He has been grumpy since he woke up in the hospital. Mercedes and Summer have both assured me this is tame compared to the past couple of weeks, which seems surprising and so unusual for King.
“I nearly didn’t leave.”
“What are you talking about?” he demands.
“I didn’t want to go. Yes, I thought this would be great, and I wanted so hard to prove to my family that I was good enough. But I didn’t want to go. I love art, but I’m never going to work in art restoration. I don’t want to work in art restoration. I want to paint and draw and create. I just got scared. I thought if I didn’t go, I’d resent you later—resent us.”
“What’s to say that won’t happen now?”
“Because the second my phone rang, I didn’t think once about art or Italy. All I could think about was how upset I was that I couldn’t be here with you. I will always have art, and I’ll keep working to be the artist I want to be, but I’m not going back.”
King relaxes against his pillows, watching me carefully with his brown eyes. “What if we both go?”
“What?”
“I’m going to be in a cast for eight weeks, which is going to make Italy a royal bitch, but if anything can heal me, the steaks at—”
My eyes narrow and he laughs, folding my hand within his. “I want to go with you, Lo. I want to be there and watch you succeed. After Italy, we can come back to Portland and figure out what’s next, but this is your time to shine.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
“I’m not kissing my dreams goodbye. I’m not sacrificing anything. This hardly seems fair to you. I’m not giving anything up and gaining so much.”
“What about doctor’s appointments?”
“What about them?”
“You’ll be in Italy,” I say, barely able to contain my patience with his aloofness.
“So, that’s a yes?”
“Is what a yes?”
“You want me to go with you?”
“Are you serious?”
“Weren’t you just inviting me?”
“I swear, if you weren’t casted and bandaged right now…” Shaking my head with annoyance, King laughs harder.
“Everything happens for a reason, Lo. I’m going to come to Italy. We can figure out all of the details, but I’m going with you this time.”
“You’re serious?”
“I love you, Lo. The last couple of weeks have been hell for me because all I can do is think about you. I am so sick and tired of missing you, and counting nine hours ahead to figure out what time it is where you are, and wondering what you’re doing. I can’t focus when you aren’t around. I don’t enjoy riding, or cooking, or even Kash because I am so preoccupied with thinking about you. It’s been like the first couple of weeks after I came home and found you, and I hate it.
“I’m going with you to Florence, and we will travel across Italy, seeing every cathedral, castle, and monument, sample tiramisu from every restaurant, and fill ourselves with wine and coffee, but most of all, we’ll be together, and that’s all I care about.”
“What about your obligations with Kash?”
“He’ll understand.”
I shake my head as a laugh bubbles up through my throat. “This is going to be like trying to escape the rain, isn’t it?”
King’s head shakes, his lips parted ever so slightly, causing my eyes to trace over them with the desire to both kiss and draw them. “The rain’s got nothing on me.”
“MAYBE WE should see if we can find an elevator.” She turns, scanning the large hall in hopes of finding a sign or line.
“I’ve got this, babe.” I place a hand on Lo’s shoulder, wishing it were bare so I could feel her skin. Her eyes turn to mine, wide with worry. Worry for me. I would likely find this concern annoying from anyone else, but not from Lo. It makes me feel loved and cared for on a level few understand. I know that I am always in her thoughts, not only because my face is what graces nearly every page of her sketch books—even here in Italy—but because of all the small things she does that mean more to me than I can ever put into words. It’s sending postcards to Mercedes twice a week. Collecting photographs for Summer each time we pass a small stand. Bringing me coffee while I’m still in the shower. Triple checking that I have my pillows set up before we go to sleep. Sending packages filled with fabrics and packaged treats to her friends. Remembering Kash’s birthday, even though we’re on the other side of the world. Every single day she shows me how much she loves me by working for her dreams, loving life, and trusting me to love her back just as deeply. And dear God, I do. Everything I see and do reminds me of her. I want to give her every flower I see in the shops we walk by. I want to cook her every meal that makes her moan with delight. I want to show her every beautiful secret and monument in the world to watch the way her eyes light up. And I would like to spend countless hours pleasing her because I can never get enough of the sounds she makes and the way she makes me feel.
She doesn’t argue, though I see the hesitancy in her eyes. Instead, she nods and moves in the direction of the spiral staircase that she stared at in silence for several minutes when we arrived.
I knew she would love the Vatican. There are few places more impressive than this small country. However, seeing her take in St. Peter’s Square made me wish I could take pictures like Summer. We had to wait for over an hour to get inside, but she never once complained. She was lost in a trance, one which makes me feel lost as I watch her.
We descend the stairs slowly, not because of the slight limp I’m still struggling with but the vast line in front of us.
The air is warm and humid as we make our way outside, and I appreciate the way her eyes travel over the square again, absorbing the scenery rather than searching for the right tour bus like everyone else around us is doing.
This summer has been nothing short of amazing. Watching Lo excel in her passions has given me a new appreciation for my own. I’m looking forward to getting home and starting physical therapy so that I can begin riding again, but like Lo, I’m not in any hurry. The weight of our love is greater than anything, and it will always be just as the rain: inescapable.
Read other works by Mariah Dietz
I have to say, I’m really glad I’m such a terrible procrastinator sometimes, because there are so many people to thank, and waiting this long has hopefully ensured I can remember everyone! If I don’t, I am truly sorry.
First off, I want to thank my amazing family! They deal with my moodiness when I can’t write, or am writing and can’t make things mesh, and my absences for while I’m either writing or lost in bookland. You guys are my foundation and my life, and I couldn’t ask for a better or more loving husband and boys. I love you too. Grandma Cyndi for being so excited and willing to read whatever I write! And my dad, you’ve been one of my biggest cheerleaders. Maybe I should have listened earlier when you said I should be a writer. I love you guys so much!
Lisa Greenwood, I don’t know how to put into words what you mean to me. I feel as though I’ve known you most of my life rather than a couple of years! Thank you for your endless support and encouragement, and for always being willing to kick me in my “loaf of bread.” Your cockney threats don’t scare me, still, but they greatly entertain me. I’m sorry for always babbling about books, and complaining to you on days my OCD gets out of control. I hope one day I can be as great of friend to you, as you are to me.
Sarah Pinkerton, I will always have you to thank you, because the day you told me my books left a larger impact on you than Twilight, I really believed I could do this. I love that you don’t care at all about what I write or choose to do, you accept me for me, and that’s all that has ever mattered.