Read Between The Lines: Business of Love 6

by Parker, Ali

  I was considering proposing we head back to Europe because I knew he’d never been to Italy before and I truly believed that every soul on earth with a desire to travel deserved to walk the cobblestone streets of Italy, share a kiss at Trevi Fountain, and see the Colosseum with their own eyes. And that was only the tip of the iceberg.

  Yes, it was easy to picture this adventure with him. But for now, I wanted to be fully present in this moment surrounded by his life’s work and a hundred flickering candles.

  “We’re not going to set off any fire alarms in here, are we?” I asked.

  Walker frowned and looked up at the ceiling as if this was just occurring to him. “I don’t know. We’ll find out, I guess, won’t we?”

  Apparently, the risk wasn’t worth putting a stop to our evening.

  Something told me Walker had something else up his sleeve. He had that look about him that suggested there was something else coming.

  Something special.

  I couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

  “How do you feel about going to Europe after Bali?” I asked as I went in for a chocolate-dipped strawberry. “I know it’s backtracking a little bit but I really want to go to Italy with you. And Venice. And we could see Turkey and pop down to Egypt.”

  “I want to go wherever you want to go,” Walker said. “I’m just excited to get out of the States and see more of the world. It’s been a long time since I did any sort of traveling that wasn’t between my galleries and for business reasons.”

  I leaned forward and went in for a second strawberry. “What kind of traveler are you? A meticulous planner? Or more of a ‘go with the flow’ guy? Do you like guided tours or do you prefer to explore things on your own? Do you like museums or hate them? And where do you stand on haggling?”

  Walker hesitated as he considered my questions before answering them in rapid fire. “I only plan things that require planning, like when you want to get into an event or historic site that requires a reservation or appointment. Otherwise, I like to wake up and see where the day takes me. I loathe guided tours but will do them occasionally—and for the right situation. There is a time and place for museums. If we go to Egypt, we will absolutely have to go to the Cairo Museum. And I don’t haggle. The price is the price and I don’t care if they’re ripping me off. I have enough money to go around.”

  I sat up straight. “I approve.”

  “What would have happened if you didn’t?”

  “I might have had to ask Grace to take your place.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I snickered. “You’re irreplaceable Walker. Don’t fret.”

  “I don’t fret.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Walker topped off our glasses of champagne, popped another sandwich in his mouth, and rose smoothly from the table to hold out his hand to me.

  I looked down at his outstretched hand and up at him.

  He curled his fingers in a beckoning motion. “Come with me. I have another surprise for you.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  He nodded expectantly at his own hand. “Take it.”

  Smiling, I put my hand in his. He guided me up from the table and led me across the glossy gallery floors. The reflection of candle flames made parts of the floor look like it was on fire. He led me to the black curtain hanging in front of a piece from his new collection.

  “I painted something for you,” he said. “Or rather, something inspired by you. You can have it once it runs its circuit on the gallery floor.”

  “It’s not for sale?” I asked.

  Walker shook his head. “Absolutely not. It’s the first piece I’ve ever done that won’t have a price tag. I painted it for myself. And for you. For us,” he added with a heartfelt nod.

  I turned to the black curtain. “Are you going to show me, or are we going to stand here talking about it?”

  Walker gave me a sly smile before reaching for the top corner of the painting. He flicked the black curtain free, and the silky, velvet piece of fabric fell away to reveal the canvas beneath.

  At first, all I saw were shades of blues and purples. Indigo faded into purple, which faded into shades of lilac or lavender. Speckles of white in the shape of tiny stars winked with silver details that made them appear to glow. Others looked like dewy drops of water bursting off the canvas.

  I locked eyes with the woman in the painting.

  “It’s—it’s me,” I breathed.

  Walker ran a thumb along the edge of the canvas. “It is.”

  The painting was incredible. I looked like me but also nothing like myself. The nose was right, and so were the curve of my lips and the way I held my shoulders, but there was something about it that felt out of reach. The stars and the lightning in the background made me feel like the woman in the painting was something to behold—like she was mighty.

  “What does it make you feel?” Walker asked curiously.

  I regarded the painting. “She makes me feel… watched. Intrigued. Mystified. She’s beautiful but she’s frightening, too. There is wisdom in her eyes but she seems angry, too. Conflicted.”

  Walker nodded. “Those are all things I felt about you when we first met. You were a storm of conflicting ideas and worlds. You were warm and bright on one hand but sharp and stormy on the other. You had a warm smile but cold words.”

  I gazed at him. Was that really how he saw me?

  He hadn’t stopped looking at the painting. “The first day I started painting this was the night of our first date at Pitch.”

  “Really?”

  “I drove straight here after and started painting. While we were eating dinner, I saw flashes of you and was inspired. The painting started out totally different. At first, it was black, red, and orange. There were bursts of gold and yellow, but as it progressed and I got to know you better, I began to see you differently and the colors softened until this emerged. You’re worldly, Nora. And wise. You have a big heart and a curious mind and a beautiful soul.” His eyes slid over to meet mine. “The only thing more beautiful in this world than this painting is the real woman herself.”

  I blushed.

  He turned to me and took my hands in his. “I mean it.”

  I believe you. He saw me as the woman in the painting. He saw me as a goddess. A masterpiece. His masterpiece.

  What girl didn’t dream of a man who saw her that way? And how the hell had I gotten lucky enough to be the girl to get that guy?

  “I’m head over heels in love with you, Nora Riley,” he breathed, stepping in close to press a finger under my chin and lift my face to his. “And I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for us.”

  “Lost luggage and crying babies on airplanes,” I whispered.

  His lips quirked in a smile. “Bring it on.”

  “Really shitty continental breakfasts.”

  “Italian coffee will make up for it.”

  “Hard mattresses.”

  “I prefer a firm mattress,” he said.

  I couldn’t stop smiling. “Bugs.”

  “I have a feeling those will bother you more than they will bother me.”

  “Good, that means you’re the bug hunter in the relationship.”

  He ran a thumb along my lower lip. “Is that so?”

  It was getting harder to breathe. All I could smell was Walker’s cologne, pine and citrus. “It is.”

  “And what will you do to balance out my bug-hunting responsibilities?”

  “This,” I whispered before stretching to the tips of my toes, hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt, and pressing my lips to his.

  Walker kissed me like he might never get the chance again. He bent me backward, holding me up with one hand in the small of my back and the other cupping the back of my neck. He tasted like champagne and strawberries, and in that moment, I knew I never wanted to kiss anyone else.

  He was my world.

  I smiled against his lips.

  And to think, you thought t
here was nothing for you in this city.

  Walker backed me up against the wall and pinned me there beside my picture. His hand left the back of my neck and he trailed a finger down my chest to the top button of my dress. He popped it open with a flick of his wrist and kept working his way down until my whole dress hung open and I stood before him in a matching red lingerie set.

  Walker chuckled deep in his chest. “Well, look at you.”

  “You’re not the only one with a few surprises up his sleeve.”

  Epilogue

  Walker

  One Month Later

  For some reason, there was no menu board in the Italian cafe I stepped into that morning. There were plenty of people sipping their coffee out of espresso mugs speaking Italian to each other wearing designer coats, freshly shined shoes, and understated jewelry, but there was no reference for me to use to order a coffee, and telling the young woman behind the counter that all I wanted was two brewed coffees was a downright impossible task.

  She cocked her head to the side and in a thick Italian accent asked, “Americano?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I’m American.”

  She shook her head. “No, no, no. Americano?”

  I still wasn’t catching on, so she lifted a hand to her mouth like she was holding a coffee cup, tilted her head back, and pretended to take a sip.

  “Oh,” I said lamely. I knew what an Americano was back in the US but I had no idea if it was the same thing here. I decided it was a risk worth taking. How messed up could it be? “Yes, sure, Americano for the American.”

  The young woman smiled, told me the total, and held out an expectant hand.

  I handed her some bills, accepted my change back, and moved to the back of the cafe to wait for the coffees to be ready.

  I’d left Nora back at our hotel where she was sitting on our private rooftop terrace enjoying the morning sun. It was ten o’clock and we’d had a lazy start to our day.

  Correction, we’d had a rowdy, loud, passionate, sweaty start to our day, but it cost her some early morning writing hours, which was when she was most productive. She’d kicked me out of the suite to go get us coffee to buy herself half an hour of uninterrupted writing time, and being the doting and considerate boyfriend, I decided to walk past the place we’d been getting coffee for our past week in Italy in favor of trying a new place four blocks down the street.

  Now I was regretting that choice.

  Our usual spot had two baristas who spoke English. I should have asked them what they’d been making for us for the past few days. It was a creamy, decadent, sweet but not too sweet, caffeinated delight with lightly foamed milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. Nora loved it.

  “Should’ve stuck with the usual,” I muttered as the barista called out other people’s drinks. One by one, the cafe emptied out until I was the last guy there.

  Finally, my Americanos popped up at the bar. I swept them up and got the hell out of there before I had a chance to embarrass myself further.

  I enjoyed the stroll back up the blocks to our hotel. Rome was a beautiful city, perhaps the most impressive city I’d ever seen, and we were staying off a piazza near the Pantheon. The Pantheon had taken my breath away the first time I saw it. Nora had stood under its dome before, of course. She’d gazed up at the magnificent ceiling and the hole in the middle of the dome and told me everything she knew about its history.

  She told me it had been built to worship the gods and was one of the most well-preserved monuments of Ancient Rome.

  It was staggering to behold, and it was just around the corner from our hotel. Nora would be able to see its dome from her spot on the roof.

  I chuckled to myself as I crossed the street and wondered if she’d gotten any work done with such beautiful sights all around her.

  The concierge of our hotel greeted me by name and wished me good morning. I said good morning before slipping up the stairwell and taking them two at a time. I climbed up to the top floor where I let myself into our suite, locked the door behind me, and strode through the sitting room and kitchen and out onto the terrace, where I stopped and soaked in the sight before me.

  Nora sat at the small table with her knees drawn up to her chest and her bare feet balanced on the edge of her chair. Her toes were painted red, the same manicure she’d gotten with Grace two days before our flight to Bali. She’d been saying she wanted to get them done here in Italy but hadn’t gotten around to making an appointment, and I was beginning to believe she never would because there was always something more important to do, to see, or to write about.

  In my opinion, it was a tad too cold for bare feet but it didn’t seem to bother her. Her slippers sat tucked under the table—a cozy pair that she could roll up into the size of socks to make them convenient for travel—and she had a fleece blanket over her lap that had been draped over the back of the sofa this morning. She wore a loose cardigan and a long-sleeved sweater underneath, as well as a pair of my sweatpants.

  Sneaky woman.

  Her hair was done up in a wild mess atop her head and a second scrunchie was bunched up on her wrist.

  Her focus was glued to her computer screen. Her eyes flicked back and forth across the page as she read whatever words had come to life from her fingertips in my absence.

  Slowly and quietly, I crouched down, put my coffees aside, and pulled my phone out of my pocket.

  I’d spent this whole trip snapping thousands of pictures of Nora. They took up a lot of storage space on my device but I didn’t give a damn. My artist’s mind had shifted since we started traveling. Since I didn’t have easy access to paint or canvas, I’d decided to snap pictures of beauty in our everyday life.

  Those snapshots ended up always being pictures of Nora.

  Right now, the setting was perfect. The dome of the Pantheon rose behind her like a setting sun. The bright blue sky was only interrupted by a few fluffy white clouds and she looked poised and relaxed all at once sitting at her computer working.

  I captured several pictures and stole as many more seconds as I could watching her before she looked up and noticed me.

  Nora smiled. “That was quick.”

  “Really? I took a walk on the wild side and went to a new place this morning.” I held up the coffees as I crossed the patio and settled into the seat across from her. “Be warned, I’m not sure what I ordered.”

  She held the coffee to her nose and took a whiff through the small opening at the lip. “It smells like coffee.”

  “It’s hot like coffee.”

  “There’s foam on it.”

  “She called it an Americano. Or she was calling me one. I don’t know.”

  Nora giggled. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Together, we tipped our cups back and sipped.

  Nora grimaced.

  My taste buds exploded with surprise. “Oh wow.”

  “That has a lot of alcohol in it,” Nora wheezed.

  “It tastes like cherry liqueur.”

  “I taste oranges,” I said as I lifted the lid off the cup. “And cinnamon.”

  Nora took another sip. “Me too. I think… I think I like it.”

  “We’re on vacation, who cares if we’re drinking at ten in the morning?”

  She closed her laptop. “I finished my article, so I feel zero guilt.”

  I handed her my phone with the picture I’d just snapped of her open on the screen. She leaned over and peered down at it.

  A smile stretched her cheeks and she pulled it closer. “I like this one.”

  “Me too.”

  She glanced up at me. “You always like them.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I could use this one on the site to pair with my article. Helen says my reader base likes my laidback style. I don’t know how I feel about this whole brand they’re slapping on me about a casual American in Rome, but I guess it could be worse.”

  “Are they slapping it on you?” I asked, glancing down at her outfi
t. “Or are you doing it to yourself?”

  Her eyes narrowed but her smile remained. “Who asked you?”

  I sipped my spiked coffee. “I’m just saying.”

  Nora slid my phone back to me. Impulsively, I began scrolling through all the pictures I had of her. One of my favorites was of her standing in the beam of sunlight streaming through the hole in the dome of the Pantheon. One picture gave way to the next and I found myself smiling at my phone.

  Nora nudged my shin with her foot. “Stop looking at them.”

  “I like looking at them.”

  “But I’m right here.”

  I lifted my gaze from my phone. “Yes, you are.”

  It still amazed me that I was the man who got to be by her side and go on this adventure with her. It had been just shy of a month and she and I were both looking forward to everything else in store for us.

  We’d agreed that we would only stay out of the country for two months at a time, at least in the near future. We’d go back, spend a month at home so we could see family and friends, pack up, and get back on a plane and head for another country. If that balance didn’t work, we would recalibrate and try something else.

  That was how this thing was going to have to go. We’d agreed to communicate and not hold back. The suggestion that Nora could hold anything back was hilarious to me. She was as honest as they came and that made things easier.

  But for now, things were blissful, and I had a feeling they were going to stay that way. We were compatible travelers who hadn’t even seen the tip of the iceberg yet. After Rome, we were traveling to Naples where we would go to Pompeii and Sorrento. From there, we would make our way down the Amalfi Coast. After we’d seen as much of Italy as we could, we were tossing the idea around of hopping across the Adriatic Sea to Croatia, but we hadn’t settled on anything definite yet.

  Whatever we decided, I knew it would be worth the wait.

  “We have to call my parents this evening,” Nora said. “Mom has texted me three times asking for updates. It wouldn’t hurt to video call Grace, either. Have you been in touch with Briar?”