by T. K. Leigh
Feeling inspired, I turned on the lamp, allowing a subtle glow to fall over the bed. I did my best to recreate the same pose from the photo, minus one very important hand. When I thought I had it just right, I added a filter to make it a bit darker, then Googled for an appropriate quote, finally finding one.
“Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?” — William Shakespeare, Macbeth.
I added a few hashtags and was about to post the photo when my eyes fell on the option to tag someone. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the need to experience Dante’s love. As much as I tried to put my faith in fate that we’d find our way back to each other, I missed this man. More than the skies missed the stars. More than the plants missed the sunlight. More than the dawn missed the day. In my moment of sorrow and longing, I tagged him, then quickly posted the photo.
I stared at my phone for several long moments, waiting for it to burn my hands as fate’s way of telling me not to intervene with her plan. When it didn’t, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding and placed the phone under my pillow, wanting to stay close to the only connection I had to him. It would have to do.
Chapter Seven
“Ellie?” Mila called out from the hallway the next morning, followed by a soft knock on my bedroom door. “Are you okay? It’s after ten.”
I continued lying in bed, staring at my phone, willing it to alert me that I had a new Instagram notification. I had checked it obsessively over the hours of sleeplessness that plagued me throughout the night. No notification ever came, other than some of my friends liking the photo. I didn’t know what I expected to gain from tagging Dante in the post. I’d hoped for some sort of acknowledgment at least. Maybe he hadn’t seen it. Maybe he no longer felt the same way. Worse, maybe he’d already moved on.
“I’m okay. You can come in,” I said, sitting up in bed, checking my Instagram one more time.
The door creaked open and Mila popped her head in, then stepped into the room, placing a coffee mug on the nightstand. “Thought you could use this.” She hesitated, scanning my appearance. “Rough night?”
I ran my hand over my face, secured my hair into a messy bun, then reached for the coffee. “More like rough life.” My shoulders fell in defeat as I pulled my legs up to my stomach.
“What happened?” She sat on the edge of the bed, her concerned eyes seeming to analyze every inch of me. As grateful as I was for Mila’s help over the past few weeks, I longed for the privacy that went along with having my own place, to be able to mend my broken heart in solitude.
“Nothing, Mila. Absolutely nothing.” I sighed, turning my eyes to hers. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I thought…” I stared past her at the sun shining outside, a stark contrast to the darkness pervading my life. “I don’t even know what I thought. But I certainly didn’t think I would still be in the same spot I’ve been for over a month. I haven’t accomplished anything I thought I would.”
“These things take time,” she encouraged, placing her hand on my arm. “Something will come along. I know it.”
“I hope so.” I raised the mug to my mouth, relishing in that first sip of coffee. Then, as if someone else were pulling the strings, I admitted, “I reached out to him.”
Mila straightened her spine, her eyes widening. “What did you just say?”
I shrugged. “I reached out to him,” I repeated, my voice lacking any excitement or energy. Life had beaten the hope out of me. Dante’s failure to acknowledge me was the final straw.
She stared at me, her mouth agape. “Why? I thought—”
“I saw his face on the side of a bus yesterday,” I explained. “Like, really saw it. It wasn’t just someone who looked like him. It was a promo for his upcoming season.” I shook my head, collecting my thoughts. “I haven’t seen his face since I walked away from him at the airport in Rome. It hurt. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.” My tone wavered as I struggled to talk through the heaviness in my throat. Giving voice to all these feelings I’d been dealing with made me feel raw, defenseless, broken, at complete odds with the woman I thought myself to be before this all began. “When I got home last night…I don’t know. The pain was worse than it’s ever been. So I took a peek at his Instagram account.”
“Oh, Ellie,” Mila sighed as she covered her mouth, an understanding look crossing her expression.
“Have you—”
“I wanted to tell you about the photos, but I didn’t know how.”
“It’s probably better you didn’t.” I lowered my eyes, playing with the fabric of the duvet. “I was starting to think I imagined it all, that there was no way either one of us could have had these feelings for each other so soon. But after seeing his face on the side of that bus…” I wiped at my runny nose. “I wish I could just erase him from my heart because it hurts too much.”
Mila swiftly pulled me into her arms. “You don’t want to do that,” she soothed, kissing the top of my head. “Remember how uptight and complacent you used to be? At least when it involved your personal life. Before Dante, you always did what your parents expected of you. Hell, you were about to marry a complete prick because that was what your mother wanted, not you. Dante opened your eyes to what life is really all about. It may hurt right now, but you don’t want to erase him from your memory. You don’t want to go back to being the Ellie you were before, do you?”
I subtly shook my head. “No. I don’t.”
“So you sent him a message on Instagram?” She released me, holding my gaze with her inquisitive eyes. “I thought you didn’t want him to know how to get in touch with you.”
“I didn’t send him a message. I just tagged him in a post.”
She studied me momentarily, then held out her hand. “Let me see it.”
I hesitated briefly, but it didn’t matter. She would eventually find it anyway. She was one of my few Instagram followers, although she didn’t have much time for social media now that her days were preoccupied with taking care of two little ones.
Grabbing my phone, I opened the app, found the post in question, then handed it to her.
“Did he respond?” she asked, looking at the photo.
“Not yet. No like, no comment. Nothing.” My shoulders fell as I pinched my lips together. “Maybe this is fate’s way of telling me to stop messing with her plan.”
“Or maybe it’s all part of fate’s plan.” She narrowed her eyes on me, waggling her brows. “Maybe she wanted you to see his photo on that bus so you’d find your way to his Instagram account and finally reach out to him.”
“I doubt it. I’m beginning to rethink my position on fate anyway.” I blew out a long breath, defeated. “Maybe we’re not meant to be together. Maybe this is what my life is supposed to be like. Maybe my relationship with Dante was meant to end. Maybe I was meant to wake up every day and watch his features slowly fade away. His voice. His scent. His arms. Until, one day, they’re only a distant memory.” I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears forming at the thought. “I wish they’d just be a distant memory already.”
Mila pulled me into her arms again. “You don’t mean that, Ellie. It may hurt right now, but it’ll work itself out.”
I wiped my cheeks. “I don’t see how, but thanks for your encouragement.” I pulled away from Mila, taking a long sip of my coffee now that it had a chance to cool off. “God, what’s wrong with me?” I laughed through my tears. “I never used to cry. Now I can’t stop.”
“It’s because you finally care enough about someone to know what heartache feels like. Dante made you human, Ellie. Something you never learned from your uncaring, perfect parents. Being human means your heart may feel a few cracks and breaks along the way. But I’ll be the first to tell you that it’s far better than going through life as an unfe
eling, heartless robot.”
“I guess you’re right,” I muttered, bringing the mug back to my lips when a loud ding tore through the room.
We immediately snapped our wide eyes to each other, my breath caught in my throat. I quickly placed my coffee on the nightstand and scrambled for my phone, my heart racing in my chest. It could just be an email from yet another job prospect telling me they weren’t interested, but something about this moment made me think it wasn’t. It made no sense, but I knew in my heart it was Dante.
Unlocking my screen with frantic hands, I opened my Instagram, a smile crossing my face when I saw that not only did Dante Luciano start following me, but he’d also mentioned me in a post.
“What is it?” Mila asked excitedly, bouncing on the bed.
When I clicked on the photo, all the tension melted off my body, hope filling me once more. Maybe all was not yet lost. I briefly closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, allowing the photo and words below it to bathe me in comfort that everything was going to be okay, that fate knew what she was doing.
“I don’t get it,” Mila remarked, peering over my shoulder.
“That’s the bar at his restaurant in Rome… Inferno.” I stared dreamily at the photo of a suit jacket laid over a barstool, a single red rose on top of it. I could almost smell the garlic, tomatoes, and wine. I could almost hear the dull murmur of polite conversation. I could almost feel his heated stare on me. “I sat on that exact barstool the night he approached me. When we left to go to the Trevi Fountain, he draped that jacket over my shoulders to keep me warm.”
“What does the caption say?”
“‘Whoever loved that loved not at first sight?’ —William Shakespeare, As You Like It.”
“That’s beautiful, Ellie.”
I simply nodded, clutching my phone against my chest. It was such a small thing, but the photo, the quote… We didn’t have to send meaningless emails back and forth detailing the mundane events of our day. We could communicate in a way I never expected. We could share our lives, our thoughts, our love with a photo and words that only we would be able to fully understand.
I quickly shot up from the bed, scanning my surroundings. I needed to respond, to tell him how I felt, how much I missed him. An idea popped into my head. I rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen, Mila behind me every step of the way.
“What are you looking for?” she asked as I rummaged through the cabinets.
I stood on my toes, craning my neck to see what was on the top shelf. “That antique tea set you have… Where is it?”
“Hold on.” She headed out of the kitchen and into the guest room adjacent to the family room, returning a few seconds later with the wooden box. Placing it on the island, she unlatched it. I pulled out two tea cups, arranging them on the saucers before adding a few decorative elements — napkins, silver spoons, rose petals I stole from one of her floral arrangements. Once it looked right, I snapped the photo.
“I get it,” Mila said, understanding replacing the confusion on her face. “The tea room.”
Recalling exactly what had happened in that tea room, details I still hadn’t shared with her, my cheeks heated. I quickly looked away so she wouldn’t push for more information, and captioned the photo. I considered scouring Google for an appropriate Shakespeare quote, but decided to use something a bit more personal instead.
“I fell… Just a little at first…” —D.L., June
“Then all the way…” —E.C., Present Day
After I tagged him, I hit post, hoping it wouldn’t be long before I received a response. Thankfully, only a few minutes passed before he tagged me in a photo of the Trevi Fountain at night. To most people, it wouldn’t appear to be anything more than one of Rome’s most beautiful spots. To me, it was everything, particularly when I read the caption.
Sempre e per sempre.
There was only one way for me to answer that. I ran upstairs and into my room, Mila sprinting to catch up. Every inch of me seemed to glow, a feeling of weightlessness coursing through me at the confirmation that Dante was still in the world, that he still thought about me…that he still loved me. Sifting through my purse, I found the Euro coin that never made its way into the fountain, the Euro coin that told me to get on that plane and leave Dante. Placing it in my hand, I snapped a photo and posted it, using the same caption Dante had.
“Sempre e per sempre,” Mila murmured over my shoulder, reading my words. “What does it mean?”
“Always and forever.”
She wrapped her arms around me, kissing my temple. “Told you it would all work out.”
Chapter Eight
And so began my “love letters” to Dante in the form of Instagram posts. Over the following weeks, we shared at least one photo a day, along with a caption about love…some notable, others not. We didn’t directly come out and ask questions or have any sort of conversation. We didn’t need to. The photos we shared said everything we wanted. We spoke in a language only we could interpret. My world finally seemed a little brighter knowing Dante was out there, thinking of me just as my thoughts were consumed by him.
But, just like everything in my life, I knew that brightness would eventually grow dim. And it did on a Friday in August as I drove to my parents’ house for my mother’s weekly dinner party.
As I came to a stop at a red light a few miles from their house, my phone dinged with a new notification. When I reached into my purse and grabbed it, I saw Dante had tagged me in a new Instagram post. I grinned, thinking he must be missing me a little bit more than usual today, considering this was his fourth post. But when I saw the photo he tagged me in, my heart fell, a chill enveloping me. I had been dreading this, wondering about it, but didn’t have the courage to ask. Now I wished I had, if for no other reason than to be able to say a proper goodbye.
It was a beautiful image, one hand lying on top of another. The one on the bottom was more feminine, obviously belonging to someone who had lived more years. The other was younger, more masculine, one I still occasionally imagined wrapped around my own hand. My breath caught when I read the caption.
“The valiant never taste of death but once.” — William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar. RIP Mama.
I covered my mouth with my hand, hiding my quivering chin as my eyes welled with tears. Dante said she had three months. It had only been two. I didn’t want to believe she was gone.
Looking up from the photo, I glanced at the cars surrounding me. People talked animatedly on their phones or tapped their steering wheels impatiently, continuing on, as if the world were the same as it was just moments ago. But I knew it would never be the same. Not for Dante. Not for his family. And not for me. It didn’t matter that I’d only spent a few hours with his mother. She’d opened her heart, her home, her life to me, knowing who I was, knowing my family, but still welcoming me. My world seemed a little sadder, a little darker, a little less forgiving now that Gabriella Luciano was no longer in it. I could only imagine how Dante was coping with the loss.
I instantly recalled the image of him resting his forehead on hers as they shared a moment in her house in Italy. I was grateful to have been able to witness their love, a love I thought only existed in the movies and on television. Their connection gave me hope that I’d have something similar with my own child one day. I’d forever be grateful to Gabriella for opening my mind and heart to the possibility of having a family, something I never wanted before.
I returned my eyes to my phone, tempted to shoot off a direct message to Dante, but stopped myself. Part of me liked the idea that we weren’t speaking directly to one another, that we chose to bear our hearts, our souls, through photos of the world around us. What inspired us. What brought us joy. What caused us pain.
When the light turned green, I quickly shoved my phone back into my purse and stepped on the gas, losing myself in my thoughts as I
continued driving toward my parents’ house. How was I supposed to respond to this news? Should I get on a flight to Italy? I didn’t have the money for that, and my credit card was maxed out. Was this fate’s way of telling me to swallow my pride and ask my father for a loan? I doubted she’d want me to do that, not when the coin landed on heads for a reason. She wouldn’t send me back here to free myself from my parents’ shadow just to grovel for money. As much as I wanted to wrap my arms around Dante and offer him the comfort he needed, I had to put my trust in fate. If I were meant to go to Italy to be with him, fate would make it happen.
Resolved, I wiped my cheeks, then pinched them so it didn’t look like I’d been crying. The last thing I wanted was to give my mother any ammunition to use against me, although I no longer had any desire to go to the dinner party and listen to everyone drone on about the latest gossip.
As I drove, I glanced to my right, noticing a Catholic Church I never had in all my years of driving this very road. I quickly slammed on my brakes, my tires squealing as I veered into the parking lot. I found a spot and killed the engine, sitting in silence for a moment. I had asked for a sign. Perhaps this was it. I wasn’t even sure if this was allowed, if you could just walk into a church anytime you wanted, but I felt compelled to be here.
Smoothing the lines of my dress, I stepped out of the car and walked across the lot toward a set of stairs leading up to a pair of large wooden doors. I paused at the bottom, craning my head to peer at the cross on the steeple. The breeze picked up, my hair blowing in front of my face. I could almost smell the same sweet aroma that was in the air at Gabriella’s house in Italy. It was probably just my brain playing tricks on me, but part of me liked to think she was here with me, telling me I was on the right path. Her words the night I met her resounded in my mind, as if she were whispering in my ear…