by Diana Fraser
He rubbed his eyes, and glanced out the window. The icy gleam of early morning framed the heavy drapes. He rose, pulled on his jeans and pushed aside the curtains. Before him, Florence lay white under a soft gray sky. Snow was falling. The weather forecasters had got it wrong—there was no thaw.
He heard the sound of the shower being turned on, quickly followed by a radio—some pop song which didn’t sound like anything she’d listen to. He waited for her to change stations, or to turn it off. She did neither. And he knew then that she was hiding behind the noise. Something had happened. Something was up. He could sense it.
He pulled on a jersey and turned back to the window, pushing them open and letting in the dull peal of a church bell. He stepped out onto the small balcony, needing the icy air inside his lungs to cauterize the pain that had sprung up at the realization that Ursula was preparing to leave him. Snow had settled on the domes and rooftops of Florence. A motorino broke the silence as it roared up the road, leaving a dark track in its wake. He took another frigid lungful of air and returned inside, closing the doors tight.
Shaking off the stray flakes of snow from his hair, he went into the kitchen and switched on the coffee machine before turning on the oven to warm some croissants. He heard the bathroom door open, and Ursula moving around the bedroom. He wanted to go to her. He gripped the edge of the counter and leaned into it, willing himself not to go and take her in his arms. It wouldn’t do any good, forcing her to him, forcing her to stay. It would do the opposite. It would give her a reason to leave. As it stood, she had no reason to leave, and he refused to give her one.
“Demetrio! That smells wonderful,” said Ursula as she entered the kitchen. She hesitated but, instead of coming over to him, she slid onto the seat on the far side of the table. She looked up at him and smiled. But that shy smile was a pale imitation of her former smile—it was like the sun, hidden by clouds, dimmed by the shadows of her doubts in her now guarded eyes.
He wanted nothing more than to banish those shadows, to connect with her again. He walked over and nuzzled her neck. “And so do you,” he murmured. She responded immediately, and he felt a very male sense of satisfaction. He wanted to blast that shadow out of her head and heart. The whimper that came from her throat made him devote both hands to her shoulders, easing the tension away.
She turned her head, and he kissed her. When they finally drew apart, the smell of burning filled the room.
He cursed and raced over to the oven and pulled out the tray, dropping it, and the burned pastries, onto a chopping board as the heat seared through the tea towel. He cursed again as he ran his hand under cold water.
She came up behind him, put her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his back. “It doesn’t matter. I happen to like my pastries well done, with a dry-ish middle.”
She picked one up, blew on it and took a bite. But there was no way she could pull anything other than a grimace.
“Tell you what, you go shower and I’ll fix us some breakfast,” she said.
“Okay.” He put his arms around her and kissed her. “On one condition.”
“And that is?”
“I get to show you one more tradition. A tradition that will keep you here a little longer.” As soon as the words escaped him, he wished he could have unsaid them. It was in her swift side-ways glance. He sighed. He wondered if he’d find the right time to give her his mother’s gift. He swept the hair from her face, and kissed her again. “But only if you wish it. Think about it while I shower.”
Demetrio stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel. He tossed the towel into the bathroom and walked towards Ursula who had her back to him. He lifted her hair and kissed her neck.
“Um, you smell so good. What is it?” He slipped his arms around her waist and brought her close against his body which was already hard for her.
“Perfume.” She turned with a smile on her lips. “But we have no time for this. We’re meeting Ruby, remember.”
“Ah, Ruby.” His mood suddenly soured. He didn’t know Ruby and, from the things Ursula had told him about her, he felt he, and his world, didn’t stand a chance when compared to the glamorous society in which Ruby moved.
“Yes, Ruby. I’m sure you’ll like her.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said, doubting every word.
“She’s great company, as well as a kind and caring person.”
“Well, in that case, I look forward to meeting her.” He tried to sound convincing but, judging from Ursula’s expression, he doubted he’d succeeded.
* * *
They walked down the snowy streets of Florence to the café where they were to meet Ruby. The mellifluous sound of a saxophone escaped the old building. Once they were inside the unadorned space, the noise levels were high with music and the sound of wall-to-wall people. Demetrio tugged at his shirt collar, as claustrophobia threatened to overwhelm him.
“I thought we were meeting just Ruby.”
“We never meet ‘just Ruby’! She doesn’t like to be alone.”
Demetrio frowned. “That’s odd.”
“Not so odd, not once you know Ruby. She hasn’t had an easy life.” She waved at someone. “There she is!”
He looked at the tall, glamorous blonde with the outrageously stylish clothes, and couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble the woman who was waving at them could possibly have.
They walked up to the group, and Demetrio’s heart sank further as everyone turned to greet Ursula and looked at him askance. He was acutely aware that his casual clothes made him stand out amongst this glittering crowd.
“Ursula, darling!” A man introduced to him as Tony, greeted her. He drew her to him, and embraced her so closely that Demetrio almost growled. He stepped forward beside Ursula, and she turned to him with a hesitant smile.
“Tony, this is Demetrio.”
The man looked at him, openly puzzled. “Demetrio? How nice,” was all he said. It was clear that “nice,” meant “how quaint.”
“Tony’s in fashion,” Ursula said to Demetrio by way of explanation.
“Ah,” said Demetrio, thinking that made sense. “I’m not interested in fashion, myself.”
“Yes,” Tony said. “So I see.”
“Demetrio’s also in design,” said Ursula, too brightly.
“Oh yes?” said Tony. His lips curved into an ironic smile, but his eyes held an arrogance which Demetrio had a hard job not punching off his face. “Designing what exactly?”
“Ursula’s over-selling me,” said Demetrio glancing at her. “I work on the land.”
“Oh! You’re a farmer.”
“That’s right.”
Ursula frowned at Demetrio. “You’re a landscape designer.”
He shrugged. “If you say so.”
Tony looked from one to the other with a bemused smile. “Sounds like you don’t agree.”
Ursula’s smile froze a little as she turned back to her friend. “Demetrio is a man of many talents. Farmer, landscape designer.”
“Sounds as if he’s confused to me.” Tony raised an eyebrow.
Demetrio put his arm around Ursula. “I’m not confused. I know exactly what I do, and exactly what I want. It seems to me I’m probably one of the few who does.”
He caught Ursula’s gaze but didn’t take his arm away.
Tony gave Ursula a sympathetic smile. He touched her hand. “Catch up with you later, Urs, when you’re not so tied up.”
Demetrio glared at the man’s back as he walked away. Ursula turned in his arms. “What are you doing, Demetrio?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What do you mean? I’m talking to people, socializing.”
“Well, if that’s socializing, I’d hate to see you when you’re angry about something.”
Demetrio sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, Ursula, but that guy pushed the wrong buttons.”
“Tony? What did he say that was so out of place?”
“That’s just Tony. There’s no need to take anything he says personally.”
“You see, right there, is where we differ. I assume that when people talk, they mean what they say. What’s the point in talking otherwise?”
She smiled. “These people aren’t like you, Demetrio. They just talk about anything.” She glanced around. “Mostly each other, to be truthful.”
“I don’t like that, Ursula. I don’t belong here. Not with them.” He studied her, waiting to see how she’d react.
The smile fell from her face, and she bit her lip and looked around. She sighed and then looked back at him. “What you’re saying is that you don’t belong with me, is that it?”
“No. I’m saying my world is different to theirs. I’m saying that you have to choose between them. Because I can’t do this one.”
“They’re not like you imagine. Take Ruby; she’s a wonderful woman.”
“She may be. I don’t know her. From what I’ve seen she fits well into this world. So do you. I don’t. Now, I’m leaving and if you want to come, you can. But if you’d rather come later, then that’s fine too.”
“I’ll just find Ruby to see goodbye and then we’ll leave. Okay?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you at the door.”
He retrieved their coats from the lobby and watched Ursula move across the room, her blonde hair like sunshine, her fine clothes blending easily with the rest of them. What the hell was he thinking? She was way out of his league. She might as well be from Mars. She was a socialite with all the right connections. She knew what to wear, and how to talk to these people. And he? He was a farmer. He’d got that bit right, at least.
He pushed himself off the wall when she approached. “Ready?”
She nodded uncertainly. “Sure.”
They walked along the snowy street in silence. They stopped at the bridge, and Ursula walked up to the railing and looked down at the icy river, its current swirling around small frozen pockets on its surface. “I’ve never seen the river frozen. I’ve only ever been here in the summer before.”
Outside, Ursula had shed the sheen and glamor of the club, and he saw her as she truly was once more. He sighed with relief—the tension suddenly eased.
“I’m sorry, Ursula.”
Her cheeks were flushed with the cold, her eyes bright. “What for?”
“For being such an idiot in there, with your friends.”
She grinned. “You know, they’re not my close friends. Apart from Ruby, that is. And I can understand why you didn’t hit it off with her straight away. She’s complicated.”
“I should have tried harder. But you know?”
He slid his hands up the lapels of her coat, and she wriggled closer to him.
“What?”
“I was scared. You seemed different in there, with them.”
She frowned. “I didn’t mean to be. Was I?”
“A little, maybe. But I should have handled it better.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Yes, you should.”
He narrowed his gaze. “But the way that guy looked at you, I couldn’t handle it. No red-blooded Italian man could.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it.”
“He wanted you. And I didn’t want him to want you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he wanted. I didn’t want him, and that’s an end to the matter. When I go out with someone, I don’t expect to be tied to a leash. I expect to have my independence. Wasn’t your wife independent? Didn’t she lead her own life?”
“She was my wife and a part of my family. She led her own life within those ties.”
She bit her lip, and stepped away. “There are those ties again.” She huffed. “It’s not a word I use much. I think of ties as holding someone in place, preventing them from moving.”
“And I think of ties as connecting people to each other, to a place, to a home.”
The silence collected around them, like the snow. Cars and motorini passed less frequently now that the snow was thickening and, in this quiet cul-de-sac, with the river one side and a grand old building the other, they were quite alone, surrounded by the icy silence.
It was Ursula who broke the spell first. She turned abruptly and took a couple of steps away from him. “Looks like we have quite different ideas about such things.”
He fisted his hands in his pockets. “I guess it’s time to go.”
They walked side-by-side to the apartment, no longer holding hands. He held the door open for her, and she ran up the steps. He followed, taking them two at a time.
“Coffee?” he asked as they entered the apartment.
“Sure, that would be great.” She pulled off her hat, and her tumble of white-blonde hair made his heart ache because he no longer felt able to touch it. “I’ll just… just go and get out of these wet clothes.”
He made the coffee, but she hadn’t emerged. So he pushed the door open and took the coffees to her. She was kneeling by the bed, smoothing the last item into a suitcase before she clicked the case closed. She turned around, and saw him.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…”
“Just that you thought you’d take the opportunity to pack your bags.” He placed the coffee on the bedside cabinet, pushed his fingers through his wet hair and walked away from her. “Sure. Good idea.” He couldn’t prevent the bitterness he felt from spilling into his voice.
“You’re angry. I understand—”
“You understand, what exactly? Tell me, because I don’t think I understand. I’d like you to stay. I can’t believe you don’t feel anything, not after what’s happened between us.”
“Honestly? I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know if I can feel.”
“There’s only one way to find out. Stay and try.”
For one long moment, Ursula didn’t move. Their tangled gaze was unwavering. Then she glanced away, and he knew he’d lost her.
“I have to go. You know that. But I’ll be back… no doubt.”
“No doubt,” Demetrio replied too quickly.
“Demetrio, it’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No, of course not. I have work, I have a life, friends, family, all of which is elsewhere.”
“You could have all of those things here if you wanted to.”
Ursula shook her head. “A life? With you wanting to tie me down? Friends, when we’re such different people and have such different tastes in people?”
He took her hands in his. “Ursula, none of that means anything. Can’t you tell I’m crazy about you?”
“But… but we hardly know each other.”
“We’ve known each other a week. How long is the correct amount of time to know what I feel for you is true? One month? One year? Five?” He shook his head. “No, Ursula, it doesn’t work like that. I knew within five minutes of meeting you that I wanted to be with you.”
“Five minutes?”
He would have smiled at her astounded face if it hadn’t made him feel so sad. “You’re right. That’s a lie. It was more like three minutes. When you know, you know. You either love someone, or you don’t. I love you but, it seems, you don’t love me.”
“Demetrio… I…”
“It’s okay.” He kissed her hands swiftly and dropped them. “You don’t have to say anything further. I understand.” He opened the fridge, buying time as he pretended to look for some food, closing his eyes against the chill, praying it would calm him, stop his heart from pounding as if it would break. He exhaled roughly, plucked a pot of yogurt from the fridge and put it on the table. He took a further few seconds and deep breaths before turning back to Ursula and passing her the plate. “Coffee and cake?”
She took it with a hesitant smile. “Thank you.” But she didn’t move, just stood there uncertainly. It
made him want to grab her, show her exactly how certain she should feel. “Look, Demetrio. I’m so sorry, but I’m different to you and your family. You’re all so loving, and I’m, well… I’m not.” She shrugged.
Frowning, he shook his head, perplexed. “What the hell are you talking about?” He placed a coffee pot on the table, too firmly, spilling a little on the table’s pale surface, and turned to face her, allowing his frustration to show. “Not loving? You have a generous, kind and loving heart. I’ve seen you with my family, and with me. Who are you trying to kid by saying that?”
She shrugged uncertainly. The long pause that followed was punctuated by the metallic chime of a church bell that traveled eerily across the frozen city. “Me.” She drew in a deep breath and looked up, and he could see the fear in her eyes. “It could easily be me I’m trying to kid.”
“And why would you want to kid yourself?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps, because it’s easier. Perhaps, because it’s what I always do. Or, perhaps, because I’ve spent so long distancing myself from my emotions, I don’t know if I can feel… can love,” she added tentatively.
He gripped her by the shoulders. “Look, Ursula, I don’t know what happened in your past to make you so afraid to love. I don’t know whether it’s only that, or whether you simply don’t love me. And I’ll never know until you do.”
They stared at each other in an impasse that no words could break. It was the tear that trickled down her face that undid him. The anger that had been his friend, that had valiantly been trying to numb the hurt, disappeared in a heartbeat. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, holding her like he’d been aching to hold her since she awoken and put the distance between them. He stroked her hair. “Ursula.” He kissed her head as he felt her shake in his arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make it hard for you, I don’t want to upset you.”
She tried to speak, but only a sob emerged.
“Ursula, you’re scared. I understand. But I can’t help you. You’ll have to work this out on your own; you have to decide on your own what you feel for me.”