Chapter 46 #2
We leave together, walking out into the chilly night air.
Office lights glow in the distance like jewels in an inky night sky.
We pass a small courtyard just off the street, tucked between the buildings, and catch a glimpse of stone walls, cobbled streets, and a fountain trickling quietly under dimly lit lamps.
Elizabeth veers toward it and I follow.
“This reminds me of Dubrovnik,” she says, her face lighting up.
Dubrovnik.
Something inside me loosens.
My insides start to fizz, as a buried memory slowly comes to life.
Back then, when we found each other, when everything felt easy, before everything got so complicated.
When I loved being with her. We had some good times in that city; wandering those ancient streets together, sitting in cafés.
Elizabeth taking endless photos of us. I suddenly want to see them again.
She leans against the low wall, looking out over the small square. “Being here makes me forget we’re in New York,” she murmurs. “It feels like we’re back in Dubrovnik.” She's smiling, happiness oozing from her face. She seems to have such fond memories of that trip.
My pulse starts to race. “You want to go back?”
Her eyes, large and shiny, stare at me. “Commercial or private?”
She seems suddenly happier and effervescent. And she's talking about flights. Not dismissing.
“Are you serious?” I ask, then in the same breath I tell myself that I’m a fool and she’s just mocking me.
“No.”
My heart drops, and my pulse stutters.
“But … maybe also … yes,” she says, softly, playfully.
I can’t tell if she’s still messing with my heart, but it’s enough for my spirits to lift. “Is it … something you’d like to do? Go back?”
She fingers the strap of her handbag, like she's considering it. “I don’t know, Matteo. I’m just throwing things out there.”
Throwing things out. When she could have so easily just gone home.
I inhale a long steadying breath. “We could do it after the surgery,” I offer, watching her reaction carefully.
She frowns, and I worry that I’ve said too much. “Maybe after the surgery, when you’ve recovered enough to travel,” she answers.
I step back in shock and elation. My heart, drunk with hope, slams against my ribs.
“After the surgery?” I can't believe my ears. She knows I have the surgery in a few weeks’ time because I had to let everyone know in a team meeting.
She gets up from the wall and steps over to the lamppost, curling her arm around it and gaping around the courtyard, as if she’s soaking up the Dubrovnik vibes. “I think it would make sense for us to go then.”
For us to go then.
I would jump, physically jump up in the air for joy in this moment, not caring how uncool it would look.
But I need to stay calm. “I-I’ll be out of action for a while.” My heart rate is rocketing.
“I’ll take care of you.” She blinks a few times, as if the words came out too fast, before she could stop them.
“You’ll take care of me?”
“I could be your nurse.”
A smile pulls at my mouth. “Will you wear a nurse’s outfit?”
She rolls her eyes.
Idiot. Why did I have to go and say something so stupid?
“Don’t push it, Matteo …”
Fuck.
Fuck.
If she's willing to do that it means ... it means we have a chance. I have a chance to put things right.
I get to have my girl back.
I put my hands in the back pockets of my jeans, so that I don't cup her face or touch her or make moves to kiss her, because that's all I can think about.
“I won’t push it,” I promise, “but in the plane, there’s two private suites, luxury bathrooms, a cocktail bar—”
And then, because she hasn’t told me to “shut up,” because she hasn’t said “No,” I push the boundaries. “Mile high club?” I add, mischievously.
Her lips twitch. “For you, maybe.”
Maybe?
Jesus.
Before I know it, our hands are reaching for one another, brushing together lightly. The touch makes every cell in my body spark, and I feel more alive than I have in weeks.
“Matteo,” she murmurs, like a warning, when she catches me gawking at her lips. “Don’t rush it.”
“I know. I get it. Don’t rush it.”
Slowing down will be impossible but she’s given me hope.
“You could … kiss me,” she suggests, provocatively, as she leans against the lamp post, her lips parted, her eyes glistening under the soft light.
I don’t wait for her to say it twice. I lean in and I kiss her, and it’s soft and gentle.
No urgency. No desperation. It’s me being careful, me savoring, not pushing boundaries.
She pulls back, eyes on mine, and then she kisses me.
It’s softer and deeper, like we’re starting to learn about one another, and savor the touch and feel of each other all over again.
Her forehead rests against my chin. “This doesn’t fix everything,” she says. “I can’t promise anything.” She stares up at me.
“I understand.”
“I’m still angry.”
I nod. “I know.”
She lets out a small, shaky breath. “I don’t trust you the way I did before.”
I cup her face gently, thumb skating over her skin, grateful that I can do this again. “My bad. I fucked up, and I have to pay the price.”
“But …” she pauses, looking up at the sky for a moment, like she's thinking carefully about what she’s going to say. “I want to try.” Her gaze lands on me, and her words are enough to cause an explosion inside my chest.
These words are a lifeline. They're what I've been wanting to hear. They are everything.
“Thank you,” I say, before lowering my mouth to hers, and losing myself in another long and tender kiss.