by T. K. Leigh
Once the sauce reached a simmer, the mouth-watering aroma of garlic and tomatoes making my stomach growl, I placed a lid over the pan, checked the temperature, then went about taping together a bunch of moving boxes I’d picked up on my way home from work. I stared at all my belongings, unsure where to begin. I felt as if I’d just done this very thing at Brock’s. But this time, it was different. I wasn’t boxing up all my belongings, unsure of where I’d be living the following day, let alone months down the road. Now I knew. I’d felt a weight lift off my shoulders that day back in June. Now it felt as if that weight had shattered into pieces.
I spent the next hour sorting through my things, trying to get as much boxed up as possible. I didn’t want to be rushed to do all of this at the last minute and end up leaving behind anything important. They were just material things, but some of my belongings were reminders of happy memories. Like my high school graduation cap Mila helped me decorate, much to my mother’s chagrin. The jar containing bottle caps of all the beer we drank the summer after we turned twenty-one. The scrapbook we’d worked on during high school, memorializing our crazy adventures.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I pulled the scrapbook into my lap, running my finger along the dusty cover, which contained a strip of photos of us from one of those carnival photo booths. From each page of this book of memories, the difference in our two personalities was striking. Mila’s handwriting was artsy and flowing, the i’s dotted with the occasional heart. Mine was precise, small, not taking up any more room than necessary. She exuded life and happiness, her smile wide, her body language telling the world that she wanted it to see her, to remember her. I almost hid within my own skin, not wanting to leave a footprint anywhere, trying to stay as invisible as possible.
It was a wonder we’d remained friends as long as we had. I owed it all to Mila. If my parents had their way, we never would have spoken to each other again after they put me back in private school. Like Mila told me time and time again, we were soul mates. Nothing could come between our friendship. She was right. And the bond we shared jumped off the pages of this book.
I did my best to keep the tears at bay as I was transported back to my formative years, sometimes laughing and crying at the same time when I came across photos of us stuffing our faces with pizza at two in the morning, riding on a cable car in San Francisco, or being locked inside a prison cell during our tour of Alcatraz. Being the tourists we were, we got suckered into having our photo taken as a mug shot.
Mila wrote on hers with a dark marker. I didn’t do it, but if I did, it was worth it.
As I was about to place the book into the box with other important possessions, an envelope slipped out of the back, falling to the floor in front of me. I stared at it, the edges having yellowed over the years. Carefully lifting the flap, I pulled out a worn piece of notebook paper, Mila’s familiar script filling the page. As I scanned her words, I smiled at the memory of us writing out our lists of hopes and dreams. Somehow, Mila’s ended up in my scrapbook. The more I read, the more I realized she probably put it in there herself.
1. I wish I could stay in San Francisco so I could be near Steve, but I know I need to be my own person right now.
2. I wish I could go to college with Ellie, but I’m not nearly smart enough to get into Georgetown.
3. I hope Ellie realizes how strong she is, that this is her time to shine, that she doesn’t have to live with the pressure of the world, or her parents, on her shoulders.
4. I hope she smiles more.
5. I hope she laughs more.
6. I hope she finally loses her virginity. And not to someone her lunatic mother approves of. A bad boy. Maybe even a criminal. She deserves it.
7. I hope she flies. That she can close her eyes, feel the wind on her face, and shed her past.
8. I hope she finds love. Okay. I know this was supposed to be a list of things I hoped for myself, but Ellie’s happiness is my happiness. And she deserves this more than I do. She needs it more than I do. I grew up with two loving parents. Ellie didn’t. For that reason, she needs to find love. She needs to be swept off her feet. She needs to be promised the moon and stars and ocean and wind. She needs to find someone who will dance with her when there’s no music, who will kiss her when the world’s watching, who will love her for no reason other than his heart couldn’t possibly beat another second without feeling that love for her.
9. I hope she never forgets me.
A knock on the door ripped through the silence. I quickly folded the paper and put it back into the envelope, returning it to the scrapbook once more. I wiped at my cheeks as I eyed the time, surprised to see it was already seven.
“It’s open,” I called out, doing my best to mask my shaky voice. I always said I didn’t deserve a friend like Mila. Reading her hopes for my future only reiterated that.
The door opened, Dante’s frame filling the entryway. “Eleanor, you shouldn’t be leaving the door unlocked. Anyone could—”
He stopped short when he saw the state of disarray the apartment was in, coupled with my comfortable attire.
“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” His voice turned frantic. “Did something happen?”
Rising to my feet, I took several slow steps to meet him, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket. “Yes, Dante. Something happened.”
He blinked repeatedly as he surveyed my body, looking for some clue as to what was going on. “I don’t—”
“I figured I may as well start boxing up my things,” I interrupted. “I’ve been looking into cargo companies, and it could take a few months to get everything overseas.”
He pulled away, staring at me with a furrowed brow. “Overseas?”
“I won’t take everything with me, of course,” I rattled off, glancing around my tiny apartment that seemed even smaller now that boxes filled the space. “I can sell most of the furniture. Between your house in Tuscany and the apartment in Rome, we have more than enough.”
“Eleanor…” He swallowed hard, studying me with intense eyes. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” His chest rose and fell in a quicker pattern as he anxiously awaited my response.
I simply smiled. “Yes, Dante. I’m ready. I want to finally start living. In Italy. With you.”
I barely had time to brace myself before he swooped me into his arms, pure, unmatched joy washing over his face. Laughter filled the air, the smile on Dante’s face wider than any I’d seen. He spun me around and around, making me feel like I was flying. And I was. Dante gave me my wings, made me soar, pushed me higher and higher. We met in the clouds. We fell in love in the clouds. Now, I was happy to live in the clouds with Dante for the rest of our days.
“You just made me the happiest man on this planet, Eleanor.” He gradually slowed his steps, then lowered me to my feet. I stared at him, feeling as if my world were still spinning. Our chests heaved, the atmosphere becoming charged. With conviction in his gaze, he closed the short distance between us, each second stretching into an eternity as I anticipated his kiss, desperate for a taste of him. When his lips finally touched mine, I sighed, any lingering worry, unease, or trepidation about whether this was the right choice melting off me.
With a satisfied breath, I slowly pulled away from him. “There’s just one condition.”
“Anything.” He clutched my hands in his, brushing his mouth against my skin. “Whatever you want, it’s yours. For the rest of your life, it’s yours.”
I hesitated briefly, hoping he wouldn’t read too much into my request. “I know you’re set to head out on the road at the beginning of November and will be traveling off and on over the next few months for the new season of your show. I want to stay here until after Thanksgiving. We can talk about Christmas later. I’m sure you want nothing more than to get back to Italy, especially considering all the additional time you’ve spent in the States for me, but I need to tie up all my loose ends over here.” I squared my shoulders, taking on my all-business
attitude once more. “I’ve spoken with Beatrice and she’s going to help get all the immigration paperwork straightened out. I’ll have to go in under a tourist visa at first, but we’ll need to file the necessary documents before my ninety days are up. I have a list of what’s required, and she assured me between herself and Antonio, they’ll be able to take care of most everything before we even land in Rome.”
“That’s all completely reasonable. But now I have a condition of my own.”
“And what’s that?”
“You let me buy that house for you. Or any other house of your choosing.”
“Why?” I tilted my head, confused. “If I’m moving to Italy with you—”
“I still want you to have roots here, Eleanor. I don’t want you to think you’ve given up everything for me. I want you to know you have a home here, too, just like you have a home in Italy. Okay? California’s your home, and it will always be here for you.”
I reached up, grabbing his neck and bringing his lips to mine. “Wherever you are is my home. You’re my home.”
“You’re my home, too,” he answered in a husky voice, pulling my body against his. With his hand firmly on my back, he carefully led me across the living area, backing me up against the bed.
“What are you doing?” I murmured against his mouth. “I’m making Bolognese. It’ll burn.”
“Is the heat on low?”
“Yes.”
“Then it won’t burn.” He nibbled on my bottom lip, a jolt striking my core as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my yoga pants. When I pulled back and met his eyes, I saw his need for me written in every line of his face, felt it in every curl of his lips, heard it in every shaky inhale of his breath. “Slow and steady wins the race,” he said, repeating the same words he’d told me all those months ago. “And I plan to go slow.”
He ran his fingers down the curve of my neck, admiring the line of my silhouette with a sculptor’s precision. Closing my eyes, I arched back, giving him better access to every inch of me, his touch light but so deep in its grace.
“And steady.”
He roamed the contours of my frame, his hands settling beneath my borrowed t-shirt. He pulled me even harder against him, my body molding into him, every part of me fitting perfectly with his.
“I love you, Eleanor.” He brought his mouth to my neck, running his tongue down the taut skin, supporting my back as he lowered me onto the bed. “So fucking much.”
His motions were a mixture of delicate and desperate as he tasted my skin, his grip on my hips tightening, forcing a shot of pain to course through me. It only made me burn for him even more, the dull fire that had been kindling inside me over the past several weeks exploding into a raging inferno.
“I thought I knew what love was before.” He placed his elbows on either side of my head and leaned on them, his mouth a breath away from mine. His eyes scalded my flesh as he stared down at me. “But I was wrong. You are love. We are love. This is love. And this will survive anything we have to face down the road. Never doubt it, Eleanor.”
“Never. I’m yours, Dante,” I said in a low voice, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as he crushed his mouth against mine.
He groaned, his kiss tender, yet needy. “Again,” he pleaded, nibbling on my lower lip.
“I’m yours.” I wrapped my legs around his waist, digging my nails into the fabric of his linen shirt. He threw his head back, bliss washing over his expression, making me feel confident, secure…powerful, knowing it was my touch that caused this, that brought him so much pleasure.
Greedy, I fumbled for the buttons of his shirt, every inch of me aching to bask in the feeling of his skin on my skin. His lips on my lips. His breath mixing with my breath. He briefly pulled back, tearing his shirt over his head before lifting mine off, as well. He trailed kisses down my jawline, his tongue tracing circles around my neck, his teeth gently tugging on my earlobe. I moaned, clenching my legs tighter around his waist, digging my nails farther into his warm skin.
“Where do you want my mouth?” he panted, biting back a growl.
“My breasts,” I exhaled, my chest heaving. Just the thought of his teeth tugging on my nipples sent my libido into overdrive.
“Mmm.” He trailed a path across my collarbone, taking his time, knowing I was ready to fall apart. Every sweep of his tongue, each nip of his teeth, each caress of my flesh made my need for him mount. “Your skin tastes divine. Better than any five-star restaurant I’ve ever dined at. I could feast on you for hours and not be satisfied, although I hope you would be…” His tongue circled my breast. Slow. Languid. Agonizing. “I’ll always need more of you.” He gently pulled on my pebbled nipple, then blew on it, the sensation like the strike of a match. “I’ll always need more,” he repeated as he continued torturing me with his mouth, his hands, his words.
I raked my hands up and down his back, relishing in the feeling of his muscles contracting and flexing as he worshipped me, not leaving a single inch of my skin untasted. Every valley. Every dip. Every curve. He delighted in all of them, revering me, loving me. As he lowered himself down my body, circling my belly button with a touch that was barely there, I held my breath, unsure how much more of this I could take. It had been so long. So very, very long.
“I need more, Dante,” I breathed. “I need you. To feel you. To have you make love to me.”
He lifted his gaze to mine, his eyes glossing over. He peered at me for a moment, then two, each second unnerving me a little more.
“What are you looking at?”
“The beautiful sight I’ll be lucky enough to admire every morning.”
He hooked his fingers into the waist of my yoga pants, kissing my hipbone as he lowered them down my legs. His lips lingered on my skin a moment longer, then he stood, ridding himself of the rest of his clothes. My heart immediately sped up as I admired his naked form. Gazing upon me as if I were a treasure he’d crossed miles of ocean to find, he returned to me, his face less than an inch from mine.
“I love you, Eleanor. And I’m so blessed you walked into my life, that you decided to take a chance on me, that you think I’m deserving of your time and your love.”
My skin flushed under his touch and I closed my eyes, lost in the moment. He positioned himself between my legs, slowly pushing into me. A grateful sigh escaped my mouth as our two bodies fused together, melting, colliding, taking. I wrapped my legs around his waist, tightening every muscle. I wanted to feel every inch of him, slow, deliberate, needy, as he made love to me.
Brushing my hair out of my eyes, he nuzzled my neck, his rhythm slow, but still intense. He didn’t need to tie me up, blindfold me, clamp his teeth onto my skin to make me feel that familiar burn, that blinding heat as it bubbled deep in my core, that addicting rush propelling me higher and higher until I disintegrated into oblivion.
“I want to give you everything you never thought possible.” His motions became more urgent, more intense, more desperate. “I want to show you what a real family is supposed to be like. And I want to have a family with you.”
I moaned as the image floated before my eyes. I could picture us walking hand-in-hand through his vineyard, exploring the stands on Market Day, inviting his family to our house on Sundays after church. And I could picture us with a child, a child both of us would love more than life itself, a child who helped us find meaning.
“I want that, too, Dante.”
His hold on me tightened, his mouth covering mine as he stole a fevered kiss, breathing, licking, craving.
“I want to rub your feet every night after making you dinner,” he whispered against my lips, maintaining a steady rhythm. Pushing, retreating, pushing again as he made love to every part of me. My body. My mind. My heart. “I want to hold your hand as we walk through the streets of Rome, then steal away into an alley and make everyone jealous with how we can’t keep our hands off each other.”
He dipped his head into the curve of my neck, his breathing growing
harder. I fisted my hands in his hair, meeting each thrust, each pull, each groan. The scene he painted drove me higher and higher, the life he envisioned for us one I’d only fantasized about, one I never thought would be reality.
He pulled away, his eyes meeting mine as he slowed his motions dramatically. I wiggled beneath him, panting, desperate for him to keep moving.
“My sweet, sweet Eleanor.” His lips turned up slightly in the corners as he brushed his fingers across my collarbone before traveling down the path between my breasts, landing on my abdomen. “I want to rest my hand on your stomach as I feel our unborn child moving inside you.”
“Oh, Dante,” I exhaled as my eyes welled with tears. Struggling to find words worthy of what he’d just confessed, I grabbed his cheeks, forcing his lips to mine as he resumed his motions. “I want that, too. God, I want that so much.” I kissed him, but it just wasn’t enough.
“I love you, Eleanor,” he said sweetly. “Sempre e per sempre.”
“Sempre e per sempre,” I repeated, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as his measured movements propelled me higher and higher.