don’t say anything as we shift positions so I’m on top.
We don’t say anything as I undress her the rest of the way and run my hands across her olive skin, marveling, as usual, over the smooth softness of it.
We don’t say anything as I slide my fingers into her wetness and take a nipple into my mouth.
I move down her body with my tongue, stopping here and there to kiss a particular favorite spot or two, before settling between her legs.
I feel the grip of her hands in my hair, and it doesn’t take long to bring her to the edge.
She’s incredibly responsive to me normally—something I find endlessly arousing about her—but even more so tonight, it seems. I keep her there for long moments before finally tipping her over.
A cry I haven’t heard before comes from deep within her as her muscles spasm and she lets go with one hand so she can grab a pillow and hold it over her face.
I ride it out with her, listening to the sounds she’s making as I pay attention to the contractions in her center. I love it so much, this exact moment. It’s so erotic, so sensual, so intimate. She comes down slowly, and I lay my cheek against her thigh as I wait for her to collect herself.
That’s when I hear it.
It’s quiet and soft, but there’s no mistaking it.
Marina is crying.
“Oh, baby.” I quickly crawl up her body, and I’m gentle when I pull the pillow away from her face. Her cheeks are wet, and her eyes are a bit red, and she sniffles and turns away from me.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice quiet.
“No, no. Don’t be.” It’s like I can actually feel my heart squeeze in my chest at the sight of her crying. It’s awful, and I want to do anything I can to make her feel better…except I don’t know what that is.
“No.” She reaches for a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blows her nose, wipes her face.
Gently moving me off her, she pushes herself to sitting.
“No, I am sorry.” She doesn’t look at me as she speaks, just rolls the tissue in her hands, toying with it.
“We said this was casual. Well, you said this was casual, but I went along, so I don’t get to be upset now.
Forgive me.” She takes a deep breath, then another, and it seems to calm her.
She finally meets my gaze, but there’s something different, like she’s shuttered somehow. “Sorry about that.”
“No, not at all,” I say, and honestly, I’m a little taken aback by the change. I’m floundering a bit here with what to say next.
Before I can come up with anything, Marina slides out of bed and starts to get dressed.
I frown. A glance at her clock tells me it’s after nine, and Marina sleeps naked, so I’m not sure what she’s doing.
I follow her into the kitchen without putting my own clothes on.
There, she opens the fridge and grabs herself a bottle of water, cracks it open, and takes a long pull from it.
She’s beautiful, standing there bathed in the fridge light, wearing joggers and a T-shirt, her hair tousled.
She takes another long sip, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and turns to me.
“You should probably go.” Her voice is quiet, and while I try to hide my surprise at her words, I do a crappy job of it.
“Oh.” I stand there, naked, unable to move my feet.
She lifts one shoulder in a half shrug and doesn’t look at me as she says, “It only makes sense. Why prolong the inevitable, right?” Even her lovely accent doesn’t help to soften her words.
“I…oh. Um, okay.” And now I feel stupid.
Foolish. I stand there for a minute longer, not sure what to do.
Then I turn and head back to the bedroom in search of clothes.
Hot tears burn behind my eyes. I didn’t expect her to toss me out.
I mean, I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t dismissal.
I fumble in the dark for my clothes. I should just turn the lights on, but I’m too embarrassed.
I don’t want Marina to see my shame. Reggie has hopped off the chair and is following me around, clearly confused, as I dress quickly, run my fingers through my hair, and tuck it behind my ears.
I pick up my dog and go back out to the living room where Marina is now standing in the dark, looking out the window.
It feels so weird and wrong to leave like this, and I tell her so.
“Can’t we talk a bit?” I ask. “Or, I don’t know, just enjoy what time we’ve got left? I mean, I’m not leaving tomorrow.”
Her shoulders are stiff. In fact, her whole body is rigid, and the fact that I can tell those things just by looking at her silhouette from the back tells me how well I actually know her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her voice is quiet. Monotone.
“But why not?”
She turns to me, and she’s backlit by the window, so I can’t quite make out the expression on her face. I should go to her, but I feel weird. Ashamed and uncertain. “I think you know the answer to that,” she says, still very quiet. “And if you don’t, then that’s all the more reason you should go.”
My brain isn’t working. I’m a smart woman, but things are not firing as they should be because her words don’t compute, and all I want right now is to escape to something familiar.
It feels heavy in the flat. Hard to breathe.
Reggie starts to pant in my arms, and I wonder if my emotions emit actual heat, enough to warm him.
I open my mouth to say words, but none of them will come.
I close it and open it twice more before I exhale in frustration, slide my phone into my bag, and sling it over my shoulder.
Maybe she just needs a little time. That’s reasonable, right?
“Okay. I’ll text you tomorrow,” I say.
Marina is looking out the window again, and she doesn’t turn around. With a quiet sigh, I leave the flat, closing the door behind me with a quiet, anticlimactic click.
On the street, I stand there. I’ve put Reggie on his leash and he doesn’t pull or try to go anywhere.
He simply looks up at me while I stare off into space.
I’ll need to get an Uber or a cab to take us back to the hotel, but I keep standing there doing nothing.
When I finally risk a glance up at the window I know is Marina’s, she’s not there.
I look down at Reggie. He’s looking up at me, God bless him. He is easily enamored with other people, but he is ultimately my boy, and he knows when I’m hurting. He looks worried, the concern clear in his big brown marble eyes.
“I’m okay, buddy,” I say quietly to him, though I’m not sure that’s true. “I’m okay.”
We walk for a block or two because I can’t just stand there under the window of Marina’s flat. It feels weird, and I’m also starting to feel a little bubble of anger in my gut to go along with the hurt. What a fun combination.
When we’ve turned a corner and we’re in a spot that can’t be seen from her place, I call up my app and order myself an Uber.
He arrives within a couple minutes, and soon Reggie is seated in my lap and we’re driving away from Trastevere.
As we cross over the River Tiber, I absently wonder if I’ll ever see it again.
The tears choose that moment to spill over and leave salty, wet tracks down my face.
I have no idea what happens next.