Through Her Eyes (7 page)

“So, what brings you all alone to Italy?” Chase inquires as we dust the dough with flour.

“I—well.” His forehead furrows as I stammer.

“It’s okay, I won’t judge.” His eyes are soft and kind, and for that reason I trust him.

“I made a mistake back home,” I say on a whisper, hoping he doesn’t press me. I’m not ready to tell. Truth is I’m not sure I ever will be.

“It’s okay to make mistakes. It’s how you fix them that defines you.”

“My mistake was kind of a big one,” I mutter. I chew on the inside of my cheek.

“There’s no mistake too big not to fix.”

“This one might be.” He takes in my words and smiles warmly.

“So, where in Italy are you planning to go?” he says, effectively changes the subject. I let out an audible sigh. Relief.

“Well, I’m kind of wandering aimlessly. No plans, no set destination.”

“You’re seeing the world, and you don’t even have a compass?” He chuckles. “That should be interesting.”

“Well, I have an idea. I once planned a trip like this . . . but it didn’t work out.”

“Plans are meant to be broken. Sometimes that’s what’s intended. You need to live in the moment and live the life you desire. The one waiting for you, not the one dictated for you.”

His words bring me back to a conversation I had with Parker only weeks ago.

“I still have yellow pins on the map. One day, Aria, I’m going to all these places. I won’t let my life get stale. I won’t live a boring life. I’m sure there is more out there than what we know. I want to know more, see more—that’s the life I intend to live. Let’s do it together. The only thing stopping us is your own fear. You deserve more than this. More than the life you’re living.”

“Hey, you okay?” Chase asks as he studies my face. I wonder if he can see how broken I am.

“Sorry, just got lost in my thoughts.” I force a smile.

“It happens.” His eyes narrow, and he appears far away, lost in his own moment as well. His head moves back and forth as he rights himself, awakening from his daydream. “So, tell me a little about yourself . . .Princess Aria Bennett.”

“You will never let me live that down, will you?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, hmm . . . Let’s see. I recently graduated from NYU.” He nods and his lips part into a big smile.

“Oh cool, great school. What did you study?”

“I majored in marketing, with a minor in business.” His right eyebrow lifts at my revelation.

“Interesting . . . you never did tell me what it is you actually do for work?” God, I hate that question. I hate talking about my family. Especially about the job that awaits me. Vague is always the best answer.

“Currently?” I ask.

“No, in the past.” He chuckles. “Yes, currently.”

“Well, I was about to start working for my father’s real estate development company. Then I kind of lost it and left.” His mouth opens and then closes. I can sense he has more to ask, but I turn quickly to Nonna and ask her what’s next. She proceeds to teach us the skills to make homemade biscotti.

After all the food is prepared, we sit at an old farm table set in the middle of the twelfth century kitchen and eat. The meal is by far one of the best I’ve ever had, each bite more decadent than the last. We eat everything that was prepared—sans Chase’s biscotti, which was burned horribly. Hours pass as we drink wine and laugh. The old woman tells us stories of growing up on the property, harvesting grapes, and making wine. She tells us about her mother and her mother’s mother and how she came from a long line of wonderfully, strong women. Empowered women. It’s inspiring to hear, and makes me realize that Parker was right. There is so much more to my life than filling in for Owen with my dad.

After a wonderful day, we say goodbye to Nonna and step out through the stone door and are greeted by a beautiful sunset. The red and purple burst through the clouds and create a watercolor effect across the horizon. It reminds me of the impressionist painting
On the High Seas
by Claude Monet—a kaleidoscope of colors so dreamlike I fear I’m not awake. Chase reaches around his neck and pulls off his camera. He starts snapping pictures in rapid succession.

Snap

Snap

His gaze drifts to the horizon as he stares at the bright fields of yellow in the distance. “Come on. I don’t want to miss this shot.”

We hurry back to the bikes and are on our way. The wind teases my hair, whipping it around as we start pedaling. When we arrive at our destination hundreds upon hundreds of giant sunflowers greet us. Yellow fields stretch as far as the eye can see.

We venture into the field, all while Chase continues to snap pictures and capture their beauty and splendor. I take him in, all of him. He’s beautiful, and if this were a different time and place, I would consider the option of flirting with him. But that’s not something I can do right now. I’m not ready for that. Not when my heart still belongs to Parker.

As my hair flutters in the wind, I become aware that I’m now the focus of Chase’s inspiration. He continues to photograph me, and I try not to smile too broadly. I try to maintain my air of indifference.

I fail miserably.

Smiling broadly, I see glimpses of the person I could be.

“How long do you plan to stay in Tuscany?” he asks me.

“I’m thinking one more day. Until tomorrow, maybe? I’m taking a day trip into Florence. When I landed at the airport, I came straight to the hotel and didn’t get a chance to see anything. So I’m going to go back into town to take in the sites and from there, I’m going to head to Rome. How about you?”

“I’m actually heading to Rome, as well. This is my last night in Tuscany. I’m heading out tomorrow morning.”
Of course he is.

“You’re going to Rome, too? That’s so strange. Isn’t it?”

“Um, I guess. I was supposed to go straight to Rome, but my shoot was put off a day, so I decided to come here and kill some time instead.” He winks, and I study his face for a minute. There’s something so familiar about him. Catching me studying him, he lifts an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing. Where are you staying?”

“Hotel De Russie,” he says, and I break out in laughter.

“Of course you are. Why
wouldn’t
you be staying at the same hotel as me?”

“Guess fate keeps bringing us together. There aren’t many hotels that have the small, intimate feel and all the luxuries I’ve become acquainted to.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. Never been. But my friend Parker told me that’s where I need to stay, and he’s kind of an expert on hotels and traveling. Personally, I’m starting to think he gets a kickback as all the hotels he advised me to stay at are owned by the same company.” Chase’s face scrunches up. Maybe I should stop talking about another guy. He seems pissed . . . or upset.

“Your friend is very smart,” he mutters as he peers out into the distance.

“Yeah . . . he is.”

“We should meet in Rome,” Chase suggests, turning his gaze back on me.

“I think I would like that.” The funny thing is, I mean it. It would be nice to know there is a familiar face in a foreign city.

“Okay, great. What time did you say you arrived?”

“I didn’t.” His eyes widen until I bat my lashes at him. “I’ll be there around noon.” And now it’s my turn to wink.

“So, how about we meet for a Bellini in the hotel bar, let’s say five p.m. Then we can head out and grab a bite in the piazza. That will give you plenty of time to freshen up.”

I nod in agreement.

“Should we exchange numbers, just in case something comes up?”

“My phone doesn’t work here. Why don’t you leave a message with the front desk if something happens?” His eyes narrow at my suggestion, his nose crinkling ever so slightly.

“Come on, the sun is about to completely disappear. I have a few more images to take and then we can go home. Do you want to grab a bite?”

“You know what, I’m kind of beat. I’m just going to head back and order room service.”

“That’s probably a good idea. I need to be up early to head out.”

When we make it back to the hotel, Chase lightly takes my hand, which sends goosebumps down my arm. Electricity courses between us as he leads us to the patio overlooking the property. The sun begins its final descent behind the hills of Chianti. Streaks of color trail in its wake until shadows take over. Soft laughter filters through the air on the patio as we sit quietly, searching for something to say. In the quiet, my mind begins to wander, and I wonder what it would have been like to sit here with Parker rather than Chase. The thought breaks me. The laceration forms.

I feel each inch as it grows in my soul until I’m completely severed.

“I have to go,” I blink back the tears threatening to fall.

“It was really great to meet you, Aria. I look forward to seeing you in Rome.”

“Thanks for everything. Today was just what I needed.”

“Until Rome.” He leans in and places a light kiss first on one cheek, then on the other. “When in Rome . . .” He chuckles.

“We aren’t in Rome yet.”

“My bad. Until next time then, Princess.”

Thirty-one days since I spoke to Parker

I
N THE MORNING, UNDERNEATH
the early morning sun, I see the Florence Cathedral standing amongst the timeless architecture. The terracotta-tiled dome stands tall over the city. Next, I find myself in the heart of the city admiring the fountain of Neptune, a masterpiece only an angel could have made. A marble sculpture so inspiring it makes me wonder how anyone could create such beauty and how I’ve never appreciated the craft before. Although my time is limited in Florence, I’m able to see the Galleria dell’Accademia, which houses works such as Michelangelo’s
David
and then I head over to the Uffizi Gallery to see Botticelli’s
The Birth of Venus
.

As my trip to Florence comes to an end, I find myself eating biscotti, a new favorite of mine, in the Via della Spada. The shops, the art, and the food—I love it. Most especially, I love the culture and the people. It’s just as lovely as Parker said it would be. Has it really been thirty-one days since I last spoke to him?

When I return to the hotel, I pick up the pen from the desk and the postcard I bought in town.

Dear Park,

You were right. Tuscany is magnificent. It’s truly spectacular. I’m lighter here. I actually met a photographer when I was at the bar. He convinced me to attend a cooking class with him. The cutest Italian grandma, Nonna Agetha, taught it. How funny that she asks everyone to call her that. She was warm and welcoming and I immediately felt like she was family. It felt good, really good. I miss that feeling. I haven’t felt that way since our fight. Being in Tuscany has really been amazing and makes me realize you were on to something when you said I needed this. Okay, I have to finish packing . . . next stop Rome. I just want to tell you I’m trying and please don’t hate me. Please forgive me.

Ari

I can’t take my eyes off my watch as the time passes, minute after minute. There’s no way I’ll make this train. It’s scheduled to leave in five minutes, and I still haven’t made it to the station. As the seconds tick by, we finally arrive at Firenze Santa Maria Novella. The structure is
impressive, like everything else in Florence. The design is a contrast with the nearby gothic appearance of the church of Santa Maria Novella. This building is a more modernistic design. When I walk inside, I notice a metal and glass roof with large skylights. The skylights span the entire length of the ceiling and give a feeling of openness.

My gaze scans the space and takes in the trains still present within the structure. My hands fist . . .
Shit.
I’ve missed my train. Pulling out the train schedule to check if the next one is to Rome, I sigh. It won’t come for another hour. With time to kill, I start to walk through the station looking to find a vacant spot. I sit on the floor away from the crowd, lean against a pillar, and remove my e-reader from my purse.

I quickly become lost in my book, and after a while, I check the time.
Goddamn it, I almost did it again
. Only four minutes until the next train leaves. The station is now super packed. I weave my way through the crowd. If I miss this train, I will scream. And possibly cry. I pick up my pace, my luggage trailing behind me. Finally I jump aboard just as the conductor speaks and the train starts to move. Glancing around and then at my ticket, I realize I’m in the wrong car. Can this day get any worse? I try to move toward the correct car, but there is absolutely no room to move and no place to sit.

The only location I can stand in is right in front of the bathroom, and dear lord it smells bad.
Yes, it just got worse.
My stomach turns and bile rises. My legs shake beneath me as the train bumps along its path. This has got to be what Hell feels like.

I don’t arrive in Rome until a little after four in the afternoon, which doesn’t give me much time to freshen up and meet Chase in the hotel. A drink is definitely in order after my journey, which had become a comedy of errors. All in all, I made it there safely, but damn, I needed a cocktail. Since my time is scarce, I throw on a pair of white skinny jeans and a chambray shirt over a tank. I’ve learned that it’s best to layer, even if it’s summer. Restaurants are chilly, as are the stores, and the temperature can dip at night. My options are limited. I only packed for a weekend trip in a carry-on, for God’s sake. Being a fashionista isn’t in the cards for this adventure.