17. Victoria #2
“Now I know.” His eyes held mine, unflinching.
“I know exactly who I became. I know every choice I made that led us here. And I can’t unknow it.
I carry it with me every day, this awareness of how badly I failed you.
It would be easier if I could forget, if I could pretend I didn’t understand.
But I do understand. And that understanding is what’s going to keep me from becoming that man again. ”
Somewhere below us, fireworks exploded.
A wedding party, maybe. Some celebration we weren’t part of, some joy we were witnessing from a distance. Light burst over the railing, over his face, over mine. White and gold and pink, reflecting in his eyes, painting shadows across his cheeks.
I kissed him anyway.
Through the noise, through the light, through all the reasons I had been telling myself to wait.
I kissed him harder than I had at the aquarium, with all the desperation and longing I had been holding back for months.
My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.
His hands found my waist, gripping tight, like he was afraid I might disappear if he let go.
The fireworks kept exploding, filling the sky with color, and I didn’t care.
I didn’t care about the ruined dinner or the flour on our clothes or the fact that we were standing on a terrace that cost more per night than most people’s rent.
I cared about this moment, this man, the way it felt to want someone again after so long of going without.
His mouth was warm and desperate against mine. He kissed me like I was oxygen, like I was the only thing keeping him alive. His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer, and I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, matching the rhythm of my own.
I stopped it before it became more.
Pulled back, gasping for air, my forehead resting against his.
“I’m not ready.” The words came out ragged, honest.
“I know.” His voice was just as ragged, his breath coming fast and uneven. “I know, Victoria.”
“I want to be. I want to just fall into this and forget everything that happened and pretend we can go back to who we were. But I can’t. I can’t pretend, and I can’t forget, and I need more time to trust that this is real.”
“The man from the honeymoon isn’t coming back.”
I pulled back further, confused by the statement. “What do you mean?”
“That man thought loving you was a feeling.” His eyes held mine, steady and certain.
“Something that just happened, something I couldn’t help.
He thought that because he felt love, that was enough.
That feeling it meant he was doing it.” He shook his head slowly.
“This man knows better. This man knows that love is a job you show up for. Every day. Even when it’s hard.
Even when you don’t feel like it. Even when there are a thousand other things demanding your attention. ”
Something shifted in my chest, some wall I had been building against hope.
“So who comes back, then? If not the man from the honeymoon?”
“Someone better, hopefully.” His mouth curved into something that was almost a smile. “Someone who knows what he almost lost. Someone who will spend the rest of his life proving he deserves what he’s asking for.”
***
I stayed on the terrace with him until the fireworks ended.
We didn’t kiss again. Just sat together on the outdoor sofa, our shoulders touching, looking out at the city lights.
The ruined carbonara congealed in its pan on the counter, forgotten.
We ordered room service eventually, when our stomachs started growling too loudly to ignore, and we ate it on the floor with our backs against the sofa, just like we used to when we were young and couldn’t afford furniture.
I told him about work, about the project that had been driving me crazy all week.
He told me about therapy, about the things he was learning to recognize in himself, the patterns he was trying to break.
We talked about Daniela, about how grateful I was to have her, how lost I would have been without somewhere to go when I left.
He talked about Gabriel, about trying to rebuild that relationship too, about how strange it was to realize that the walls he had built against me had also kept out everyone else.
Around midnight, I stood to leave.
My body was tired, but my mind was buzzing, processing everything that had happened. The itinerary. The notes. The laughter. The kiss that I had stopped before it could become something more.
He walked me to the door, his hand finding mine as we crossed the suite. His fingers interlaced with mine, warm and familiar.
“The envelope,” I said, stopping in the doorway. “The one you gave me at the aquarium.”
He went still, his hand tightening around mine.
“What’s in it?”
He was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was careful.
“Something I should have given you a long time ago.” He opened the door for me, stepping back so I could pass through.
“Don’t open it until you’re ready. Until you want to know everything.
It’s not... it’s not easy. What’s in there.
But it’s true. And I think you deserve to have it. ”
I stepped into the hallway, then turned for one last look.
He was standing in the doorway, watching me with an expression that made my chest ache. Like I was the skyline he had been describing. Like I was the only thing worth looking at in a city full of lights.
“Thank you,” I said. “For tonight. For the itinerary. For trying, even though you wrecked the carbonara so badly I think it might actually be toxic.”
He laughed, a real laugh, the sound of it following me down the hallway. “Next time I’ll order ahead and just pretend I cooked.”
“I would know the difference.”
“I know you would.” His voice softened. “You always knew the difference. Even when I was pretending everything was fine.”
I almost didn’t get in the elevator.
Almost turned around, walked back, let whatever was going to happen happen. The pull toward him was so strong it felt physical, a gravity I had been fighting against for months. But I wasn’t ready. Not yet. And pretending I was would only hurt both of us in the end.
I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby.
The doors began to close.
Through the narrowing gap, I could see him still standing in the doorway, watching me go. His hand lifted in a small wave, and I saw his lips move, forming words I couldn’t hear through the closing doors.
The elevator began its descent.
I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes, and whispered his name into the silence.