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 at 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.”
My heart ached as I listened to him speak, because I didn’t have to put much together to gather that his love was gone now.
“I met Martina at an art museum when I was just nineteen,” he said, staring at her photo. “There was a local artist exhibit, and she knew him through school.” He chuckled. “I didn’t know a thing about art then. In fact, I thought everything in that museum was overpriced and silly. But, there was one beautiful masterpiece in that museum, and she was easy to spot.”
I smiled.
“I spent a small fortune that night, buying all her favorite paintings from that artist. I told her they were hers, that we could hang them in our bedroom, in our house. She thought I was joking, but I wasn’t.” He paused, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “She thought I was crazy. And I’ll admit to that one.”
I laughed, warmth spreading over me like butter as I let him take me back in time. I could imagine it, a whirlwind love at first sight.
Hadn’t I felt that same thing with William?
“We moved much too fast,” he said after a moment. “We were married within two months of knowing each other, and we’d had to leave Roma and move out here to the country because her father didn’t approve. It wasn’t that I didn’t have money, or stature, or something to offer his daughter — but he felt it was too fast. We were too driven by lust. But, that wasn’t true. It was love from the beginning, and we both knew it.”
An audible sigh left my chest.
“That’s what no one at this auction understands,” he said, letting the pamphlet drop to the table as his dark eyes found mine. “If it weren’t for Martina, I would have never fallen in love with art. If it weren’t for the love I found in her, I would never have found appreciation for the world, for the way its seen through the eyes of artists.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “That’s very beautiful, Mr. Castello.”
He nodded, though he still seemed lost in the past. “Are you married?”
My stomach sank, and my cheeks flushed with a new kind of heat as I tucked my hair behind one ear. “No, sir. Not yet.”
“And why do you wait?”
I laughed, shaking my head as I watched my fingers wrap around the stem of my wine glass. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure.”
Mr. Castello watched me a moment, curiosity in his eyes. When so much silence had passed that I wondered if he was even still looking at me, he reached forward, covering my hand with his.
“If it is love, bella, trust me when I tell you not to wait. Do not wait for the right time or the right circumstances. Life is but a fleeting moment, a mere glimpse before we blink and it’s gone again. If you are one of the lucky ones who finds love in the short amount of time we are here, hold onto it and declare it to the stars. Make it known that he is yours, and you are his.” He tapped his finger on my knuckles. “And if it’s him who is hesitant, then perhaps he is not the one, after all.”
My heart leapt into my throat then, and my wild eyes connected with Luca’s. His brows softened, pulling together at the middle as he tapped my hand once more before grabbing his cane.
“If you’ll excuse me, I should get this auction started,” he said. “Thank you for letting an old man reminisce.”
“It was my pleasure,” I said, bu
t my voice was weak, soft, almost distant — like it didn’t belong to me at all.
When Luca was gone, my heart was still beating erratically in my chest. I felt each thump like the loading of a gun, one that was unsteady and sure to fire at any moment. I traded my wine in for water, draining an entire glass in an effort to cool myself, but my pulse only seemed to quicken, blood boiling hot.
Perhaps he is not the one, after all.
The thought of it made my throat dry, my hands clammy, my stomach turn. I assured myself it couldn’t be possible. William was my everything. He was my person, forever, even if he hadn’t officially asked me to be his wife yet.
But, when I thought of Luca and his wife, of Alayna and Philip, of so many others in my life I’d watched get married within a year or two of dating, I couldn’t help but compare.
What was holding him back? Why did he wait? If he already made the promise to me, if he already knew he wanted me to be his forever… why hadn’t we made it official, told the world we’re in love, changed my last name and professed our feelings in front of all the people who are closest to us?
I closed my eyes, forcing a calming breath as a young woman spoke first in Italian, then in English, welcoming us to the auction. I had to pack those feelings and thoughts away for now, at least until after the auction. My boss was trusting me to bring back the perfect pieces for our collection, and this was my chance to prove I was ready for more.
So, for the moment, I shoved my doubts into a box and stowed them away.
But I knew I couldn’t keep them there for long.
• • •
The shuttle ride back to Rome was quiet, but inside my head, it was a war zone.
I was happy with the outcome of the auction. I’d secured more than I imagined I could with our budget, and I already had ideas of where the new pieces would fit, how we could create an aesthetically pleasing exhibit with them. I had an idea of which ones we would keep, which ones we would sell, which ones our visitors would stop and pause and reflect on while they wandered our halls. I’d made friends with other curators, networked after the auction, and even had another wonderful conversation with Luca Castello.
But inside, my anxiety had grown into a full-bred monster, and its hunger could no longer be quieted.
Everything that had seemed so sure before suddenly seemed so unstable. I knew without doubt that William loved me, but now I wondered if he loved me enough. I knew without pause that he wanted me, but now, I wondered if he only wanted me now, until someone better came along. I knew without a single shred of hesitation that William was the one for me, but now, I couldn’t answer definitively that I was the one for him.
It was like I had been walking a bridge that crossed a chasm, the sights beautiful and bewildering, and suddenly, I’d gotten to the middle of that bridge and realized boards were missing and the ropes were shredding. And I had to make a choice.
Leap to the other side, or turn back the way I came.
My chest was tight as I exited the shuttle at the stop nearest the Trevi Fountain, saying goodbye to the last of the other curators on the bus and tipping the driver. William had asked me to meet him here tonight. He was bringing my camera so I could capture the wonder of the fountain without the giant crowd of tourists, though I was sure there would still be a few.
It was what I’d been looking forward to since I woke that morning, but now, I felt like my feet were made of lead as I dragged them over the cobblestone.
The narrow street that led me to the fountain was mostly dark, mostly vacant, with only a few other tourists passing by. But when I rounded the corner and caught my first sight of the Trevi Fountain, I stopped in my tracks, an audible gasp touching my lips.
I had seen wonders all over Europe while traveling with my family as a young girl, but perhaps it was aging that brought more appreciation for a wonder as magnificent as that fountain. My eyes drank in every curve and dip of the smooth, brilliant white Travertine stone, the faces of the figures it created stirring my soul. They were illuminated by the electric turquoise water of the fountain, made even brighter by the lights that filtered in from the bottom and side of the fountain. A few tourists lingered on the edge, taking photos or tossing coins over their shoulders.
For the longest time, I just stood and marveled.
It was similar to the moments I’d tried and failed to capture with my camera, standing there at the edge of that historic piece of art. I couldn’t fully comprehend all the time, thought, and effort that went into its creation. I couldn’t wrap my head around the millions of people all over the world who had viewed it, touched it, felt its power in the same way I was now.
It was only a tiny little spec on the map of our wondrous world, but it was larger than life.
I scanned the crowd for William, but I didn’t spot his familiar shape, his messy hair, his gemstone eyes. So, I made my way toward the fountain to get a closer look while I waited.
As I descended the steps, I caught sight of a young boy tossing a coin in over his shoulder, his mom capturing the moment on her phone. I smiled, sitting on the ledge at the front of the fountain and letting my eyes wander the stone carvings. There was so much to see, so much to take in, and when my eyes drifted to the sight below the water, I smiled.
Covering every inch of the bottom of that fountain were little coins — Euros and quarters and loonies and more — each of them representing a wish that was so much larger than itself.
I let fingertips drop to the water, the edges of it bubbling around my skin as I dragged my hand over the cool surface. It was as if I could feel each wish surging through that fountain — wishes for health, and fortune, and love.
Love.
I’d thought I understood that concept so clearly, that we were old friends, and now, I wasn’t sure I knew love at all. I wasn’t sure I understood what had once felt like common sense.
My whole world had been tipped on its access, and the worst part was that there wasn’t even a true catalyst.
It had snuck up on me — first with Alayna’s news, and then with Luca’s story. Neither should have set me off, trickled down my spine like a cool drip of cruel reality, but they had.
My right hand was still damp as I pulled it from the water, rummaging in my purse until I found a Euro. I stared at the gold and silver plating, tracing each ridge of it with my thumb before I closed my eyes. I let out a long, slow, calculated breath, clearing my mind as much as I could. Then, I counted to three in my head, made a wish, and tossed the coin over my left shoulder.
It didn’t even hit the water before my face was buried in my hands, tears fighting their way through my closed eyelids as I succumbed to the emotions I’d been suppressing.
Every worry, every fear, every ounce of rejection and hurt piled up and poured out of me at the foot of that fountain. My shoulders trembled, face contorting as each new soft, quiet sob left my lips.
I couldn’t be sure how long I sat there crying before I finally forced a breath, lifting my head and swiping the damp trails of tears from my cheeks. But when I let my eyes flutter open, I saw my own heartbreak mirrored in the man who stood before me.
William’s face was illuminated by the light from the fountain, his shoulders sagging, face crumpled as he took in the sight of me. He held a breathtakingly beautiful bouquet of bright pink cyclamens, his fingers gripping the stems, and my camera hung around his neck. The suit he wore cut his immaculate body in the perfect way — the trousers hanging off his hips, the sleeves of the jacket hugging his arms, the crisp, white line of his undershirt contrasting the tan skin of his chest.
His eyes searched me before he took a tentative step forward, and then another, and another, until he was seated on the stone next to me, the fountain behind us. And though his leg touched mine, his elbow grazing my forearm, I felt a million miles away from him in that moment.
After a long moment, William cleared his throat. “I want to wrap you up in my arms right now,” he said, his voice low, m
ixing in a whisper with the soft rushing of the fountain. “I want to make you feel better. But something tells me that somehow, I’m the root cause of those tears.”
“Why would you think that?” I asked on a sniffle.
He shrugged, and I glanced at him, but his eyes were cast downward. “Because I have a tendency of fucking up when it comes to those I love most.”
My heart squeezed at the sight of him like that, and I shook my head, burying my face in my hands once more. I needed to talk to him, to tell him what I was feeling, but I didn’t know where to start.
I urged myself to be patient, to wait for the right words to come, but now that he was here and my feelings were exposed, anxiety took over like the largest tidal wave. I wasn’t in control any longer, and when I finally did open my mouth, the absolute worst thing I could have ever said slipped out.
“If you don’t want to be with me, please, just tell me now.”
My head popped up with the words, and William furrowed his brows, eyes searching mine wildly. “Wh… what?”
“Just, tell me. Let me go. If I’m not what you want anymore, if you changed your mind…” My eyes blurred with tears, and before I could even try to stop them, they spilled over, streaking my hot cheeks. “I don’t want to hold you back if I’m not the one for you. And I’ll understand, in time, I think.” I sniffed, shaking my head. “But, I can’t sit and wonder anymore. I can’t doubt everything we have when I look at this promise ring,” I said, holding up my hand. “It’s been five years, William. You should know by now.” At that, I sniffed again, letting my hand fall to my lap. “I know.”
I chanced another glance at him, and his mouth was slack, a single blink the only sign that he’d heard me at all. And instead of waiting for him to answer, my anxiety took the reins again.
“I know that you’re the one for me. I know you’re my soul mate, my forever, my everything. I know that my entire world shifted when I met you, that my entire life changed with you in it, and that I can’t imagine a future where you don’t exist. I know that you’re my favorite person to wake up next to, that our little family holds my entire heart,” I said, eyes filling with tears again as I held my hand over my chest. “And that’s just with a dog, not even with a kid. But when it’s me, and you, and Zipper — I feel complete.” I paused. “Well, almost complete.”
The Pain in Loving You Page 84
