Chapter 30 - Zalea | Varazze
THIRTY
ZALEA | VARAZZE
I feel guilty leaving the boys in Florence this morning for my weekend trip to Varazze. Gabriel looks like he’s trying his best to look happy, but I can tell he’s not thrilled that I’m leaving, and probably even more annoyed that he’s stuck with my brother while I’m gone.
Zale, on the other hand, won’t stop grumbling about how he flew all the way here to see me, only for me to insist on leaving him with Gabriel.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to just drive you there?” Gabriel asks again.
It’s tempting, but I shake my head. “I’ll be fine, Gabriel. You don’t need to worry about me.”
He smiles, leans over the counter, and presses a kiss to my lips. Zale immediately begins to gag beside us and I pull back, laughing, while Gabriel shoots him an annoyed look.
“Look. I know this is your place and all, but please try to control yourselves when it comes to getting all kissy-touchy in front of me.”
“Nah,” Gabriel says, grinning as he bends forward to steal another kiss. “I think I’ll do what I want.”
This past week with both of them has been…
an experience. They bicker like an old married couple when they think I’m not listening, and in front of me, they act like everything is mostly fine.
Maybe some time without me will help them reconcile, or at least figure out how to survive a few days together without killing each other.
“I better get going,” I say, standing up and grabbing my bag.
“At least let me walk you to the car,” Gabriel insists, giving me those impossible puppy-dog eyes.
“Sure,” I laugh.
He takes my bag from me and walks through the front door, waiting for me in the hallway while I say bye to Zale.
“You’ll still be here when I get back, right?” I ask, roughing up his hair.
He swats my hand away. “Yeah, as long as I don’t kill your boyfriend first.”
“Come on, Zale,” I say quietly. “He’s not the same person that he was.”
He scoffs. “Then I’m sure he won’t have a hard time convincing me of that while you’re gone.”
When he looks up, he must see the worry in my expression because he lets out a deep sigh. “Don’t worry about us, Z. We’ll be fine.” He squeezes my hand before letting me go.
I meet Gabriel in the hallway, and we ride the elevator down hand in hand. He’s quiet, holding me close the whole way, and by the time he loads my bag into the car and hands over the keys, he looks deflated.
“Why do you look so sad?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“I’d rather be spending this weekend with you than with your brother,” he mutters, and I have to bite back a laugh at the uncharacteristic whine in his voice.
“If we’re going to have children together one day, I need you and my brother to get along,” I say, trying to sound serious. “We’re all going to be a family.”
“Your brother hates me, baby,” he says, smiling sadly.
I press a quick peck to his lips and pull away. “Well, you’ve got a whole weekend alone with him to figure out how to get back on his good side.”
I hop into the driver's seat and start the engine while Gabriel watches me, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking like he might melt right there on the sidewalk. I wave, forcing a smile, and drive off.
He needs this weekend with my brother just as much as I need this one to myself.
After tossing my bag on the bed in my ocean-view hotel room, and texting Gabriel that I arrived in Varazze safely, slip into my swimwear and throw a flowy floral maxi dress over it before walking outside to check out the beach.
The view takes my breath away as I approach the beach.
The water sparkles under the sun, and this place reminds me more of Saltwater Springs than any Italian coast I’ve seen so far.
I’m not surprised to see surfers already out, riding waves that range from three to five meters, and I can’t help but smile at the thrill that stirs in me.
I walk along the beach, sandals in hand, watching the rolling waves.
The drive here gave me a lot of time to think about how surfing has always felt like freedom, but maybe it wasn’t just the waves that I loved.
Maybe it was the person I thought I was when I rode them.
I convinced myself that I was carefree and alive, but I was also running from responsibilities, and from the idea of being anywhere near Gabriel.
I still love surfing—I think I always will—but I’m ready to plant roots, too.
I want mornings filled with laughter and pancakes, healthy dinners that Gabriel and I cook together, nights we fall asleep next to each other sprawled out on the couch with our children snuggled up on our sides.
I want my family around me again. I miss seeing my brother and my parents everyday.
The thought of returning to Saltwater Springs after this year in Italy isn’t something I ever considered.
But why stay in Hawaii if I’m not pursuing professional surfing anymore?
I only moved there for work, and now that it’s done, it makes sense that I return back to that small coastal town Gabriel and I grew up in.
Standing here, in Italy, thousands of miles from the girl I used to be makes me realize that while surfing has always been the loudest part of me, it’s never been the only part. Giovanna must have seen right through me the day I met her.
She didn’t convince me to join the program because she thought I’d become some world-renowned painter.
She convinced me because she saw how tightly wound up I was.
How my life revolved around proving something to myself and everyone around me.
Maybe Giovanna brought me to Florence because she knew I needed to experience a version of myself that wasn’t constantly fighting for first place.
A version that creates without needing applause from the outside world.
Or a version that loves without keeping score.
Surfing may have given me freedom for a few years, but it also gave me pressure.
There were so many expectations to make it big, contracts to keep up with, rankings to fight for.
But Italy has taught me that it doesn’t matter who I’m ranked against. Here, the only thing that matters is whether you let yourself feel the Dolce Vita, as Giovanna put it.
I watch a surfer wipe out and come up laughing and I can’t help but smile. I still love how the ocean feels like home away from home, but for the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel chained to it. I don’t feel like if I step away, I might disappear for good.
I can surf, and I can paint, and I can do anything I want to. I can build a life with Gabriel.
When I go back to Saltwater Springs one day, I don’t want to go back as the girl who was abandoned by him, or the girl who lost a baby, or the girl who left to chase validation. I want to go back as someone who chose her path, and planted roots on purpose.
Maybe Giovanna didn’t just convince me to join an art program, maybe she handed me permission to become more than the version of myself I thought I had to be.
I came to Varazze to prove to myself that I could be alone, that I didn’t need anyone. But I’ve realized that I don’t need to prove anything because wanting Gabriel here doesn’t make me weak, it makes me honest with myself.
So why am I torturing us both when I don’t have to?
I pull my phone out of my bag before I can overthink it and call him. He answers on the first ring.
“Zalea?” His voice is tight, like he’s expecting bad news. “Is everything okay?”
I smile despite myself. “Everything’s fine.”
There’s a pause and I can almost hear him doing his calming breathing exercises.
“Good. Because if something happened—”
“Gabriel.”
“Yeah?”
I watch another surfer cut across the face of a wave fearlessly.
“I know this was supposed to be a solo trip, and I know I made this whole deal about independence and self-discovery the other day and also how I needed space.”
“You did,” he says cautiously.
I laugh softly. “But I don’t need space from you. I want you here.”
“I’ll rent a car,” he says without hesitation.
I blink. “Wait—you don’t have to—”
“I’m already grabbing my keys,” he says, and I can hear him shuffling on the other end. “Text me the hotel address. I’ll be there in a few hours.”
My chest feels full with appreciation. “Are you sure?”
“Zalea.” His voice softens. “Anywhere you go, I go. It’s that simple.”
“I don’t want you to come because you feel obligated though.”
“I’m coming because I don’t want to spend a single night wishing I was where you are.”
I press my free hand to my heart as if that’ll steady its erratic beating.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay,” he echoes.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you more.”
I’m about to hang up when I hear something crash in the background.
“What was that?” I ask.
Gabriel exhales sharply. “Your brother just knocked over a stool.”
“I did not,” Zale’s voice carries through the phone. “It tried to trip me.”
I laugh. “Put me on speaker.”
“I am not putting you on speaker,” Gabriel mutters.
“Z!” Zale shouts, suddenly much closer to the phone, and I suspect he must have snatched it from Gabriel. “Are you coming back already?”
“No,” I say, grinning. “Actually, Gabriel is coming here.”
There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again.
“Oh, absolutely not.” I pull the phone slightly away from my ear as Zale’s voice rises. “I am not staying here alone with your weird European coffee machine.”
“It’s an espresso machine,” Gabriel snaps, further away.
“If he’s going, then I’m going.”
There’s shuffling, like they’re wrestling over the phone and I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“You are not coming,” Gabriel growls.
“I am,” Zale argues. “I came all the way here to see my sister, and I’m not about to get left behind so you two can have your little Italian romance.”
“Zalea,” Gabriel says, voice strained. “Tell him he’s not coming.”
I hesitate because the idea of them being trapped in a car together for three hours is either going to fix everything or end up in disaster…but I’m hopeful everything will work out.
“Gabriel,” I say carefully, “It’s just one night, and we can get him his own room.”
He groans. “I cannot believe you’re siding with him.”
“You’ll survive,” I tease.
“I won’t. He’s such a backseat driver. You have no idea.”
“Well if you didn’t drive like you’re trying to qualify for Formula One all the time, then I wouldn’t have anything to say,” Zale fires back.
“Okay, okay,” I cut in, giggling. “You can both come, but if either of you ruins my peace, I’m sending you both back to Florence.”
“You hear that?” Zale says triumphantly. “I’m invited.”
“You were not invited,” Gabriel mutters. “You forced your way in.”
“Same thing.”
There’s a long exhale on Gabriel’s end of the line.
“Fine,” he finally says. “But if you touch the radio, you’re walking back.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely touching the radio. That’s what passengers are for.”
“Don’t.”
“Watch me,” Zale says in a sing-song voice.
I press my hand over my mouth, smiling so hard my cheeks ache.
“Text me the hotel address,” Gabriel says again, voice softening when he speaks directly to me. “We’ll leave here in ten minutes.”
“Drive safe,” I say, a warm feeling settling in my chest.
“I will.”
I slide my phone back into my bag after texting him the address, and a grin breaks across my face as I walk back to the hotel. I’m done pretending independence means isolation.