Chapter Twenty Two #3
Sutton lets out a little huff, the girl power moment apparently passed.
“You just missed him. He told me to go back to London, so I am.” She laughs, but it sounds manic.
“Thank god. I hate it here. I’m glad I won’t have a reason to come here again.
” She’s trying to act casual, but her shoulders are scrunched up nearly to her ears.
“Benito’s definitely not going back with you, then?” I ask.
Sutton stands and sets her suitcase upright, pulling the handle out. “No. He’s not.”
I suppress a smile but I’m glad to know that at the very least, Benito’s not returning to London. “Well, it was. . . nice to meet you,” I say.
“I’ll be in touch,” she says with a nod, brushing past me to roll her suitcase out of the room.
“You will?”
Sutton turns back around, her shoulders falling. “Right, with Anita as mayor, I suppose there will be no development deal and no need to use your face for an ad campaign.” She uses the elastic around her wrist to tie her hair back into a ponytail. “Perfect.”
“Sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure I mean it. “It’s just, it wasn’t really something I wanted to do, but I was willing to make the trade for the sake of—”
She puts her hand up to cut me off. “It’s fine. I get it. I’d do the exact same thing.”
I feel another twinge of empathy for Sutton. She’s ambitious, smart, a go-getter. I may not agree with her ethics, but I appreciate her drive. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you need me to be successful. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re running Raffaello’s company someday.”
Sutton’s face softens for a moment, but she puts her hand back on her suitcase handle and starts to roll her way out. “Then I guess we finally agree on something.”
She leaves and I’m back to square one on my hunt for Benito. I leave the Farentinos’ house and look for him outside on the street.
He’s nowhere.
I follow the street down toward the center of town.
Despite the fact that a sizeable amount of La Musa’s population is at the party I just left, there’s still a lot of people out enjoying the warm summer night.
I check the patio at Bar Musa in case he decided he needed a stronger drink than the wine his mother was serving, but he’s not there.
I head toward the town’s center and spot a man sitting on the steps of the duomo. He’s rolling up the sleeves of his shirt—it’s Benito.
I walk over to him, though now that I’ve found him, I can’t remember why it was so urgent. “Hey,” I say.
He looks up at me. He smiles. “Hey.”
“Can I. . .?” I gesture toward the spot next to him on the steps.
“Please.”
The sunset’s only just forming, but it looks to be spectacular with orange and purple rays casting across the sky, reflecting the brilliance of the town. “I love it here,” I say.
Benito laughs. “Good, considering all you’ve been through.”
“When I got here, I didn’t think it was possible to feel anything other than anger and grief for what I thought my life should be like.
Now, I’m excited for the future again, but I’m also so happy to live in the present.
It’s changed my perspective on how to live my life.
” I roll my head back, embarrassed. “Oh my god. I sound like one of those women in all those movies about Italy.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” he asks.
I look at him. He’s so stunning, especially now with the light illuminating him. “It’s not. It’s very much not.”
We sit silently for a moment. Two little kids skip across the piazza, gelato dripping down from their cones to their elbows while their parents run after them. A group of friends toast at the Bar Musa patio, their wine glasses clinking.
I turn to Benito. He rests his hand on top of mine. “You’re going back, aren’t you?”
Tears well in my eyes. I wasn’t expecting to feel so emotional about this.
“I am,” I say. “I have to finish what I started.” I can’t work for Levi, obviously, but the texts and my loss can’t be the end of it for me.
I have to try again, even if I fail. Even if I fail so horribly, I have to relive the same embarrassment over again.
Making my mark on the world doesn’t have to be a smooth path.
A single tear falls down my cheek and Benito wipes it away, his own eyes starting to well. “Good,” he says. “I can’t wait to see what you do.”
I take his hand with both of mine. “I so badly wanted to be the person that stayed here with you. You have to know that. But I’m just not.”
“I know,” he says, his voice breaking at the ends of his words.
He wraps me into a hug, and I latch on to his sturdy shoulders, burying my face into his chest. I try to memorize the feeling of him against me, the smell of his cologne, his breath on the back of my neck.
We unwind ourselves and he brushes the remaining tears off my face. “Let me know where you end up?” I ask. He nods. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again someday.”
“Yeah,” Benito says. “That would be nice.”
“In bocca al lupo,” I say, forcing a smile out despite the tears.
He does the same. “In bocca al lupo, Izzy.”
I’m at peace as I make my way to the train station the next morning, the light barely risen above the horizon.
Despite the early hour, it’s a beautiful midsummer morning.
I’m sad to leave, even though I know it’s right.
I’m sad to leave Benito, even though I know I can’t stay here.
Maybe that’s the price of wanting what I want.
Maybe I’m not meant to have a happy love life and professional success. And maybe that’s ok.
When I make it down the hillside to the station, the clock tower dings at the top of the hour.
I still have a few minutes before the train is due.
The countryside on the other side of the tracks is aglow with the early-dawn light, and I soak in these last precious moments of Umbria, taking one last deep breath of fresh Italian air.
I open Instagram on my phone. There’s a barrage of messages and notifications but I ignore them, instead clicking Go Live.
My face pops up on the screen in front of me, perfectly lit and shining.
“Hi, everyone,” I say, watching as the viewership count slowly ticks upward. Fifty viewers, then 100, then quickly climbing into the thousands. “It’s been a minute, I know.”
I pan the camera around me. “I wanted to show you all this beautiful place I’ve been calling home for the past few months. As I’m sure you’ve heard, this is La Musa. It’s been the perfect place for me to regroup and reset.”
A flurry of red hearts lights up the corner of the screen.
“I’ve completely fallen in love here.” My heart skips a little.
I meant the place, but in saying the words aloud I realize that’s not really what I meant.
“I know, I know. You’re probably sick of hearing about my love life, or lack thereof, but it’s true.
I’ve fallen in love with an. . . amazing person.
” Me two months ago would be mortified to know I’m saying this all publicly, and that I am willingly allowing my personal life to be part of the cultural conversation again, but fuck it.
I love Benito. I am in love with Benito.
“After. . . everything that happened with my leaked texts, with the scandal that came from it, I felt so embarrassed to be in love, especially with someone who clearly didn’t love me back.
I thought the exposure of those texts made me look weak.
That they made me look like a kid with a crush, like I didn’t care about my work as much as I cared about getting a text back from the boy I liked. But that’s bullshit.”
The wind whips my hair into my face, and I brush it back behind my ears.
“Someone really wise recently said to me ‘It’s brave to love someone when you don’t know if they love you back.
’” I smile at the memory. Benito and his bright eyes.
“Love makes me strong. Loving someone when I don’t know if they love me back requires strength; it requires resilience.
I know that because that’s how I feel about all of you.
“I fought for my constituents, for Los Angeles, for California, for the world, because I love it. Even when I didn’t know if you all loved me back, I still fought for you because I love you.
I love my city, I love my community, I love my fellow people, and that didn’t go away just because the world decided not to love me anymore. ”
I stand up a little straighter. “And that’s why I’m coming back.
I’m not done yet. You have not heard the last from Izzy Rhodes.
I don’t know what’s next for me, but I know I want to continue to work for the people and the place that I love so much.
Because that’s what you do when you love someone. You fight for them.”
This entire video will definitely be headline news by the time the morning shows air, but good. It should. Let them know that I’m back and this time, I’m not going anywhere.
“Izzy!” I hear a commotion from the other side of the platform, followed by heavy steps running toward me. I turn to see a man in a blue button-down, linen pants, and a sleepy grin now a few feet away from me on the platform.
Benito.
His presence catches me off guard. I thought we left things on a perfect albeit bittersweet note. I rest my phone on top of my suitcase, failing to turn the video off, and watch as he jogs to close the distance between us. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
He’s out of breath but wide-eyed, a look of determination on his face. “You said I deserve a chance to figure out where my heart truly lies.” I nod. He runs his hand through his hair, which makes my heart twist. “What if it’s right here?”
“In La Musa?” I ask. Benito spending the rest of his life here—I can picture it. Turning old and gray amidst the unchanging view. I feel a strong pulse of longing that I won’t be here with him to witness it.
“No.” He shakes his head. He takes a step closer to me, winding his hands into my hair and pressing his forehead to mine. “Right here.”
It feels good, too good to be near him again. My body already aches knowing it won’t last. “I can’t stay here,” I say, my heart tearing apart. If he begged me to stay, I’d be tempted, but I can’t. I know I can’t.
“I know,” he says. “But I can go anywhere. I want to be wherever you are, because I love you, Izzy.” I try to feel the earth under my feet, digging my thumbnail into my finger to make sure I’m not dreaming.
He sweeps my hair out of my face. “I am so in love with you. And I can’t even begin to think of coming up with my own dreams without being there to bear witness to yours.
” Not bothering to wait for my response, he closes the last gasps of air between us, pressing his lips to mine.
His kiss is soft and light and I’m only moderately aware that I’m still broadcasting all of this live.
I pull away, but only enough to whisper back, “I love you too.”
He grins. “I need time to sort out the mess with my family, to figure out a job, how to move to be with you, how to—”
“Build a life in Los Angeles with me?” I ask.
There are logistics, there will be a media storm to contend with once I get home, but whatever. Benito loves me, and he wants to be part of my dream. If people want to judge me for that, then so be it.
His grin widens. “Maybe I’ll work at a flower shop or something.”