Chapter Ten #2
“I told myself I wouldn’t talk about the future tonight.”
Her eyes are on the water surrounding us, her hands clutching the roof railing so tightly that her knuckles have turned white. I take her face in my hand and bring it toward me.
“I also don’t want to think about it… But perhaps we should talk?”
Last night, I told myself she’d made up her mind about the future.
I concluded that my efforts to convince her to stay would be fruitless.
If I still wanted Daisy, I’d need to focus on having her for the next three days, with no expectation of more.
I’d need to be ready to move on and live my life without her.
And so I made plans I could be fine with.
She keeps her gaze on mine, eager for the truths suppressed in my chest and at the same time afraid of them.
“I’m confused,” I say. “And scared…and it’s annoying as hell to admit that.” My lips curve up a little and hers follow, then drop again in the blink of an eye. “I feel like we’re both close to finding ourselves, and it’s thanks to this week we’ve spent together.”
Her lips tremble, and she averts her gaze, maybe to avoid me seeing the tears pooling in her eyes.
I don’t let go of her face, though. I gently turn it to me again.
Because I’m not afraid of her emotions. And I’m not afraid she will see the vulnerability in my eyes.
What I’m afraid of is never feeling this way again.
“Finding ourselves means losing each other,” she says, her voice choked with the feelings she can’t swallow.
“Not if we decide that this …” I bring her face closer until our foreheads nearly meet. “…won’t end.”
She lowers her eyes and lets out a low chuckle. “And now we’re here, ready to make promises we’re not sure we can keep.”
“I’m not going to disappear unless you want me to,” I assure her. Fuck fear of commitment. I’m ready to make promises.
I’ve never been in a long-distance relationship, but for Daisy, I would commit to one.
She must come back to Italy at some point.
Even if only twice per year, I could wait.
I would hear her voice on the phone. We would text and video call, and hell, I’d even write letters and mail them if that’s her idea of a transcontinental romance.
But Daisy’s eyes still don’t meet mine. I feel her opposition in the tension of her body—so close to mine and yet…
“Daisy, we can make it work,” I say, pressed by the untamed feelings straining my heart.
“Let’s please not talk about the future right now.” Her eyes finally find mine. They are wide, moist, fearful, and so heated, I forget why we’re discussing the days to come because all that exists is this moment. Us. Right now.
I taught her to live in the present, and now she is teaching me . The time to say goodbye and define what will happen is to come. Why do we have to ruin this moment thinking about the future?
I take a lengthy breath and look at her. My pulse is speeding faster than our boat right now. She keeps staring at me, lips parted, but no words come out.
There is something I can say. Something that is true regardless of what happens next.
“I’m so happy I met you, Daisy… So happy that it’s for me your heart beats faster.
” I put my hand on her chest, looking for those rebellious beats, and there they are, drumming against my palm.
“And I’m claiming those beats for as long as I can. ”
She unclutches the roof, slides her hands along my neck, then suddenly grabs my nape when the boat shifts, unbalancing us. I grip her waist, and she throws herself against me for a wild kiss.
I snatch her eager lips and taste her wine-flavored tongue.
God, I’ve missed her kisses… Twenty-four hours have seemed like an eternity.
I don’t count the brief little kiss she gave me after dinner last night when her thoughts were elsewhere.
I’ve longed for a fiery kiss like the one on the terrace before Luigi arrived.
And our moment in the palace… God, I loved that day.
I love her…
I run my fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, teasing her with my fingertips as I kiss her lips with all the passion in me.
She keeps my body tightly pressed against hers, arms on my back, feeling my solid shape as I feel hers.
The wind shakes our clothes and hair and fills our ears with a pleasant whoosh.
It gets stronger as we reach the wider part of the canal separating the main island from our destination.
I told Paolo to take a detour and make the trip longer than it had to be so we’d have time to sit and enjoy the ride, but now he can’t stall anymore.
I glance at the horizon as I’m kissing Daisy’s throat. Judging by our distance to the Campanile in Piazza San Marco, we’ll be docking in a couple of minutes. Dammit.
“We’re almost there,” I say in her ear, then give her a final kiss on the lips—slow and thorough, savoring every second.
She doesn’t want to let go. It’s with reluctance that she unglues her body from mine, and she instantly gives me two more brief kisses. I spend a moment looking at her, admiring her beauty in the twilight, the rosy tones on her face, the orange hue in her hair.
She’s saving her smiles tonight. An aura of melancholia accompanies her pretty figure, but that’s okay because it’s the same feeling I carry with me, which I’m going to use as fuel while I play.
We disembark a little away from the San Giorgio vaporetto station, and as I’m helping Daisy out of the boat, I tell her where we are before she asks.
“This is the tiny island of San Giorgio Maggiore. To the west, separated by a small canal, is the Giudecca island—also worth a visit—and to the south is the main group of islands.”
Daisy looks up at the pointy, green-roofed campanile jutting out of the buildings in San Giorgio Maggiore and says, “Isn’t that tower like the one in Saint Mark’s Square?”
I nod. “Yes. It’s Saint George’s Bell Tower. I’m bringing you there, but first, we have somewhere else to go.” I check my watch. It’s time.
We walk along the yacht harbor, and I point at the small white lighthouse at the end of a curved platform ahead. “That’s Faro San Giorgio Maggiore,” I tell her. “A symbol of Venice’s maritime heritage… Subtle and greatly preserved.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Daisy spends a few minutes appreciating the view, the hexagonal lighthouse watching over the lagoon, imposing against a diminutive San Marco skyline, both lighting up at the emerging nightfall.
She holds my hand, and suddenly I can’t focus on any other beauty in the world because the contact of her palm on mine is the most wonderful thing there is.
We look at each other before resuming our stroll, and I get butterflies in my stomach both from the pleasure of holding her hand as we walk on the island and from the jitters preceding my practice with her as audience.
I’m glad she doesn’t have an urge to fill the silence with meaningless chatter.
We’re saying all we need with our smiles and gestures, and I use the quietness to get into a focused state of mind.
After a few minutes of a delightful walk, we turn and enter a building to access an auditorium. I stop at the door with a key in my hand.
“Your palm is sweaty,” she points out, giving my hand a little squeeze. I turn to her before unlocking the door.
“I’d forgotten how dreadful this can be.” My insides twist and turn, more anxious by the second. Can I really do this? What if I’m wrong and don’t remember anything, and my fingers fail me, and I realize I left that part of myself behind for good three years ago?”
Daisy hugs me, and I sink my face into her hair with gratitude.
“You love this, and that’s why you used to do it,” her comforting voice says next to my ear. “Remember that.”
I’m so happy she’s here with me. I don’t think I would have been able to face this alone.
I let go of her, nodding, then open the door.
We step into a small, beautiful auditorium and walk down the central aisle toward the stage.
The wall behind the stage is made of glass, stretching to the sides so the audience has a stunning, uninterrupted view of the canal outside and the charming old buildings of the main island in the distance.
The sun is almost finishing its descent on the horizon, making the scenery even more breathtaking.
“Wow,” Daisy says, approaching the big glass wall. “This place is amazing. Are you going to perform for more people?” She looks back at the empty seats.
I climb up to the stage and spend a moment looking at the view. “No, only you. My contact let me use the venue to practice for half an hour.”
Daisy joins me and puts her hand in mine. “I’m so lucky to be the only guest.”
I interlace our fingers. “But you make a harder audience than a hundred people.”
She laughs. “Why? I want you to be relaxed with me.”
“How, when I’m trying to impress you?”
She rests her head on my shoulder and hugs my arm. “You shouldn’t feel that way. I’m not here to be impressed. I’m here to support you.”
I look at her sweet face, and my heart skips a beat, then melts.
“Besides, I know nothing about music or violins,” she continues. “You play one note, and I’ll be amazed.”
I laugh, and we spend an entire minute watching the day fade into dusk. The sky turns a rich cobalt blue, my favorite color—the mild, mystic darkness that introduces the night—and I move to take my violin case off my back. I better start before I get too nervous.
Daisy understands the cue and finds a seat in the first row. I keep my eyes off her to focus on myself and my instrument. I should simply pretend she isn’t here, just like I must pretend I’m alone in the audition room.
Thirty minutes of practice…after three years away from my instrument. It’s far from enough, but it’s a start. This is less about the audition and more about me discovering what I can still do.