by Holly Greene
21
It was late in the day when Lily finally returned to her hotel, the beginnings of a plot forming in her mind. She wasn't sure exactly when it had occurred to her; only that it was now beating at the walls of her brain, dying to get out and onto paper.
In her room, she turned off her cell phone, switched on her laptop, and began to type.
She worked for several hours without stopping. Finally, when she was too tired to write any longer, she fell into bed and slept.
The next day she tackled her manuscript once more with enthusiasm. By that afternoon she was happy with what she'd created so far, and she stretched happily as she stood up from her writing desk and paced around the hotel room. She still had a lot of material to create, but at least she was on the right track.
Lily decided to celebrate this small victory with an early dinner out, and after changing into something more appropriate for evening she found herself seated in once again in BellaVita trattoria, watching other customers with new-found interest.
She found herself wanting to ask all of them for their stories.
Valentina had been right; as long as she was doggedly looking for her idea of a “perfect” romance, she couldn't find it. Now that she was letting go of some of her assumptions, Lily saw love everywhere. It was a couple at a corner table, enjoying an easy silence as they ate. They didn't need a ton of words to express their happiness at being together for a meal; Lily smiled a little as she saw the man take his companion’s hand and tenderly bring it to his lips.
At another table she saw a younger couple—probably on a first or very early date, she decided, from his nervousness. He was obviously trying to impress the young woman across from him; and by her coquettish laugh Lily guessed he was probably being successful.
All around her other couples smiled, laughed and talked as they ate. Harsh lighting was absent in the restaurant in favor of candles at the tables, and the soft glow of candlelight made everything look even cozier. Lily took another sip of her wine as she considered the dinner menu. Suddenly there was a collective gasp from the crowd, and Lily craned her neck to get a better look in the direction of the sound.
The nervous young man, whom she'd assumed was on a first date, was now on the floor on one knee, holding out a ring to his date. She was crying softly and nodding, unable to speak. All through the restaurant people began applauding as the young man stood and swept up his now-fiancée for a kiss.
It was the sort of scene that would have made Lily roll her eyes not that long ago, but somehow here—in this old city, surrounded by candlelight and the smell of Italian flavours—it seemed so perfect. She found it hard to come up with a cynical thought about two people who were clearly so excited about each other. Before she might have said, “Just wait and see,” Now she only thought, You're not waiting to see if things will be perfect or not—you're not going to waste time on that. And you're absolutely right.
Lily finally left the trattoria over an hour later, very full of delicious food (and probably too much wine, she admitted to herself) and ready to sleep. She was waiting for a taxi when she noticed one of the couples she’d been observing in the restaurant nearby, also waiting for a taxi.
The woman glanced her way a couple of times, whispered something to her companion, then shyly approached.
“Excuse me,” she said in an American accent, “but I had to say hello. You're Lily Forbes the writer, aren't you?”
Another time Lily might have felt irritated at being approached, but now she smiled warmly and nodded. The woman looked delighted. “I'm Sarah. And that's my husband Nate over there. I'm a huge fan of your books.”
Lily thanked her. “But I hope you're not spending all of your time here in Verona reading?” she said, with a pointed glance at Nate, and Sarah blushed. “We're sort of on a belated honeymoon. It's been really lovely. And what about you? Are you here on vacation, or for research?”
Lily thought the other woman looked a bit hopeful, and she saw no harm in confirming the theory. “I came here to get inspiration for my next book. But to be honest, the city has changed so many of my assumptions about romance. I've learned a lot about love. It's been an eye-opener. I couldn't have picked a better place to spend my weekend.”
Sarah looked curious. “I thought romance novelists were instinctively experts on love and romance?”
Lily thought about that for a second. Taxis were queuing up and the man was waving to his wife.
“Romance in a book pales in comparison to real-life love,” she replied with a smile. “Keep that in mind—a book might have a lot of fireworks, but even those die over time. The real thing is worth all the extra work it might take.”
With that they parted, the young couple climbing into a cab and speeding away.
Lily would spend a few more days in Italy before returning home for work, but she already knew that she would be doing things very differently once she got back to London.
No more looking for a fireworks to land in her lap; she was going to stop chasing that ideal and start working on a real, down-to-earth romance.
And if she couldn't find the perfect relationship? She wasn't going to waste time lamenting singledom. She had so many other things in life to do—like finish her brand new novel for one.
And when it was complete, Lily knew exactly who would receive the first copy.
22
Declan woke up early and refreshed on Sunday morning.
He heard cathedral bells tolling in the distance and hummed a tune to himself as he dressed and ate breakfast. It took him a little while to finish moving his photos from the camera card to the laptop, editing through the pictures as he went, but once he was done he was ready to set out for the day and finish his sight-seeing.
He took a taxi to the famous Casa di Giulietta and joined the tourists buying tickets at the entrance. He could see some of the attraction of the house; it was a well-preserved example of a medieval Italian home, and the interior had been turned into a tidy museum chronicling Verona life in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. There were elaborate costumes throughout, which he gathered were from a film about Romeo and Juliet, and examples of medieval art and sculpture. He took a few pictures before he returned to the courtyard to photograph the balcony.
From his position standing on the stones, it didn't look like much. It was only a simple stone balcony, nothing more. How interesting, he thought, that something so basic could fire the imagination of so many people. Once again a few tourists asked him to take pictures as they posed in front of the balcony or with the statue of Juliet that stood watching mournfully over the courtyard. He obliged before wandering to the wall where lovers left their letters to Juliet.
He thought of what his own letter would say. Dear Juliet, my wife loved your story. I miss her so much. How do I pick up the threads of my life and move on? Is it possible?
He wasn't sure that this was the sort of letter most people would stuff in the wall. He saw mostly younger women who were probably writing about boyfriends who had left them unhappily alone. In his head he composed another letter, this one from Juliet to the letter writers: You never know where life will take you. Better to have loved and lost, because at least you have those precious memories to warm your heart later on. But don't cling too tightly; you have all the world ahead of you.
He could almost picture Hannah on Juliet's balcony, dramatically clutching her chest and spouting a line or two of Shakespeare.
His next stop was one he'd intended to visit earlier in the weekend, until he was sidetracked by the photo excursions in the piazzas. The Lamberti Tower offered him an excellent near-aerial view of Verona, and he was happy to arrive when there were few other tourists in attendance.
Looking out over the city gave him a feeling of being somehow removed from the fray, able to observe in peace.
Here he finally did something he'd been meaning to do since he opened Hannah's letter.
In his coat pocket was a tiny baggy of ashe
s. He was pretty sure anyone official connected with the tower would disapprove of his actions, but it was only a handful, so he didn't feel too bad.
It was his way of giving a piece of his love back to the city. He thought Hannah would have liked to know that at least a handful of her ashes had been scattered in the city of her dreams.
He sprinkled out the ashes into his palm and let the wind take them away. This, then, was the end; the closure he'd needed.
Other tourists were coming up the stairs to the top of the tower, and Declan took one last long look at the city. It was approaching sunset, and long shadows fell between the buildings and darkened the streets. People were going to dinner; street vendors were closing down their stalls and heading home for the evening. The rooftops glowed reddish in the warm light, a contrast to the cool blue shadows down below.
As Declan turned to walk away he realised he recognised a man and woman who’d just come up the stairs. It was the couple on the bench he’d felt guilty for photographing in the Piazza Bra the other day.
Realising that perhaps fate was smiling on him, and still feeling energised by what he’d just done, he decided to approach them. “Excuse me,” he said to the man, who looked to be in his early-thirties, with sandy hair and an American accent.
Introducing himself to the couple, Declan explained that he'd seen them a few days earlier at the piazza and couldn't help snapping their picture.
“You reminded me of something,” he admitted somewhat sheepishly, surprised he was being so forthright with complete strangers. “I hope you don't mind?” he added quickly in case they thought he sounded stalkerish. “If you give me an e-mail address I can send you the photo.”
The American couple assured him that they didn't mind in the least, and the woman sought out a scrap of paper in her bag on which she jotted down her e-mail.
“Are you visiting Verona alone, or with friends?” the man asked him casually.
For a moment Declan's face shuttered. “Alone,” he said, trying to smile. “My wife...died last year. She'd always wanted to visit this city. I'm visiting all the landmarks she would have wanted to see. I miss her.”
He wasn’t sure what it was about this city that allowed him to talk freely about his wife and his feelings but as Declan bade the couple goodbye and slowly walked down the stairs and exited the tower, his heart felt light.
He took a taxi back to his hotel, packed up his camera gear, and stretched out in bed to sleep.
That night he dreamed of Hannah, and in all of his dreams they roamed the streets of Verona together.
When he woke in the morning he didn't feel sad; he only felt the joy of what they'd shared, and finally, a sense of peace.
As Hannah predicted, Verona had indeed worked her magic.
23
Lily flew back to London in a whirlwind of jotted down notes and plans for her book. In a fit of newfound pique, she stashed her heels in her suitcase and wore her flats through the airport.
Sod it, they were comfortable. Though she still made sure to touch up her mascara before the plane landed.
She was standing alongside the baggage carousel Heathrow waiting for her stuff when she heard a familiar voice. “Lily, is that you? It's been months.”
She turned with some irritation to see Nick, her city trader ex. He was looking dapper as usual: tanned, well-dressed as always, a smile on his face. He looked as though he'd been hitting the gym extra over the summer since she'd last seen him.
Lily had to admit he looked good.
Her bags came down the belt, and before she could grab them he lifted them easily off the belt and placed them at her feet. “Flying out?”
“Flying in, actually,” she replied. “From Verona.” She could see by the look on his face that he was surprised to hear it, and was curious to know what she was doing there. Also, she thought, he was probably curious to know whom she'd travelled with. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction by volunteering information, so she just smiled sweetly at him. “And what are you doing here?”
“On the way back from a business trip,” he said, but he had a bit of a guilty look that made her guess there was pleasure involved, too. Not that she cared anymore, she reminded herself, and she grabbed her bags and said in a tone more chipper than she felt, “Well, it was wonderful to run into you. Enjoy your flight.”
She didn't look back as she walked away, but she was certain he was staring after her in dismay. Nick wasn't used to being ignored, especially not by women.
Sure enough, as she walked outside she heard him calling her name. “Lily, wait!”
She paused, and he came running after her. “Babe, I've been meaning to call you for so long. It was a terrible mistake to break up with you. I miss you. Why don't we give it another go - you and me?”
She gave him a long look that he took for hesitation, and he touched her arm, adding in a seductive tone of voice, “I could cancel this trip. We could jet away somewhere, just the two of us. Somewhere romantic? Like Paris or something.”
Lily looked at him for a long moment, her breath caught in her throat. Yes, they'd had some romantic times. Nick did indeed pull out all the stops with weekends away, gifts and grand gestures, like the time he had four dozen roses sent to her apartment for no reason other than to say “I love you”. And after so many months of being single, the sight of him was certainly tempting. He was an attractive man and knew it, and she thought of some of their more passionate times together with a hint of heat in her cheeks.
Then she chuckled, confusing him. “Nick, what we had was great for...about three months. But it's best left in the past. I've moved on; you should too.”
He stared at her in absolute bewilderment; she could almost see the hamster wheel turning in his mind, trying to understand what had just happened to him. “You've changed,” he finally sputtered out. “What happened to you in Italy?”
A taxi pulled up outside the terminal, and Lily took her time loading her bags before answering. Turning to him with the most sugary smile she could manage, she said cryptically, “I found Juliet.”
Nick was still staring in confusion as she climbed into the cab and sped away.
While the driver wove expertly through the dense traffic into Central London, Lily pulled out her mobile phone and scrolled through the phone book. When she came to Nick's number she pressed “delete” without a second thought. Smiling, she slipped the phone back in her bag and gazed out the window at the city around her.
So many people, all with stories to tell, and infinite possibilities once she started thinking outside the formulaic box she'd confined herself to for so long.
Yes, her writer's block was definitely gone now.
Lily liked to think she'd left it sitting in an empty courtyard in Verona.
24
Sarah crossed and recrossed her legs as she sat in O’Hare terminal, waiting for Nate to arrive with their luggage.
After the long weekend turned week-long stay in Verona, she'd been so full of good food, good wine and good conversation that she'd slept through most of the train ride from Verona to Rome. Nate had to wake her when they arrived at the station so they could catch a taxi to the airport. She'd tried to read on the flight home to Chicago but ended up dozing some more.
She shifted her attention to Lily Forbes’ book in her hands, still amazed that she’d actually met the author in person, and in Verona of all places. She still hadn't made it more than a few chapters in, but it wasn't for lack of interest; she was just too full of happy memories of their long week to concentrate on the story.
Her mother had called on Monday to make sure she would be home Tuesday night for dinner; it was the monthly Fieldings family gathering and her parents naturally assumed she would be there.
When she said regretfully that she would still be in Verona, her mother sounded flabbergasted. “But I thought you were only staying for a long weekend? Why are you still there? Don't tell me you had trouble with the flights; Nate messed
up your booking, didn't he?”
Sarah felt a surge of ire at this remark. “We're here because we decided that we wanted to stay a little longer, that's all.” Unable to bit her tongue she added, “I wish you wouldn't run Nate down for no reason. You constantly look for reasons to find fault with him.”
“I just think he doesn't do enough for you,” her mother began mildly, but Sarah cut her off.
“He does more than enough for me, Mother. He loves me and I love him, and you have to get used to it. Or if you aren't going to accept him, then you'll have to accept not having me around as much, because I won't just leave him at home like a bad puppy because you dislike him.”
Once she got off the phone Sarah felt equal parts elated and guilty. She'd never stood up to her parents quite like that before, and she was certain giving her mother an ultimatum would have negative consequences down the road, but it was worth the risk. Speaking her mind had never felt so good.
After that she and Nate had dined again at BellaVita on Tuesday night. Marco and Valentina were delighted to see them again, and pleased that they'd extended their stay.
A loudspeaker announced flights leaving O'Hare and remarked on delays. Nate finally appeared in the lounge, but he was empty-handed.
Running his hand through his hair, he said in exasperation, “I don't know if we're the unluckiest travellers in the world this month, but they've lost the damned suitcases again! They said they'll be arriving at our house sometime next week.”
Something about the situation struck Sarah as too funny to endure, and she started laughing. Nate stared at her for a moment before he joined in, and soon they were both doubled over.
“We could have gotten by with only our carry-ons,” Sarah said, holding her stomach. “And to think, I was so worried about colour-coordinating all those outfits.”