20. Chiara #3
“I’ve been thinking about Lyon.” I pull back just enough to see his face, my hands still resting on his chest. “About what I left behind when I came here.”
“Your blends?” He remembers how much the work mattered, and this time I don’t have to convince him it belongs in the conversation about our future. “Have you decided what you’d like to start with?”
“The tea, first.” I picture my recipe notebook at the cottage. “And I want to go back to Lyon.”
The words come out steadier than I feel.
“Not permanently. But I had something real there, Lorenzo. Clients who trusted me. Products I was proud of. A greenhouse full of plants I knew by name.” I take a breath.
“I want to build that again. Here, partially, with the land you offered. But also there. I want both.”
“I want us to make room for both.” He frees the edge of my coat where it has caught beneath his. “The plot here was never meant to keep you from going back.”
“I need to know you won’t resent it.” I make myself hold his gaze. “The travel. The time away. The part of my life that has nothing to do with being your wife.”
“I’ll miss you when you’re away.” He lets me hear the part that won’t always be easy. “But I don’t want you giving up work you love because I’d rather have you at dinner. We can plan around both our lives.”
The cold is starting to seep through my coat, and I shiver despite myself. I stand, and Lorenzo rises with me. We’ve both spent enough time on the cold stone.
“Walk with me.” He keeps his pace slow, matching mine. “Tell me more about Lyon.”
“What do you want to know?” We start down the path between the dormant vines, the last light fading from the sky.
“What it looks like through your eyes.” He glances at me sideways. “You’ve spent two years learning my home. I’d like you to show me the places you miss.”
“I’d be working for part of the trip.” I imagine taking him through streets I know, then leaving him to find his own way while I meet an old supplier. The idea appeals to me. “You might have to entertain yourself.”
“I can manage a few hours.” He chooses the wider path toward the courtyard so we can walk beside each other. “Then you can show me where you used to go after work.”
I want that day. I want to finish work and find him waiting to hear about it, somewhere I can choose the restaurant without asking for directions. I’ve spent so much time trying to belong here. I’d like him to enjoy being a guest in my city.
“I’d like that.” I lean into his shoulder as we walk. “Fair warning, though. I’m going to make you try things you’ve never heard of.”
“Should I be worried?” He has to step around a puddle to keep walking close to me. I pretend to consider the question while he catches up.
“Possibly.” I remember taking a sample from a market stall and regretting how enthusiastically I had asked for it. “There’s a market near my old apartment that sells cheese so pungent it could clear a room. I’m absolutely making you try it.”
“I’ll prepare myself mentally.” His arm comes around my shoulders, pulling me closer against the cold. “What are you going to call it? The business.”
“Delacroix Botanicals.” I’ve been turning the name over in my mind for months, never quite letting myself commit to it. “I want to put my own name on the work.”
“Delacroix Botanicals.” He repeats it as we reach the courtyard, and I like hearing it somewhere outside my own thoughts. “I like it.”
“That’s the idea.” I keep walking toward the main house instead of the place I parked my car yesterday. “I want to build it here, Lorenzo. And I want to do it properly.”
“And I get to be the husband who brags about you to everyone who’ll listen.” He stops at the door, turning to face me. “That’s the deal, right? You do the work you care about, and I get to be insufferably proud.”
“That’s the deal.” I rise on my toes and kiss him, brief but certain. “Try not to be too insufferable.”
“No promises.” He opens the door, and warmth spills out into the cold evening air. “Come inside. Dinner will be ready soon.”
I step into the house and take off my coat. He hangs his beside mine, then reaches back to free the sleeve I’ve caught on the hook. There will be mornings when we need both coats, going in different directions. I’m looking forward to coming home afterward.
“I’ll start the music.” Lorenzo leaves me at the foot of the stairs, already reaching for the selection I agreed to hear over dinner.
“I’ll be down in a moment.” I pause at the bottom of the stairs. “I have something I need to do first.”
“Anything I can help with?” He stops on his way to the kitchen, giving me time to answer.
“No.” I kiss him briefly. “This one’s mine.”
I climb the stairs to our bedroom and close the door behind me. The printed pages are still on the desk where I left them, face-down beneath the lamp. I pick them up and look at the first page, the formal language of a dissolution that never happened.
I sit at the desk and open my email on the phone. The message is short. I’ve decided not to proceed with the divorce. Please close the matter.
I hit send.
Then I pick up the pages and tear them in half, letting the pieces fall into the bin beside the desk. I don’t keep a corner or fold a page away in case I change my mind.
Downstairs, the music is still playing. Lorenzo’s choice, the one I promised to listen to.
I leave the torn pages in the bin and go to find my husband.