by Ava Harrison
He grabs my hand and ushers me down a long cobblestone street and away from the crowd. As we get closer to the structure, I point in front of me.
“Oh my God! Are we really going? I’ve always wanted to see the Vatican.”
“I knew you’d love it.” The early morning sun flashes against his steely blue eyes, making them twinkle. “Come on. We need to hurry. The tour starts in fifteen minutes. If we miss it, it’s back to the end of the line.” he gestures behind us, and I shudder. That would totally suck. We make our way into St. Peter’s Square, and my breath leaves my body as I take in the architecture before me. St. Peter’s Basilica stands proud as the most prominent building in Vatican City. I want to peek inside and see the treasures that lay within, but I feel Chase’s hand tighten and pull me faster.
“I promise we can check it out afterward. But we’re really running late, and I had to call in some major favors to get us on a small VIP tour today.” My pace picks up and by the time we reach the side entrance to the Vatican museum I’m huffing from the exertion.
Chase speaks in Italian to the Swiss Guard watching over the door. We’re let inside and run straight into a small group of about six individuals. Three couples, with us in attendance, now four couples. Not that we’re a couple. My faces blushes at the thought.
An elderly man with gray hair and tiny bifocals hands Chase two sets of earphones and starts showing us down a long, dimly lit corridor that leads into the museum. It smells of old mothballs and reminds me of the odor in the section of the library that houses the first editions.
“Make sure you pay very close attention. I would hate for you to miss any of the important historical information.” His eyebrows twitch slightly, and he bites his lip to stifle a laugh. I have no clue what’s amusing him, so I place my earphones in my ears and follow the group through a set of doors that leads into a courtyard. As we walk further, I turn up the sound on the listening device they provided to hear the tour and catch the word Belvedere. Ahh, we’re in the Belvedere courtyard. As we step closer to a large fountain that looks a lot like a giant green pinecone, I realize what is so funny. The tour guide has begun to speak, and I have no flipping clue what he’s saying. Pulling my earphones out, I turn to Chase, who’s now in full hysterics.
“Mature, Chase. Real mature.”
“I never claimed to be, Princess.” Damn smirk. Works every time.
“So, you mind explaining what’s going on?” My hands gesture to the guide.
“Yeah. Well, apparently the only tour I could get was in Finnish.”
“In Finnish?”
“Yes, Finnish. Like from Finland.” Placing my hand to my eyes, all I can do is just shake my head and laugh as well. Of course, the one place I’m dying to visit, and I won’t understand a word.
“How am I supposed to understand?”
“I’ll give you the tour.”
“You know the history of the Vatican?”
“Sure do.” My head shakes back and forth at the smug look on his face when he speaks, but no matter how arrogant he looks, I keep smiling.
“Very well, have at it.” I gesture to the green statue in front of me.
“This is actually a pinecone.” At that I actually snort. “No, seriously, Princess. The statue is of a pinecone. No big mystery or deep meaning.”
“Well, that was pretty anticlimactic.”
“Right?” He nods as he pulls me toward the group that has started walking to another statue in the courtyard.
“Let me guess, this statue is a globe?” I take in the bronze statue in front of me that resembles a ball.
“Actually, this one I know. This is Sphere Within Sphere. Pretty cool, right?”
“Yeah, totally.” As we continue to walk and enter the museum, neither of us speaks, and the group is completely silent as they take in everything they are hearing . . . in Finnish.
“This is boring,” Chase whines, and I swat at him.
“Shh. I’m pretty sure it’s sacrilegious to call the Vatican boring. I think you just bought yourself a one-way ticket to Hell.”
“I’m pretty sure I secured my spot years ago.” He gives me a lopsided smile, and all I can do is roll my eyes at him.
“Well, if you’re so bored, let’s talk about something.”
“Great idea, let’s play twenty questions.” He turns and stands directly in front of me. I groan in response.
“Oh, come on. No. What are you five?” My voice sounds nasally and makes me cringe.
“I’ll start,” he offers as he ignores my objections. “Hmm. If you had to cook dinner for me, what would you serve?”
“Wait, really? That’s your question?” To evade hearing the answer to my question, I move to the right of him and then further into the room and stand directly in front of a marble pillar. He quickens his pace and catches up to me. So much for avoiding the question.
“Well, I did skip breakfast, so yeah. That’s my question.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“That’s not an answer. Try again.” Knowing he won’t stop pestering me until I answer, I think of all the foods I know how to prepare.
“Fine. Hmm, okay. I would make you lobster risotto. Your turn.”
“I would cook you French toast.”
“The question was for dinner.”
“What can I say? I like eating breakfast for dinner.” We step in front of a giant Roman sculpture. The intricate nature of each line and detail is incredible, but when I look up above me, my mouth drops open.
“This is fantastic.”
“Isn’t it? These paintings were painted by Domenico Torti and Ludwig Seitz,” he says while he points up to the ceiling.
“Wow, Chase, I’m impressed. You really do know your stuff!”
“I have my moments. Next question . . . who’s the one person you hate in your family?” My eyes dart to him, and I blink a few times.
“You can’t ask that. That’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard!” What am I supposed to answer . . . everyone?
“Fine, fine. Here, this one’s easier. What is your biggest dream in life?”
“Much easier, Chase.” Sarcasm spills off my words.
“This one shouldn’t be that hard. Everyone has dreams.”
“I—I honestly don’t know. I guess this.”
“This?”
“Doing my own thing, being able to experience life on my own terms . . . living.”
“That’s a pretty great dream, Princess. It’s mine too, actually. Now it’s your turn to ask a question.”
“Do you keep secrets?” I’m not sure where that came from, but as soon as the words bust out of my mouth, I regret them. I guess I need to know if I’m the only one living a lie. His eyes narrow, and I notice the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing up and down.
“Yes.”
“Care to elaborate.”
“No, then it wouldn’t be a secret. Well, since we are at the Vatican. Next question. Do you pray?” He asks.
“Not anymore.” And with that, I step past him and rejoin the group ahead, marveling at a statue of a woman holding a sheaf of wheat.
“That’s the Tyche of Antioch,” I hear from behind me. Turning around, I meet Chase’s gaze.
“I’m impressed.”
“Come on, let’s ditch the group and check out the Sistine Chapel.”
“We can’t do that, can we?”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” I nod at him, but I don’t dare voice my agreement. I need all the help I can get when entering the pearly gates. I’m not pissing anyone off in the Vatican.
As we walk inside and my eyes linger on the images blanketing us from above, tears prick at my eyes. There it is The Creation of Adam by Michelangelo. The image of the near-touching hands of God and Adam rocks me to the core.
“They say that the implication of his position is said to mean that if we truly want something, we have to be willing to move toward it.” My chest heaves with the impact of the
images and Chase’s words. This is life and all its meaning. This is why I’m here.
“Thank you, Chase. Today—well, today was really beyond words. Thank you for giving that to me.” I didn’t speak for a moment. His brows knit together causing a little line to form between them.
“I want to ask you something. It’s going to sound a little weird, but can you bear with me and keep an open mind?”
“I can try.” My hands cross over my chest, almost in a protective manner.
“I’ve traveled more than most have, Aria. I’ve seen some incredibly life-changing things and . . . well, after hearing your dreams, I want to share that experience with you. I want you to come with me.”
“What?” My eyes widen more than I think possible.
“I want you to travel with me on my next shoot. You’ve inspired a vision, and I want to see where it goes. I also think you need this, and to be honest, I’m not ready for our time together to be over.”
“I can’t.” I shouldn’t.
“Why? Do you have someplace to be?” I think about his question. I should go back home. I should go see Parker. But it’s too much. I’m not ready to go. I’m not strong enough to deal with him yet, to deal with the pain I caused him.
“I—I don’t know you,” I stutter.
“Take a chance. Do this with me. What do you have to lose?”
Accompany him on a photo shoot?
Travel with him? Take a chance with him? No. I’m not ready to take a chance on anyone. When I don’t speak, he continues to press on.
“Oh, come on. You are planning on seeing Italy, right?
“Yeah.”
“You could do this alone, but it would be a lot more fun with me. So come on, be crazy for once in your life. Be crazy with me.”
“I . . . I . . .”
“Have you ever felt like your life was passing you by and you didn’t know how to push pause and take the time to appreciate it? I’m giving you that chance. Each one of us is meant to have a journey to find our truth. Maybe this will be your journey.” His gaze locks onto mine. “Come with me?” I want to, I really do . . . but I can’t.
“I’m sorry, Chase, but no. I can’t.” He tilts his head toward me and nods.
“I knew it was a long shot, but the idea crept in my head, and it would have been amazing.”
“I’m sorry. I bet you wish you kept the model?”
“Not at all. Never. You inspired the idea, for you. Wouldn’t work for anyone else. I’ll just come up with another idea. No worries, okay?”
“Okay.”
“So, what do you want to do for the rest of the day? What do you want to see?”
“Funny, I haven’t thought about it.”
“How about we have no plan? How about we let the nature, the scenery tell us what to do? We go where we feel we should.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
“First stop: dinner. I haven’t eaten anything since—well I guess I haven’t had anything since yesterday, and I don’t count the gelato.”
“What should we eat?”
“I have a genius idea. We’re in Italy, let’s grab pizza.”
“That’s genius. Pizza it is.”
We make our way to the Piazza Navona. The grand centerpiece is a large fountain featuring images of the four river gods—Nile, Ganges, Danube, and Plat. Surrounding it are numerous restaurants and cafes. After a brisk walk around the square, we choose a small restaurant that offers everything, including pizza. This restaurant has the best view of the water illuminating the square which appears magical against the darkness of night. From our seats, we can see numerous artists setting up and musicians starting to play. It’s divine.
We sit, and a pretty waitress comes over batting her big brown eyes at Chase. She places one hand on his bicep, and ice fills my veins. My visceral reaction is jealousy. This feeling creeping inside of me comes as a surprise. Why do I keep feeling like this? How can I be jealous? But it doesn’t matter, because I am. I’m jealous of this woman. I’m jealous that he might want her, and I’m jealous that she has the courage to go after what she wants. I’m not that fearless. I never have been. All those years I loved Parker from afar, but once he rejected me, I never dared try again.
The waitress leans over suggestively to hand him two menus, and I shoot daggers at her. Chase waves the menus off and proceeds to order in Italian. I’m not sure what he orders, but it seems lengthy, and I think I hear the word pizza. She continues to swoon at his every word, her smile huge. He doesn’t even notice her advances, merely continues to stare at me from across the table as he orders. When she finally walks away, a small dimple forms in his cheek, and the corners of his eyes crinkle.
“What are you looking at?” I ask him nervously. My hands tap in my lap.
“Just you. There seems to be a lot hiding behind those gorgeous brown eyes.” I sit frozen, my face warming, and I’m sure he can’t miss the blush that must be apparent on my face. His lip ticks upward, his steel eyes glimmering. “I’m from the city,” he says, and my eyes dart up to his, my forehead puckering with confusion.
“I thought you might be more willing to open up if I told you a bit about myself first.” He grins. “I’m an only child. I picked up my first camera when I was in high school, haven’t put it down since. I was your typical ‘hipster,’” he air quotes. “I wrote poetry, snapped pictures . . . I was very existential in my youth.”
“How come I believe you still are?” My eyebrow rises, and he smiles back.
“I guess only time will tell. After college, I traveled. I traveled a lot. I was kind of an adrenaline junkie. Skydiving, rock climbing, cliff diving, mountain climbing. You name it, I did it, and I brought my camera everywhere I went. I started to blog my adventures, and then I started an Instagram page and began posting my locations. As the time passed, I became more and more sought after, and now I make a living doing what I always dreamed.”
“That’s incredible! I only wish that was my life.” That’s all it will ever be, though. A wish. The air in the room grows heavy around me. I want to crawl into a hole as he speaks, bury my head in the sand, and not see the jealousy coursing through my veins. It would be amazing to do what I love . . . be happy. I’m not sure how to be happy anymore.
“It can be. It’s like I said before. I don’t know you well, but I can tell you’re lost. It’s like you’ve been told what to do your entire life, and you can’t decide which way to go at the fork in the road—left or right. Do what others want or what you want. This, Aria, this is your first day trying to choose which direction you should go.”
“I don’t want to work for my dad,” I blurt out of nowhere, and I’m starting to think there is something wrong with me and my mood swings. I’ve no idea why I said something so random. I’m totally losing it. Chase doesn’t miss a beat.
“What made you decide to go into the family business?” he asks.
“Well, I don’t actually work for him yet. I was set to start.”
“That’s right, sabbatical. If you don’t want to then why are you?”
“I have no clue.”
“Come on there’s got to be a reason.”
“I never felt I had a choice. Twenty-two and I already have a corner office with my name on the door. For the last ten years, I thought it was all I wanted. I can’t remember what I wanted before then. I can’t remember what my dreams were before I started living the reality that was meant for someone else. It didn’t matter what I dreamed of. I never had a choice. It was made for me. One day my life changed, and I needed to succeed, if not for me then for him.”
I felt I needed to succeed to atone for Owen’s death. It would never happen, but for some reason I thought it would make it better. Maybe my mother would treat me nicer if I was more like him, and in turn maybe my father would notice me. My mother was never nice to me, but after Owen died, something in her broke. I would have done anything for her approval growing up, even if it meant living a life I hat
ed. It made no difference to her, and it certainly didn’t make my dad see me. No matter how much I pretended, Owen was still gone. He’s still gone.
“For whom, Aria?” he asks as if the source of my pain matters to him.
“My brother, Owen. He was being groomed to take over. But with Owen gone . . .” I stare blankly into the distance, fighting back the memory threatening to drown me.
“What happened?” I turn my gaze back to him. He has himself raised up on an elbow, his head tilted, his brow raised with concern.
“I . . . can we not talk about this actually?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
At that moment, the waitress decides to bring over the wine that Chase must have requested when he ordered in Italian earlier. I welcome the interruption. Much needed wine. As she walks away, Chase’s attention lands back on me. He picks up his glass, and his eyes lock on mine.
“Cheers to the ones who cross our paths, the journeys we take, and cheers to the people who come into our lives, even if only for a brief moment to teach us something about ourselves.”
“Yeah. Still existential.” Chase throws back his head and lets out a boisterous laugh. It’s infectious, and I quickly join in. A few minutes pass, and our waitress returns with a pizza pie. This time she isn’t smiling, obviously giving up on her attempts. I reach across the table, and my fingertips meet Chase’s as I grab for a slice. He lifts an eyebrow as I take a bite and swallow.
“So, what do you think of the pizza?
“Oh, it’s so good. I love it. It’s different from the pizza we get back home, isn’t it?”
“It’s funny. As a New Yorker I think our pizza is the best, but this . . . this is in a category of its own. There’s absolutely no comparison.”
When we finally leave the restaurant, the area surrounding us is vibrant and full of life. Together, we walk back to the hotel, leaving each other in the lobby with a soft kiss on each cheek.
When in Rome and what not.
My limbs flail in the bed. I just can’t get comfortable, no matter the position. It feels like a freight train filled with questions and ideas is plowing through my brain, but it’s so disjointed it has no direction. Chase’s words replay over and over again.
