Chapter Eleven #3
“I want to move to Venice, Lorenzo, I really do,” I confess in a whisper.
His gaze is so intense, so full of expectation, I force myself to hold it.
As I’d predicted, his eyes are dangerously hopeful after hearing my revelation.
“I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid you’d drop your plans to be with me.
” My lips stretch in a sad smile. “I mean, you considered not going to the audition without even knowing I’ve been thinking about that, just to spend a few more days with me, so—”
“Do it, Daisy.” He holds my hand. “Not for me. For yourself. It’s your heart calling…”
I shake my head, sniffing. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.
Now you’ll be waiting for it to happen, unable to commit to your new career because you’ll be hoping for the day I return.
” I straighten my back and pull my hand away.
“This might not happen, okay? I might go back to LA and find myself unable to pass on the opportunity to own La Veneziana. I might realize Venice was an ideal, not an actual possibility, when I sit down and weigh the pros and cons of immigrating as a business owner. Heck, I might be hopeless at Italian when I start learning it.” I smile a little, but he doesn’t follow, so my face falls serious again, and I look down to avoid his eyes.
I can’t stand the glimmer of desolation in them.
“When I cool down and settle back home, I might realize it was all excitement. Not a dream, but an illusion.”
A deep silence engulfs us. I want to regret my words, but they needed to be said. Hopes and sweet promises won’t help us move forward and do what we must do.
“That’s why I want to help you,” he says, his voice so low it’s almost soundless.
I shake my head and look up, fighting gravity so the new tears that are coming stay inside my eyes. “This is not a project you should be involved in, Lorenzo.”
The silence is even heavier this time because he knows what I mean. It’s not his fault that the friends-to-lovers project failed. But he played a part in it nonetheless. And I can’t let him cloud my rationality when it comes to this.
Venice and Lorenzo helped me find myself. Now I need to go home and see how the new me fits into my old life. It’s time to stop caring what everyone—Dad, Jeremy, Nick, Lorenzo—wants and expects from me.
Especially Lorenzo. I can’t be in a long-distance relationship with him. I would go mad with longing. I would make rash decisions just to be with him. And he would too. That’s what a passion as powerful as ours does.
“You should focus on your music career, Lorenzo, and I should focus on my restaurant, wherever it may be.” I look at him, but his eyes are unfocused, his brows knitted as he struggles with his emotions.
I don’t know what else to say if I can’t give him promises. Sorry? Not I love you , for sure. That would only make things harder—even though I want to say it because it’s the only truth I know.
He starts to get up. Seeing him look for his clothes, about to exit my room— my life —makes me move to the edge of the mattress and say, “Don’t you agree we need to give each other a little space so we can pursue our ambitions?
But then…” I pause, uncertain. He turns around slowly with his shirt in hand.
Our eyes meet, and more emotion dampens mine.
“But it doesn’t have to be the end, right?
Maybe…” I swallow. This is so goddamn hard. “Maybe the stars will align someday?”
He blinks at me, then nods, to my relief. After tugging his arms into his shirt, he walks toward me with it still open. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, and he hunches down to bring my face up. The gentle touch of his fingers on my chin makes me shiver, sick with longing already.
“You have my number. You can always text me.” I can see in his tense muscles how much he’s containing himself. I stand up so he doesn’t have to bend forward, and as I’m closing his buttons, he says, “And Daisy… I will wait for you.”
I look up to meet his eyes, my fingers freezing then sliding down his chest and stopping at his now covered abdomen. I want to tell him he shouldn’t wait for me, but I’m speechless.
Then he kisses me, and oh —I come apart.
His tongue sneaks into my mouth, and his lips consume mine with ardor, our hands gripping each other’s flesh with heedless hunger…
Until he steps back, ending the kiss before it leads us to the bed.
My arms fall hopelessly at my sides, and I gasp for breath. He is the air I need, and he’s leaving…
I’m leaving…
“I’ll be back from Milano on Thursday evening,” he says.
So this is not our last kiss. “I’ll still be here. I go to the airport on Friday at 7:00 a.m.”
He nods, looking at me like someone who can’t trust his self-control. Then he takes another step back and reaches for his pants on the floor. “I’ll come by to tell you how it went, then,” he says.
“Yes, please do that,” I say, still wild with passion, watching as he zips up his pants. Oh God, I don’t want him to go…
He gives me a final kiss. Before I can even put my arms around him, he steps away and takes his shoes and his violin. And then the door is closing.
And I’m alone.
Sobbing.
* * *
The sky is gray the whole of Wednesday, mirroring my mood.
I spend the day alone, processing my feelings as I walk around the rainy streets, getting lost and eating good food.
Jeremy is giving me space to enjoy my affair with Lorenzo, and I let him believe that’s what I’m doing.
We’ll soon be stuck on a plane together, so I’ll have plenty of time to tell him everything.
I check my phone all the time, but Lorenzo doesn’t text me to say how he’s doing, if it’s weird to be in Milan again, if he had a pleasant train ride, if his friend is making him feel welcome, if he has gotten to practice at all, if he’s nervous…
Tomorrow evening, I’ll see him for the last time. The thought makes an uncomfortable heat that resembles panic rise in my chest.
On Thursday, the weather is much better, and I spend the entire day out again.
I even take a boat to Murano and, for a moment, forget about my blues and instead focus on the sky, the colorful boats and houses, and the beautiful vases made of artisanal glass.
There’s something calm about the island that makes me feel at peace with myself, even in complete solitude, which never happens back home.
When I return to the main island, I walk to La Caorlina, the restaurant I dined at with Lorenzo. I sit nearby and watch it from the outside for what feels like hours. I imagine it with a different name, different visual identity, different decor, different menu, different owner…
I open my purse and retrieve the business card Chef Carlo Gravano gave me when I was here last time. After looking at it for a few seconds, biting my thumb nervously, I call him.
He answers on the third ring. I tell him who it is, and he immediately remembers me.
“Are you still selling?” I get straight to the point because people like him are too busy for chit-chat.
“Yes. Do you want to buy it?”
I smile. “ Should I buy it?”
His quiet laugh tells me he has nothing to hide, but also nothing to share in that matter. “I’m afraid that’s something only you can answer. But if you have any other questions that might help you figure that out, just ask.”
My skin tingles with the kind of jitteriness only an impulse decision can give you. “Do you have time to talk today?”
“Not today, I’m sorry. When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning…” I bite my lip, disappointed, mostly at myself for waiting until the last day to do this.
“Call me when you get home, then, okay?”
I look at the empty space next to where I’m sitting. Dad is nodding proudly at me, so I smile and say, “Okay.”
* * *
When someone knocks at my door that evening, my heart nearly explodes. Not Jeremy, please…
“Lorenzo,” I breathe out as I take in his figure—handsome as always, though his level of elegance is below the usual.
His pants are stained with something that could be juice or ketchup, he is wearing a plain black T-shirt, and his thick hair isn’t perfectly styled with pomade.
His violin case is on his back, and he looks really tired.
“How was it?” I ask, my body shaking with a million emotions.
“I did well.” He shrugs. “It’s funny how you nail challenging situations when you don’t give a fuck anymore.”
My eyebrows rise, and I wait for an explanation. He stares intensely at me, and we both realize no elaboration is needed. He doesn’t give a fuck about Milan or that orchestra job because he can only think about me and that I’m leaving in the morning.
“I’m happy to hear you did well,” I say, because it’s true. I love that he found the part of himself he had lost. One day, he will be happy for it too. Just not tonight.
“Milano is…overrated,” he says, and we both smile a little.
“Did you have time to see your grandma?” I ask, and he nods.
“Yeah, a short visit.”
“That’s good.”
There’s silence as we face each other on the threshold, me holding the door open, Lorenzo peering at the suitcases on the bed, only half filled.
“Can I take a picture of you?” I ask on a whim. “Just so, you know…” I don’t have to say it.
“Sure.” He walks into the room, closing the door behind him, and I take a photo of Lorenzo to keep in my phone as proof that what I lived here was real.
“Can I have a picture with you too?” he asks, taking his phone out of his pocket.
I say yes, of course, and we bring our faces together for a selfie.
It’s a bit awkward, but he brings his hand to my shoulder, and suddenly I’m feeling lighter, closer to him.
We turn to each other, he touches my hair, and when I blink again, Lorenzo’s breath is all over me, his hands are around my waist, and I’m pulling him toward me.
He licks and sucks my lips with such craving, I have no strength, no power to control my lust. It comes out of the box I’ve packed it in, making me cling to him and to our dance of love and passion and hands and tongues until I’m breathless and burning between my legs.
“Lorenzo…” I moan against his lips.
“Let me drop you off tomorrow,” he says, and I groan again when his lips teasingly brush the skin under my chin. “Or I could dash through the airport and stop you from getting on the plane like in the rom-com movies you like.”
I laugh. “No, God, no!” It’s tempting, but it’s not through a grand romantic gesture that I’ll get my happy ending. “We say goodbye now.”
His smirk fades, and he stares into my eyes, his hands framing my face. “Are you sure?”
I nod, moving his fingers to my mouth so I can kiss every sore fingertip. “Time will make it easier, okay?” I mean that about every pain he— we —will go through in the next few months.
We have to let time work its magic, and I think he understands that.
After a few more caresses, he gives me one last passionate kiss and whispers, “Ciao, Daisy.”
The ground disappears beneath my feet when his body detaches from mine, but I don’t fall.
Because I know it’s see you later , not goodbye .