Draw Me In

by Megan Squires

  “Are you like Robin Hood or something?” The comparison hardly seemed fair since he was one of the actual rich he should be stealing from in order to give to the poor. “I had no idea you were into archery.”

  I had no idea about a lot when it came to Leo. But I hadn’t taken him for a huntsman.

  “I’m not.”

  Reaching under the table, he pulled out a metal container that looked a little like a toolbox. He fiddled with the lock for a few moments before popping open the lid, revealing a collection of slingshots that would have impressed David.

  “So that month when I broke my leg...” Leo slid his hand into the box and withdrew two separate slingshots—one with an intricate, carved wooden base and the other with a solid, iron one. “...My dad got me a slingshot.” He placed one in my hand—the smaller one made from wood—and then wrapped his fingers around the other, one at a time like curling a hand around a gun. “You might not have noticed it yet because let’s face it, last night was probably a bit fuzzy. But if you look out the window to the room you’re staying in, you’ll see straight over the courtyard and into another bedroom window on the opposite side.”

  He was right. I hadn’t noticed that. There was so much going on inside the room with its Renaissance decor and distracting creepy-turned-adorable Renaldo bust that I didn’t initially see beyond those four walls.

  “Anyway. That was my parents’ room at the time.” He pulled back on the leather strip until the band was taught under the pressure. With a pop of his wrist, he released his grip, one eye closed as he tracked an imaginary object sailing through the air. “They gave me a bunch of rubber bouncy balls and I was supposed to hit their window with one during the night if I needed something and couldn’t get up to get it.”

  As Leo bent at the waist to retrieve a pebble from the ground, I practiced pulling on the band to bring the slingshot back to its full potential. Closing one eye was apparently instinct, much like closing both eyes when kissing someone was also instinct. I wondered if it was your body’s way to protect against whatever you might see once that rock careened into its target. But even with one eye closed, you could always see the whole picture, just not the depth in it.

  “I eventually got really good at it, even after my leg completely healed. So Dad made this for me.” He twisted, holding his hands out on either side to showcase the space around us. “I love the wine and the vineyards and the Villa, obviously. But this is my place. This spot belongs to me.”

  With his fingers pinching the small stone through the leather pullback, Leo lifted his elbow up so it was parallel with his shoulder. His eyes slivered, the right one disappearing completely underneath a shut lid, and his jaw tightened with focus and determination. Just like he was pulling back an arrow in a bow, Leo guided his arm backward, increasing the tension on the bands in the catapult. Then in one precise movement, he completely let go.

  I could hear the crack of the rock against the red center of the target, and even though it was such a great distance away, I could see the shards that splintered out from it like bark from a wood chipper. Jagged, unforgiving.

  “Nice shot,” I congratulated, slapping a hand to his shoulder blade really just as an excuse to touch him. But in truth, what he’d just done was insanely impressive. And sexy as hell.

  “Thanks. Your turn.”

  I was beginning to adore that smile. There was an ease to his grin that was lazy and playful: a boyish look that coated his masculine face. It was that perceived innocence once again, draping across his features, making me question everything I thought I knew about him.

  Just like he had moments earlier, I lowered my stance to collect a pebble at my feet. I’d never used, nor operated, a slingshot before, but it looked pretty self-explanatory. But what I found was that balancing the stone between my fingers while simultaneously pulling back on the slack of the band took more skill than I’d originally thought. After dropping two pebbles back onto the ground in a failed attempt, I reached for a larger rock I could grip onto more easily.

  “There you go,” Leo agreed, encouraging me with a nod. “That’s a good one.”

  With my right hand steadied and my left holding onto the base of the slingshot, I bit my lip between my teeth, sucked in an empowering breath, and released my grasp on the rock and the band at once.

  And that’s when I heard the most awful sound in the history of sounds.

  Twice.

  Because apparently looking at your target was an important thing and I’d failed to do that as I readied the shot.

  The audible crack of the rock against the wooden bull’s-eye was what I’d expected to hear, not the horrifying squawk, and then thunk, followed by another equally disturbing squawk, and then thunk, like an echo of death plummeting to the ground.

  “Oh my word, Julie.” Leo’s eyes bugged out and his mouth fell open, either awestruck or disgusted, I couldn’t really be sure. “You did not seriously just kill two birds with one stone.”

  The bloodied heaps of feathers and dust just a few yards away confirmed the impossible reality of his statement.

  How the hell had I managed that? I wasn’t sure if I should be horrified by the fact that I’d just taken the lives of two innocent birds—doves no less—or if I should be pumping a fist against my chest in some barbaric celebration of my newly discovered bird-murdering skills. It was a weird line to ride and I had no idea what side Leo was on—no indication as to how I should react.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Beginner’s luck?” There really was no explanation for what just happened. I figured at least a thousand stars had aligned in order to pull that off. No, make that a billion. “But in fairness, it wasn’t like that was the first time I’ve done that. I managed to simultaneously get a job and an almost boyfriend, score myself a trip to Italy and almost score with an ancient artifact. I’m killing all kinds of birds with all kinds of stones all over the place.”

  Leo smirked. “That you are.” He tossed another rock my way. “Here. Try it again.”

  I secured the pebble in my grip and let it sail once more through the air, but this time it didn’t hit any low flying fowl, and it didn’t come even remotely close to any targets. It was a complete miss.

  “Alright, not as impressive, but that’s fine.” With a crooked grin, he shrugged. “I think I’d get a complex if you turned out to be better than me at this. This is kind of my thing.”

  Without even looking the direction of the target, Leo pulled back on his slingshot and launched a stone toward it, hitting the outermost ring.

  “What else is your thing?” Chip, chip, chip. Perfect opportunity to peel away that shell.

  “Hmm. That’s hard.” I guess it was a difficult question to answer—to sum yourself up in a sentence or thought. “I like to work. I mean, I’m obviously a businessman, but I enjoy getting up everyday and going into the office. It feels purposeful and productive.”

  “But you don’t really need to work, do you?” It wasn’t like I’d peeked into their accounting books, but it was obvious Leo’s family was well off. The Villa and their NYC office address alone hinted at that.

  “Someone’s gotta keep it going. Dad’s sort of handed everything off to me, and Gio isn’t interested in business side of things, mostly just the wine-making aspect. It’s all kind of fallen on my shoulders.”

  Pretty nice shoulders to fall on. “If you weren’t in the wine business, what would you want to be?”

  Leo didn’t waste a moment before answering. “When I was little, I wanted to be Batman.”

  I choked on a laugh, literally having to cough it down to make room for the words. “That’s not a profession. That’s a freakishly large nocturnal winged animal.”

  “Dude—” Did he just say dude? Had my Italian Casanova suddenly turned into a teenage Santa Barbara surfer? “Batman totally had a job... To save the world!”

  “I thought that was Superman’s responsibility.”

  Leo bellowed a rau
cous, youthful laugh, one that made him double over at the waist. “I actually think world saving falls under the job description of all super heroes.” That was probably true. I’d give him that. “Except for the Hulk. That guy had some major anger management issues.”

  I looked at him, the way the light reflected into those blue eyes of his and how his skin was literally sun-kissed. I couldn’t pull my eyes from him, and I’m sure he felt the heat of my stare along with the sun that beat down on us. Who was he? I’d never wanted to find an answer to something more earnestly in my entire life.

  “So your favorite hero is Batman?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “If we’re talking comic book heroes, I’d go with him.”

  “What about other heroes?” I asked. “Gimme your sports hero.”

  “Kobe Bryant.”

  “Political.”

  “Don’t have one,” he replied quickly, taking another shot at the target with his sling.

  “Good call,” I agreed. “Professional?”

  “Firefighter.”

  I was running out of heroes, but didn’t want our conversation to end so I added, “Biblical.”

  “Is that a serious question?” Whoops, maybe not. We hadn’t had any talks about faith or beliefs at all yet, and I wondered if maybe I was pressing things with that. “Isn’t it incredibly obvious?”

  “Jesus!” Of course. That had to be it.

  “Well, now I’m going to sound completely blasphemous because that wasn’t my first answer. I was going to say David.”

  Yes. The whole slingshot thing should have clued me in. And the fact that my first encounter with Leo had been under that infamous statue. It started to feel very full circle, like all of those times I’d sketched and drawn and shaped the likeness onto paper was some sort of precursor leading up to this moment between us. Some kind of foreshadowing. Literal shadowing of this encounter, just like I’d done so many times, only with a pencil within my grip.

  “David.” I nodded. “Because of the slingshot.”

  “No.” Leo shook his head slowly. “David. Because of the battle.”

  I froze in place. My thoughts got jumbled in my brain.

  I wanted desperately to know what battle Leo was fighting, but so far his concise statements and reflections left me with little in the way of clues. But there was something there, and he’d given me bits and pieces to work with. His sick mother. His responsibility as her caretaker. His breakup with Sofia and his hopes for our future. I didn’t know much, but I knew these pieces all worked together to make up the greater whole. A greater whole that was Leo.

  Michelangelo worked with paint and clay.

  I worked with a pencil and paper.

  And Leo worked with memories and experiences that shaped him into the masterpiece he was. Never before had I wanted to sketch him so badly than I did in this moment in his arena in the vineyard. Never before had I wanted to strip him bare, not necessarily of his clothes, but of his insecurities and hesitation. Never before had I wanted to study a subject on such a deep level that I could literally draw them out from their own form. Soul to soul.

  I was ready for Leo to come to life.

  My only hope was that he was ready, too.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I cried as I read the letter again.

  I wasn’t a crier. That honestly just wasn’t me. But I couldn’t help it. I mean, seriously, a deceased mother professing her love to her son from beyond the grave? That could either go the route of hauntingly morbid, or beautifully tragic, and I definitely thought it veered the latter direction. Shakespearian type stuff.

  I was slipping the envelope back into the drawer in the nightstand when there was a knock on my bedroom door.

  I knew who it would be, but that didn’t stop the desire to race over and deadbolt the lock, slide the hefty armoire in front, and barricade the entrance to my room with every article of furniture inside. If I had the physical strength to do it, I would have at least attempted to wedge the high back chair under the handle.

  Yesterday had been great. Leo and I messed around with the slingshot for a bit more, did another sampling of the Carducci wine—this time from the barrels in their storerooms as Gio explained the tannins and notes in greater detail and accuracy than I had the night before—and we all shared a gorgeous vineyard dinner, enjoying one another’s company and the breathtaking landscape as the sun lowered in the sky.

  It made me feel a bit like a ninety-year-old lady, but I actually excused myself to “retire” early, immediately following our supper. I needed to catch up on my beauty sleep. Today was scheduled to be a big one. A photo-shoot with Ian and my first attempt at designing the Carducci Chianti Classico label. I hadn’t been on my game yesterday—other than my slingshot miracle—and I wanted to prove my worth today.

  That knock sounded again and I shrugged my shoulders to my ears with each thrust against the door. I couldn’t very well pretend I didn’t hear it.

  I walked forward and opened it quickly before I could change my mind and attempt to tie my sheets together in a fabric ladder and lower myself from my window.

  “Good morning, Sofia.”

  “Good morning, Julie.” Her teeth were perfect. I hadn’t brushed mine. We were off to a fabulous start. “Are you ready?”

  “As ready as a turkey on Thanksgiving morning.”

  Sofia cocked a perfectly manicured brow and tucked her chin into her slender neck. She, in fact, was almost birdlike. “I don’t understand that one.” The accent was too much. She’d be plenty irresistible without that additional charm tacked on there. “Let’s go to the vanity, yes?”

  No. If she were asking an actual question, that would have been my answer. But this was obviously rhetorical. I wondered what questions I could add a “yes?” to in order to make it seem like I was purely talking to myself.

  ‘It’s nice having fake boobs, yes?’ or ‘Leo is a good lover, yes?’

  I couldn’t pull it off, so I didn’t even try.

  “Ian said to go for a natural look, yes?”

  Yes, yessity, yes! Enough with the yes-ing.

  I just nodded and smiled. Nod and smile. Nod and smile. I could handle this. I flipped on the robot switch within me.

  But what I couldn’t handle was how terribly endearing Sofia was as she took my hand and pulled me toward the bathroom. I think there was a skip in her step even, and that startled me because 1.) I thought she was a runner, and 2.) Ex-fiancées didn’t go skipping through rooms with current girlfriends of said ex-fiancée.

  Maybe she didn’t know there was anything going on between Leo and me. Was this the time to share that information? Was it appropriate to fill her in on the fact that her past near-husband had swapped saliva with me in this very room just two nights prior?

  Figuring she would be using a tool on my eyelashes that alarmingly resembled a medieval torture device in a matter of minutes, I bit my tongue and shut my lips.

  Which was appropriate because Sofia quickly swept in and began coating them with several frosted shades of gloss prior to settling on a dusky rose colored one.

  “Bellissima.”

  She puckered her own lips and made a smacking sound that caused me to jump because it reminded me of our kiss back during our initial meeting. It was a miracle that this woman didn’t find me to be an utter fool. But for all I knew, she probably did. Only she, unlike me, was able to mask that emotion.

  And that’s what she continued to do as she masked my face with layers of foundation, blush, and bronzer, shadowing and highlighting on my skin much like I did in my drawing classes. Watching Sofia make me over made me realize there really was an art to something like this, and she was exceptionally skilled at it. It was hard not to like someone that made you look pretty.

  “All done.”

  She swiveled my chair around.

  “Wow, Sofia.” I did not look like a clown. Nor a drag queen. Not even a zombie. I looked like myself, just taken to the next level. The natura
l way she’d brought out my beauty made me want to squeeze her. So I did.

  Standing up, I drew her into a boa constrictor embrace, my arms snaking around her, and I mumbled against her soft cheek, “I can’t believe you made me look like this!”

  Sofia giggled. “I didn’t do much. You are very beautiful already, Julie.” Being told you were beautiful in an accent like hers made it sound even prettier. “You and Leo are going to look fabulous together for the shoot with Ian today.”

  So maybe she did know about us. Or maybe not. It was hard to tell from that statement.

  “You make a beautiful couple.”

  Okay. She definitely knew.

  “So did you.”

  Well that was an awkward thing to say.

  Sofia’s cheeks reddened more than my blush slathered ones and she lowered her head to busy herself with the task of packing away the makeup cluttering the counter.

  “I’m sorry. That was weird.”

  “No.” Her eyes lifted to mine. “It’s okay, Julie. Leo and I had a past. But what’s in the past is past.”

  I supposed that was a true assertion, with all of those ‘pasts’ repeated in there. A rose is a rose is a rose. But the way she didn’t look up again and instead nervously fumbled with the eyeliner pencil made me think otherwise. It felt like there was still some very real, tangible present emotion.

  “How long were you together?”

  “Six years.” That was much longer than I had figured. “We started officially dating on his sixteenth birthday. We’d flirted for a few months before that, but that was the day he finally told me how he felt.”

  To have reread Leo’s fifteenth birthday letter just moments before, and then to hear they started a relationship just a year later made me feel like Marty McFly and I’d just taken a whirl in the DeLorean. I’d gone back and forth between the past and the future at breakneck speed and couldn’t make sense of our current moment in time. All blurring dates and flashing memories.

  I stared at Sofia, thinking of what they must have looked like during their teenage years. Those visions had Prom King and Queen written all over them. What cuties they were.