Our first international trip.
Yet, all I could think about was whether or not it would be our last.
“We’ll get you some coffee. And then, we explore.” He squeezed my hand again, and I squeezed back as he turned his attention to the window I’d been staring out of before.
My eyes just fell to the ring again.
“This is going to be the best week,” William said, his smile that of a child’s as the wheels touched down.
I closed my eyes, trying to dig deep within myself for some shred of joy, for some thread of excitement for this amazing step in our relationship. I wanted to make it his best vacation, to fill each day with memories he’d hold onto forever.
But now, I questioned if his forever was still with me, or if somewhere along the way, while we were both busy chasing our dreams — he’d changed his mind.
My eyes fluttered open, vision blurring as I found the ring again. It had once brought me such joy, such comfort, but now, it felt more like a reminder of what had been promised and never delivered.
“Yeah,” I finally said on a sigh, swallowing down the anxiety I wished I’d never acknowledged at all. “The best.”
William squeezed my hand again.
I woke the next morning feeling like the smelliest piece of garbage.
I had been in the worst mood our entire first day in Rome, and where William was bright eyed and energetic and excited to explore, I just wanted to survive until the end of the day when I could crawl into bed and get some sleep. Now that I had, I felt even more anxiety than before, weighing down on my chest like an anvil.
We were in Rome, and I was being a miserable travel partner.
I knew William could sense that I was off, though blessedly, he didn’t mention anything. Instead, he brought me a protein-packed breakfast that he’d picked up from one of the little cafés downstairs. Then, he’d told me to get dressed for our workout.
It was still hard to believe that I was that girl as I pulled on my Lululemon leggings and paired them with a loose-fitting tank top. For so long, I was the girl who never worked out at all — let alone when on vacation. But William had inspired me that first summer, and once that drive had been instilled in me, it had never left.
I checked my reflection in the full-length mirror, a trickle of disbelief washing down my spine as I took in the slim figure. My legs and arms were toned, my stomach and hips still curvy, but healthy. Sometimes, I looked in the mirror and couldn’t even remember what I’d looked like before — before I met William. But other times, like today, I looked in the mirror and wondered if the reflection was warped somehow.
Surely that woman couldn’t be me.
And it wasn’t that I couldn’t believe it wasn’t my platinum hair pulled into a high pony tail, or my chocolate eyes underlined by deep shadows from lack of sleep, or my healthy body that I’d worked so hard on over the years. No, this morning, it was that I couldn’t believe I was that woman who was so caught up in her thoughts she couldn’t enjoy being in a foreign country with her boyfriend for the first time.
My stomach soured at the term boyfriend, but I didn’t have time to focus on it before William was standing behind me in the mirror.
He wrapped his arms around my waist, planting a kiss on my neck with a groan. “I am the luckiest man in the world.” He spun me, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that ended much too quickly for my taste. “Ready to sweat?”
I chuckled. “You know, we are on vacation. We could skip workouts for a week and be okay.”
“We could,” he agreed, his eyes trailing down my body. “But then I’d miss out on getting to see your ass in these pants. And that would be a travesty.”
He smacked my butt, making me laugh in his arms before I shoved him away. And in that moment, a true smile found my lips. I remembered the William who was so cold, hard, reserved — the one who had pushed me away before I’d even realized I’d wanted him to let me in. So much had changed that first summer we spent together, and even more over the years since. He smiled so much now, as if he didn’t have a single reason to frown.
I felt even more silly now.
“William, I’m sorry,” I said on a sigh, shaking my head as my hands folded over his chest. I stared at my fingers, at my ring. “I was such a Debbie Downer yesterday. I wish I had an excuse, but I’m just feeling anxious, and I’m sorry.”
William’s brows bent together, and he tucked the stray strands of hair from my pony tail behind my ear. “You never have to apologize to me for being human, Natalie.”
My shoulders fell even more then, face crumpling as I leaned forward and into his chest. He wrapped me in his arms, holding me tight, and I felt that protection like an invisible shield that nothing could penetrate.
“Is it about the auction?” he asked.
It was my chance to tell him the truth, to open up to him about what I’d been feeling, but now that I realized how silly I was being, I just wanted to let it all go.
“Yes,” I said, lifting my head from his chest so I could meet his eyes. “I’m just nervous about finding the right pieces for our exhibit, and being trusted with such a big responsibility.”
“They trust you because you’re the best, Bug,” he said, smirking as he tapped my nose with one finger. “You’re going to be amazing. I promise.”
And when his hand slipped down to mine, fingers wrapping around my wrist before his pointer finger pressed into that soft spot he’d claimed so many years ago, I sighed, heart expanding with the most powerful love I’d ever known. That love seemed to erase the anxiety I’d felt before, and I sank into the new feeling like it was a hot bubble bath.
“Let’s get this workout over with so we can eat all the gelato Rome has to offer.”
William laughed, squeezing where he held my wrist in his hand before he smacked my butt again and steered us toward the door. “Looks like we’re going to need to do a lot of squats.”
The next few days in Rome were everything I imagined they would be before Alayna’s news had sunk my dream boat.
We woke up early, getting our workouts in before hitting our first stop. Each day held new adventures — a tour of the Colosseum a sunset at Aventine Hill, a cooking class in Tuscany, which took an entire day and got us out of the hustle and bustle of the city. We held hands as we walked the Spanish Steps, stood silent next to each other as we took in the wonders of the Sistine Chapel, and rubbed our bellies after indulging on gelato after each and every meal.
I carried my camera with me everywhere we went, snapping photos of the gorgeous, historic buildings, and capturing the natives in their homeland — a mother tending to a toddler as she hung sheets on a clothing line, a waiter smiling at us as he offered us wine with our dinner, a stray dog making friends with a biking tourist on the outskirts of the shopping district. But it was the moments when the lens found Rhodes that I found the best photographs, though I knew I could never truly capture what he felt. His eyes were so wide, his smile ruling his entire face as he took in each new sight and experience.
It was absolutely perfect.
On the night before the auction, I sat across from William as we waited for our dinner. We were nestled in the corner table outside the restaurant, the warm summer air sweeping over us as the sun set across the city. His thumb smoothed over my wrist where our hands met in the middle of the table, and I watched him as he watched the people passing by, his smirk blooming into a smile from time to time.
“What’s going on inside that head of yours?” I asked, maneuvering our hands so that it was mine on top of his. I ran the pads of my fingertips over his wrist, circling each vein before I trailed his palm.
He smiled, keeping his eyes on a couple crossing the street. “I was just thinking of how beautiful this place is, how beautiful the world is. It’s crazy to me that I’ve lived my entire life within the same two states, never knowing that this existed.” He looked at me then, his eyes a shining emerald green. “It’s hard to believe someti
mes. You know? To think of where I’ve been, the hell I’ve lived through, all the nights I went hungry, the days I worked doing something I detested just to make ends meet…”
He shook his head, and my heart broke at the memories flashing across his face.
“And then I met you,” he whispered. “And it was like everything I’d been through, it all led me to that moment, to that summer. Ever since you came into my life, it’s all changed for the better.”
I nearly wept as I reached over the table, placing my hand on his cheek. “I feel the same.”
William smiled, leaning into my touch before he turned and pressed his lips to my palm. Then, he wrapped both of my hands in his, bringing them back to the table as he leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. “You know how Lorenzo told me to keep my eyes open for new recipe ideas while I was here?”
Lorenzo was William’s boss at the Italian restaurant he’d worked at for nearly three years now. He’d been offered a summer job there when he was still completing his culinary degree, working under a celebrity guest chef who fell in love with William’s cooking style. The restaurant had hired him on full time after the summer gig, and he’d steadily moved his way up in the years he’d been there.
I knew it was only a matter of time before William would move on from them completely, opening up his own restaurant. He was just too good not to.
I nodded. “I do. Have you found some inspiration?”
William’s grin split his face. “This place is crawling with it. But, I thought I’d go back with some new Italian dish, or a new take on a classic staple we already offer. But the more I’m here, the more I realize that what makes Italian food so special here is that it’s in Italy. Sure, I could take some ideas for dishes like the ones we’ve eaten here home with me, but it wouldn’t be the same in Savannah. Because Savannah is not Rome.”
I nodded, but my brows pulled inward. “Uh-huh…”
He chuckled. “I know, but bear with me. See, I think what we could use isn’t new Italian food, but rather, new Georgian Italian food.”
“Georgian Italian?” I scrunched my nose. “Okay, you lost me.”
William laughed again, and this time it bellowed out of him. I couldn’t help but smile, too — his energy was infectious. Whatever it was that I didn’t understand, it was inspiration enough to make him giddy.
And I loved it.
“Savannah is this renowned southern city,” he explained when the laughter subsided. “It’s known for its history, much like Rome is. And there are so many iconic foods that people look forward to when they visit — fried green tomatoes, grits, pecans, peaches, pralines.” He paused. “I was thinking… what if instead of focusing only on Italian food, we brought a southern flare to Italian classics?”
William watched me carefully for a reaction, and the more the idea sank in, the more my eyes widened. His excitement had bled into me, and I felt my heart quickening its pace under my ribcage.
“Think about it,” he continued. “Instead of a fettucine alfredo, we could do shrimp and grits in our famous alfredo sauce. Instead of just offering lasagna, we could layer fried green tomatoes with our delicious red sauce and ground beef, smothering it in a combination of mozzarella and our take on southern macaroni and cheese.”
My mouth watered. “William…”
“I know it sounds crazy,” he said, interrupting me as he shook his head, my hands still in his.
“It sounds genius,” I corrected him.
His eyes snapped to mine, smile spreading so fast I thought it’d slide right off his face. “Really?”
“Um, yes, really! Are you kidding?” I shook my head, squeezing his hands. “You have to do this. If they don’t like the idea, then do it on your own.”
“On my own?”
“Yes. As in, open your own restaurant if they don’t want your brilliant ideas.”
William’s smile slipped, and his eyes searched mine as a reverent look shaded his face.
“What?” I asked.
“You believe in me,” he whispered. “Like… more than anyone in my entire life. You don’t just support me because I’m your boyfriend. You really believe in me.”
I smiled, leaning over the table to press my lips to his. “I’ve always believed in you,” I whispered. “Just like you believed in me that first summer we met. Now, it’s time for you to believe, too.”
William shook his head, watching me like he couldn’t believe I was his before he closed the distance between us and kissed me again. He held me there, his hands weaving into my hair, the kiss deepening until our waiter cleared his throat.
I blushed when I pulled back, the waiter depositing our meals and topping off our wine with a knowing grin before disappearing again. William just grinned wider, lifting his glass and tilting it toward me.
“To inspiration,” he said.
I lifted my own glass, clinking it to his. “And to believing.”
I kept my eyes on him as we each took a sip, and my heart sank a little as I realized what I’d cheersed to.
Believing.
If I was asking William to believe in himself, should I not ask myself to believe in us?
So what if we weren’t engaged. So what if we weren’t married or talking about kids or a big house on the hill. I was chasing my dream, and he was chasing his, and we were doing it — together.
It didn’t matter what other people did. What we had was enough.
This is enough, I thought.
And I sealed that affirmation with another sip of wine, swallowing it down like a fresh new breath.
The Castello Art Auction was not what I expected.
When I attended auctions in the states, they were often hectic — at least a thousand people, an auctioneer talking a hundred miles a minute as he bid off each item, stuffy people sitting next to me and pretending like I didn’t exist or like I was beneath them.
Sometimes, I wondered if I was.
But, this auction felt more like a close, intimate party with friends.
There couldn’t even be one hundred people, if I was judging correctly by glancing around the house. Though, house was a gross understatement for the beautiful Tuscan villa. All the windows and doors were propped open, the warm Italian wind sweeping in and through my hair. Natural light illuminated the dark cherry wood furniture, the multi-colored brick fireplace, the deep burgundy Persian rug that my heels balanced on. We were all gathered in a room I assumed was usually a living area, but had now been cleared, a small stage set in front of dozens of lines of beautiful wooden chairs. Photos and paintings that were not for sale decorated each and every wall, filling the room with color and culture.
It was stunning.
There were cocktail tables around the edges, and that’s where everyone stood now, sipping wine and chatting with each other enthusiastically like they’d all just come home for a holiday to be with their family. I tucked myself back in a corner at a table by myself, watching and wondering what they were saying as they spoke in different languages. I noticed the American accent on a few of them, but at the moment, I was content to just watch from afar.
I wished I’d brought my camera to capture the moment.
The auction would begin in less than an hour now, and I let my eyes wander over the story of the auctioneer that was provided to us in a brochure — translated from Italian to both English and Spanish. I couldn’t help but glance around the room, wondering how Luca Castello chose who would be invited to the prestigious affair. I knew my boss had ties to many art curators in Italy, but this seemed like a feat even for her to achieve.
I was smiling as I read over Mr. Castello’s backstory when I was joined at the table by an older gentleman.
“I love the written word,” he said, his Italian accent lush as he slowly enunciated each word. “But sometimes, I fear it fails us.”
I let the pamphlet drop from my hand to the table, smiling a
t the man. He was bald, save for the little fluffs of white hair that hugged around his ears and lower neck, and he held a beautiful, lavish cane in one hand. Everything about him screamed luxury, from his crisp, clean, fitted tuxedo to his Italian leather loafers. He returned my smile, reaching for the pamphlet I had just dropped.
“May I?” he asked, and I nodded as he pulled the paper into his view. His smile slipped a little then, and he shook his head, making a tsk noise with his tongue. “See, they get this part all wrong. They make it sound like the paintings I gathered over the years, the photographs I curated — like they were my entire life. But you see, they were only a very small part of it.”
My eyes widened. “Mr. Castello?”
“Ciao, bella,” he said with a grin, extending one hand for mine. “And you are?”
“I’m Natalie Poxton,” I said, just as he lifted my hand to his lips. “I’m here on behalf of the Modern Art Museum of Savannah.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, patting my hand once it was on the table again. He picked up the pamphlet once more, eyes wandering over it as he spoke to me. “Sig.ra Morgan told me she would be sending her brightest curator in her place. That’s quite an honor, coming from her.” He eyed me with a curious smile over his reading glasses before he went back to the brochure.
“I’m so thankful to be here,” I said. “Thank you for welcoming me into your beautiful home.”
He nodded, but his focus was lost in the text. “They sum up the most important part of my life in one sentence, as if it’s possible to understand the relevance of any of this artwork without first understanding amore mio.”
He shook his head, fingers grazing one of the small photos in the corner of the page — one of him as a younger man holding the hand of a tall, slender, beautiful woman.
“Are you in love, Natalie?” he asked, lifting his gaze to meet mine.
I flushed. “I am, Mr. Castello.”
He smiled, nodding as his eyes roamed my features, as if he could see it now. “Yes, of course you are. You radiate the same joy that I once did, that unyielding happiness, even in times of darkness.”
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