Through Her Eyes

by Ava Harrison

  “No. Actually, they had no idea. They hated it once they found out. They even wanted me to legally change my name.”

  I’ll never forget the day they found out. It was also the first day I met Parker. I came home from school so excited and ran into the house beaming with the news.

  I went straight to my mom and jumped on her lap to hug her. I remember how she pulled away from me with disdain. My mother was not openly affectionate with me. To be honest, I was more like a thorn in her side than a daughter she loved. I’m able to see that now, but at six years old I was oblivious until that day.

  “Mom, Mom! Thank you, thank you!” I beamed.

  “What are you going on about, Aria?” she questioned as she tried to detangle herself from my tiny arms. “And make it fast.” She gave me a frosty look as she spoke.

  “The kids told me at school. I’m from a video game! That’s so cool, Mom!”

  “Aria, please don’t ramble. You know how much I despise that.”

  “You named me after the video game Final Fantasy.” I beamed up at her proudly. Our eyes met, but hers weren’t smiling back at me. Wanting to show her how much I loved what she had done, I buried myself further into the nook of her neck and hugged her tightly. I felt her body tensing underneath me. I could feel her long, sun-kissed hair scratch at me as she pulled farther away.

  “I have no idea what you’re going on about, Aria.” Her mouth was tight as she pronounced my name. A fine line formed in her brow. Her nose scrunched.

  She rose and picked up a glass tumbler filled with clear liquid from the bar on the other side of the room. “I have more important things to do than understand that girl,” she mumbled to herself, just loudly enough for me to make out the words as she walked out of the room. My chest constricted, and I ran upstairs to hide in my closet. That was how at six years old my life was changed forever with one simple sentence.

  I hid in my closet crying. My soft sobs could barely be heard, but I didn’t let it stop my emotions from flowing out of me like a rushing tide. There are moments that change your life. I had no idea this would be one of them. I had no clue that at six years old my life would forever be changed. That the moment the door opened, I would be changed. That three words would change my life.

  “Please, don’t cry.” That’s all it took.

  Three simple words had the power to make me breathe again. I knew there was something special about Parker. The boy standing in front of me looked down on me with a calming look as he spoke. “Please, don’t cry.” His words floated around me like the first rays of sunshine after a gloomy day. “I’m Parker,” he continued. He had the eyes of an angel, an angel who actually noticed me. His shaggy blond hair fell across his brow as his blue eyes twinkled at me. Soft whimpers continued to leave my tiny body.

  “Shh. Please, don’t cry.” I nodded up at him as my lips trembled to fight back the sobs.

  “How about a little smile then, so I know you’re feeling better? Okay?” And I did. I lifted my eyes to look into the crystal blue oceans that had saved me.

  “Park? Who are you talking to?” Owen, my older brother, asked him as he looked around to make out who was here. “Is Ari in there? Ari are you okay?” His voice was laced with concern.

  “She’s fine. She was just looking for something,” Parker said to Owen. He stepped out of the closet and intercepted Owen so I wouldn’t be seen. He turned back toward me. Our eyes locked one more time. He winked, and my heart melted.

  Oh, the irony that she had unknowingly named me after a video game character. Joke was on me, though. I was devastated when she said she wanted to change my name. Completely destroyed. After Parker eventually told Owen what happened, he stepped in like the overprotective brother he always was. He let me believe the dream. He and Park let me pretend I was special.

  The gravelly voice of the handsome stranger awakens me from my daydream, and I notice he’s still standing before me and speaking.

  “Really? You’re shitting me? Princess Aria Bennett.” A smile tugs at his lips, and if it weren’t so perfect, I would want to smack it right off his smug face.

  “She’s actually a priestess, and we spell it differently. Mine has two n’s,” I huff.

  “Same difference.”

  My breath quickens as my anger rises. “Well, on that note, I’d like to say it was a pleasure to meet you, but, well . . . not so much.” I shift from my spot, but as I’m about to stand, I feel the touch of his hand graze my arm. It stops me dead in my tracks. The heat that radiates from him sends a chill down my spine.

  “Aw, come on. I was just playing. So, you live in New York City?” The muscles in my back become rigid. How the hell did he know that?

  “Accent,” he states obviously reading my confusion from my body language. “What brings you here to Italy, Aria?”

  And there it is, the question I dread brings me out of my haze, but I can’t handle answering it. My stomach knots. What brings you here?

  I’m running away from my life, leaving it all behind, blind to where I’ll end up.

  I’ve left everyone and everything I love to search for the meaning of it all.

  My eyes move away from him so he won’t notice that I’m teetering on losing it. He must sense my change of mood as he hands me the drink menu. “You’re almost done with your drink. Let me get you another one. What are you having?”

  I don’t know if I should humor him or just cut my losses and walk away. I could always drink alone in my room, but that would be pathetic, and I’m not pathetic.

  Taking the menu from his hand, I peruse my choices. Through heavy lashes, I glance back up at him. His blue eyes meet mine, the corners crinkling ever so slightly as he narrows them, and then blinks rapidly to right himself. Something is off with him. With my interest now piqued, I try my best to smile and lighten the mood, so I can figure him out.

  “Okay, I guess. I’ll have another Bellini, actually make it a Kir Royale. Thank you.” I nibble on my lip.

  “It’s my pleasure, Aria,” he says, looking behind me at the waiter.

  “La signora avrà un Kir Royale. Un altro per me.”

  “You speak Italian?” My eyes widen at the discovery. It’s shocking that there is no hint of an American accent when he speaks.

  “Yeah, I’m here a lot for work, so it really comes in handy.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

  “And what is it you do?” What could this ridiculous specimen of a man do other than sit around and be pretty? Model maybe?

  “A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” His forehead creases.

  “Vague much?”

  His eyebrows raise, and he chuckles at my response. “I guess you could say I’m a photographer and a bit of self-proclaimed poet. I’m an artisan, really.”

  “A modern day Renaissance man,” I say under my breath causing his lip to quirk up.

  “Yeah. I dabble in all forms, from the written word to working with acrylics, to embellishing my photos. My real passion is photography, though. That’s how I make my living. But enough about me. What do you do?”

  Ah, photographer, poet, ridiculously handsome. That totally makes sense. Of course, he’s the perfect man. Lost in my thoughts over how ‘perfect’ he is, I realize he has asked me a question.

  Oh shit! What did he ask me again? Job? Right? “Well, I’m kind of on a sabbatical right now. I . . .” I breathe out, trying to find the right words to describe my current situation. “I just graduated, and I’m supposed to work for my father, but I didn’t start. I-I came here instead. Honestly, I’m not sure it’s the right fit. I just don’t know.” I’m shocked by the honesty of my answer to this stranger. For some reason though, it’s easy to talk to him. His gaze is locked on mine, and he nods with apparent understanding before he speaks.

  “Why isn’t it the right fit?”

  “There’s not enough time in the day to get into that right now.”

  “I’m intrigued.” His right eyebrow lifts.

&
nbsp; “Honestly, it’s not that interesting, I’m just finally starting to loosen up and don’t want to talk about work,” I groan out.

  “Now that I totally understand. To not talking about work.” He lifts up his glass and I clink my almost empty champagne flute with his, then take the last sip.

  “So is that your favorite drink?”

  “A Bellini?” I ask while lifting my now empty drink to him for emphasis. “Yep. You?”

  “Me? No Bellini for me. I love a good full-bodied cabernet.”

  “Snob.”

  “Says the girl who loves champagne cocktails.”

  “Whatever, you’re such an ass.” He erupts into another fit of laughter, and I follow suit. An hour later and a few drinks down, I find myself back in my bed with a healthy buzz and a lot more knowledge about Chase Porter. We parted with a simple good-bye but I did tell him where and when I would be having breakfast tomorrow morning. I wonder if our paths will cross again. A part of me hopes they do.

  Thirty days since I spoke to Parker

  LAST NIGHT TURNED OUT better than I imagined. Maybe this is a good idea. Yeah, going to Italy was the right idea. Parker was right. I wish he were here, but I know I need to do this on my own. I need to get my life back on track and figure out who I am. Losing Parker is a huge catalyst in the downfall of my life, but it’s only one of many. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a little bit lost.

  It all started when I was a little girl. My mother always resented me, so I never felt I had a place where I belonged. Owen was her prize. Her prince. I stop myself mid-thought. No, these demons are too old to be unburied. I tunnel my face deeper into the blanket, let out a little scream, and purge the sad and hurtful emotions I’m holding from the memory of Owen and my mother. No, they will not ruin this for me. I already have so many obstacles in my way.

  After a few more breaths, I roll out from the safety of bed and welcome the day. The morning sunlight streams in through the large windows overlooking the lush hills in the distance. The grass casts a soft shimmer as light reflects off the morning dew. I stare at the swirls of color as they dance on the horizon. The view is haunting, and the longer I sit and stare, I recall my actions that brought me here. Their burden weighs heavily on me. My emotions are conflicting and, as much as I want to let go and move on, as much as I know I need to—

  My stubborn brain won’t let me heal.

  After showering and slipping on a pale green sundress, I make my way downstairs to the hotel restaurant. It’s the only place to grab breakfast in this hotel other than room service, which I’m not doing today. A friendly smile greets me as I’m escorted to a table on the terrace. A scattering of white clouds acts as a canopy above me, allowing the morning sunshine to flow through and bathe the ground in an iridescent glow. If I thought the view from my room was beautiful, then this was spectacular. Breathtaking.

  I lean back into my chair and close my eyes. The rays from above warm my face as I breathe the crisp morning air perfumed with the smell of coffee, sugar, and the natural fragrance of the flower blossoms in the middle of the table.

  “Good morning, bella signora,” a deep, raspy voice says from behind me. Chills run down my spine as I turn to my visitor. He’s even more attractive today than yesterday.

  “Good morning, Chase.”

  His gaze takes all of me in as he locks on to my eyes, then works his way across my collarbone, over my torso and down to my crossed legs. I can feel heat spread over my cheeks, and I will myself not to blush. Of all times to be affected by someone. Well, this is not the opportune moment. I’m supposed to be soul searching, not being distracted by a gorgeous man.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asks. But before I can open my mouth to respond, he’s already taking a seat next to me. He turns to the waiter still standing by my table, and in perfect Italian orders us two cappuccinos . . . or at least that’s what I think he says.

  “So, do you have plans today?” He smiles at me, and I swear it’s so perfect it’s as though the earth stopped spinning on its axis.

  “Um, no.” I know where this is going, and secretly in the back crevices of my mind, I’m slightly giddy about not spending the day alone.

  “Great. So here’s what we’ll do, Princess.” He smirks, and my breath catches.

  Seriously . . . Princess! “Don’t call me Princess.” I pin him with my eyes as I speak.

  His lips turn up. Great, he’s amused. “Okay, fine I’ll call you . . . Sunshine.” He winks.

  He goddamn winked again. Ass. What the hell is up with that wink? Is that his move? “Don’t call me Sunshine either,” I bite back.

  “Well, I’m going to have to call you something.” This guy was grading on my last nerve, no matter how cute he was.

  “How about using my name . . . Aria. Try it out. It’s not that hard.” Sarcasm drips like bitter juice off my words.

  “Yeah, so that’s not going to happen. Pick which one you like better.”

  “Oh. For the love of God! Fine. Whatever. Call me whatever you want to call me,” I huff as I throw up my arms in defeat.

  “So, Sunshine—yeah, I like that—here’s what we’re going to do. I agreed to shoot the hotel when they found out I was a photographer. So as a thank you, they scheduled me a one-on-one cooking class with a chef here on the far end of the property. Why don’t you join me? It will be really fun. You’ll love it. She’s not one of those uptight chefs, either. It’s actually the owner’s grandmother. She lives on the property about a mile up the road in the stone house you probably saw when you pulled up to the hotel. You will love Nonna Agetha.”

  “Nonna Agetha?” I tilt my head to the left. I’m interested.

  “Yep, she’s not a traditionally taught chef, but she’s very well-known and revered in these parts. So, what do you think, Sunshine? Want to go on a little adventure with me?”

  I think about his words. Should I go? I’ve no other plans, and this is what I’m here for. I say the only words I can at a time like this. “Sure, why the hell not? Take me on an adventure.”

  “Okay. Let’s drink these cappuccinos, then go over to where they keep the bikes and head out.”

  “Don’t you need to shoot?”

  “I prefer to shoot at first light or at dusk, so I’ll take some of the pictures later.”

  “Well, I can’t ride a bike in this.” I fold my arms across my chest in defiance.

  “Sure, you can.”

  My eyes grow wide at his words. “But—” I try to object before he cuts me off.

  “Live outside your comfort zone. Do you want to live a dictated life or do you want to travel in your own direction?”

  His words ring truth for me. I needed to hear them at this moment. This is why I’m here . . . to travel in my own direction, to find myself just like Parker had said.

  “Okay.”

  I look down. Flat ballet slippers and a sundress. My outfit replicates a photo of a girl riding a bike in France I’d once seen. He’s right. It would be perfect.

  After we’re done with our cappuccinos, we walk down the stairs and around the building. Lying next to the stone wall of the castle are two old-fashioned bicycles. Yellow, rusted, weathered . . . typical, but perfect. As I sit down, a sharp gust of wind picks up and throws my sun-kissed golden locks across my face.

  Snap

  Snap

  I look up to find Chase’s camera aimed at me.

  “What are you doing?” I eye him with confusion and a little annoyance.

  “I had to capture you. You look beautiful and free.”

  The sincerity in his voice knocks the wind out of me. I thank God that my wispy locks cover my face that I’m sure is now crimson red. He thinks I’m beautiful. Nope, shake it off. No distractions . . . you are not here for that.’

  We ride toward the house in the distance in comfortable silence, taking in the views and breathing in all that nature has to offer. The closer we get, the more in awe I am of the architecture before me. This h
ouse must be hundreds of years old. It resembles an old carriage house, and I wonder if it had once been part of the original property of the Castello del Nero.

  We hop off the bikes and head inside. A whiff of flour hits my nose, tickling it. I turn my head, and the moment I spot Nonna Agetha, I understood why she’s referred to as ‘Nonna.’ Her warm olive skin is wrinkled and weathered with age and experience. Her hair is a mottled grey. Dull and cut short to frame her face. She’s everything a Nonna should be.

  “Ciao, un piacere conoscerla,” she says.

  “Ciao, un piacere conoscerla,” Chase replies, then turns to me and smiles as he repeats the words in English for my benefit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I smile brightly at her and repeat the words “Ciao, un piacere conoscerla.” They come out choppy, making Chase smile at me. Comforting me.

  As Nonna starts to speak and tell us, or mostly Chase, the history of the estate that was built in the twelfth century, I can’t stop my lips from turning up even further. Her broken English and accent make me feel safe, and strangely enough . . . loved. It feels like I belong with her, as if she’s my family. It’s a wonderful feeling, one I haven’t felt in a long time. Joy radiates from her as she pours us each a glass of orange juice and proceeds to describe what we will be learning to cook today.

  “We will begin with a traditional ragu. We will simmer—” The word comes out sounding more like shimmer, but I understand what she means. As we braise the meat, I sweat the vegetables in another pan. Onions and fresh garlic, the aroma is heavenly. She moves on to teach us how to hand roll gnocchi. I can imagine Parker loving this. He loves to cook, and he would love Nonna. The smile bleeds off my face. God, I miss him.

  Why does this keep happening? My emotions catch like a brush fire, burning up every semblance of happiness I’ve gained. Why can I not for one second begin to breathe and move on? Just when I think I am, I’m robbed again.

  “Bella, what is wrong.”

  “Nothing.”