by Gina Azzi
I know I’ve changed. I’m going back to New York as an elevated, enhanced version of the Mia Petrella, who stepped off the plane in Fiumincino hoping to find a piece of herself, hoping to grow into a person worthy of her mom’s dreams. And without even realizing it, I feel like I am that person.
And I know I owe a lot of it to Lorenzo.
I shake my head at my thoughts. Four months. And my whole life is different. Yet amazing. I open the large green door to the apartment and jump back in surprise.
“Morning, Petunia,” Lexi says cheerily, picking at a cornetto near the door. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Why?” I narrow my eyes suspiciously.
“Because we have officially finished our final exams. And are leaving in a week.” She rolls her eyes. “So there really is nothing left for us to do but have some fun. Don’t you think?” She licks a glob of chocolate off her knuckle.
“I guess. What did you have in mind?” Jeez, I’m even going to miss Lexi and her random, spontaneous, weekly adventures. I owe a lot to her too.
“Well, here’s where it gets interesting.” She eyes me thoughtfully.
“What?” I ask after several seconds of silence. What the heck has she planned for us?
“You have a date tonight.”
“I do?” Lorenzo hadn’t mentioned anything.
“Yep.” Lexi smacks her lips together. “God, I’m going to miss eating dessert for breakfast.”
“What’s the date?”
“Oh, I can’t tell you.” Her smile widens, her eyes glint mischievously as she bounces on her toes. “But I promise you’re going to have fun getting ready for it.” She takes my hand in hers and turns sharply, pulling me behind her and stopping outside the bathroom door. “Now shower fast so we can get started.”
“What’s this about?” I swipe my finger across my phone, about to text Lorenzo, when Lexi pulls the phone from my hand. In its place she offers a folded up piece of paper.
“You’ll see.” She smiles again and looks like a child who just received an invitation to the North Pole.
“What’s going on, Lex?”
“I can’t tell you.” She bounces again, her voice raising several octaves. “Just read the note. Oh my God. It’s just too exciting. Just trust me, okay? You’ll thank me later, swear it.” She bites her lip as if she’s said too much. “Shower. And then the day will start.” She leans forward and hugs me impulsively. “I’m really going to miss you, Mia. Today … it’s going to be awesome.”
Then she walks toward her bedroom, my phone still clasped in her hand. “Chop, chop.” She calls over her shoulder. “You only have ten minutes.”
My eyes widen. Ten minutes? I lock myself into the bathroom and turn on the water as I open the note, my eyes quickly scanning the lines written there.
Mia,
As your semester in Rome comes to an end, I’d like to help you mark your time here by celebrating your bravery, your courage, and all the challenges you’ve overcome. Your beautiful trust in me, in our relationship, and in yourself humbles me. I’ve arranged for you and Lexi to get into some fun—and probably trouble—this afternoon. Humor Lexi. Let her take you around the city and participate in today’s festivities. Here’s a clue for your first stop: “Beauty awakens the soul to act.”
“Dante,” I say aloud. A Dante quote. What is going on?
Taking a deep breath, my nerves settle down, and I laugh at myself. The new Mia is taking everything in stride.
All I know for certain is that today is going to be unlike any day I’ve ever experienced.
* * *
“A parrucchiera? Really?” I ask Lexi thirty minutes later as we stand outside a beauty salon.
She huffs. “Yes, really. Your man thinks your beauty is connected to your soul. Or something.” She scrunches her eyes, probably trying to remember the Dante quote. “Whatever, we’re going home with new looks, lady. We are new people here. More confident, stronger, more fun versions of ourselves. Well…” she shoots me a sympathetic look “…at least you are. I’m just along for the ride. Let’s go.” She pushes open the door, ushering me into the hair salon.
Lexi waves at the receptionist and walks over to the desk, talking in hushed tones. Too hushed for me to catch. Which should be alarming, but I’m not freaking out. Right?
“Just trust me, okay?” Lexi says again, looking at me with a wide-eyed innocence I know she doesn’t possess.
But still, it is kind of fun.
Remembering the night before I left for Italy, the way I studied my reflection in the mirror as Emma packed my suitcase. My stick straight hair, my pale complexion. I look around at my surroundings. Change hasn’t disappointed me yet.
“Okay,” I agree. To what, I have no idea.
Lexi squeals, bouncing on her toes. “Good. Sit down.” She motions toward a chair. “Don’t worry. I’m getting my hair done too.”
I sit where she gestures, smiling in the mirror when my eyes connect with the man who is going to cut my hair. “Ciao, my name is Michele. Don’t worry, cara. I’ve got it all under control,” he says reassuringly as he runs his fingers through my hair.
Minutes later, my eyes flutter closed as Michele washes my hair. It’s more like massaging my scalp, and I swear I could fall asleep. Except I hear Lexi’s giggle every three minutes. Although I’m sure she’s just flirting with the guy doing her hair, I’m also wondering what the hell she’s up to.
* * *
Three hours later my mouth literally hangs open in surprise as I stare at Lexi and me in the mirror. Lexi clasps my hand in hers as she continues to bounce in excitement. Her long blonde hair has been chopped off, with soft waves framing her face.
“Oh my God.” I say.
“New look for the new year.” She turns sideways in the mirror, fluffing her hair and sizing up her profile.
I laugh, studying my own reflection. I’ve transformed.
Not that I don’t look like myself. Because I still do.
Just a much better version.
“You’re hot,” Lexi comments.
And I’m shocked to admit, she’s right.
My boring, plain Jane brown hair has been cut into an array of layers that add volume and life to my normally limp strands. Ribbons of chestnut and mocha and caramel dance through my hair, blending together in a rich brown with a vibrancy I never thought I could pull off. I now have side bangs that sweep low over one eye, creating an allure of mystery. My eyebrows are shaped and angled perfectly over my eyes, which somehow appear larger with my new do. My nails and toes are buffed and polished a soft pink. My lips are stained a deep red.
I’m hot.
A laugh spills from my lips, and Lexi bumps her hip against mine. “See? I’m totally trustworthy, so don’t try and fight me on our next stop.”
Uh-oh.
“Where are we going?”
“To do something I bet you never thought you’d ever do.”
I follow Lexi out of the salon. Heads literally turn as we pass by strangers on the street. Oh my God. I’m getting checked out. Hard. And for real.
Lexi giggles, her hips sashaying, drinking up the attention and flaunting her best assets. She flips her hair flirtatiously and winks at an older gentleman, who stops to let us pass in front of him.
“Silver fox,” Lexi whispers to me.
I laugh, covering my mouth with my hand. She’s too much.
“Okay…” Lexi stops outside a door “…we’re here.” She hands me another folded up note.
I look up expectantly, but the sign out front of the shop is blank.
I open the paper quickly.
“Segui il tuo corso, e lascia dir le genti.”
“Follow your own road and let the people talk.”
I laugh. Dante again.
“You don’t really have to do this, but I want to. So I’m dragging you along with me for support. Lorenzo agreed to incorporate this stop because I begged him to. But he told me I shouldn’t try an
d force you into anything. It’s up to you.” She shrugs, pushing the door open.
I follow her inside, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the bright light of a freaking tattoo parlor.
Oh my God.
I sit nervously beside Lexi as she flips through various look books, commenting casually on images she “truly loves” or “totally despises.”
“That’s hot,” she says absentmindedly, pointing to a ripped guy with ink swirling up his side. It’s suspiciously similar to Lorenzo’s.
When the tattoo artist calls out her name, I surprise both of us by standing up next to her.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Lorenzo
Tonight is the night. I’m nervous as hell and really trying not to get drunk as I don’t want to fuck up what should be one of the best nights of my life. And Mia’s.
“Slow down,” Claudia warns, eyeing my third Negroni watchfully.
I nod. She’s right. I know she’s right. And still, I clutch the drink between my fingers like a life vest. I’m not nervous for me. I’m nervous for her. For Mia. What if this is too much of a surprise? Too shocking for her? I don’t want to scare her away. Our relationship has moved at lightning speed.
And we’re still so young.
Mia’s father pointed that detail out.
Still, he gave me his blessing.
I don’t have to do it tonight. I can wait until we’re settled in America. Until after she graduates. Until we actually live in the same city.
No. I shake my head at myself. Which, I imagine, looks ridiculous. I want to do this tonight. I want to do everything the right way. I want us to get on that plane and embark on this journey together. With our heads and hearts on the same page.
“You’re overthinking it,” Claudia comments.
I cut my eyes to her sharply.
She holds her hands up, palms open in surrender. “Relax. I’m just saying, Mia loves you. If you think this is right, then why are you so nervous about it?”
Good fucking question, Claudia.
Why am I so nervous?
“I want to be enough for her,” I blurt out, my honesty surprising the hell out of both of us.
“Enzo…” Claudia leans forward, covering my hand with hers “…you are. Trust me, Mia feels the same way about you.”
“That’s crazy,” I scoff. “She’s perfect.”
Claudia nods. “Yes, for you.” She smiles and pats my hand. “Now show me the ring again.”
I laugh, pulling the box out of my pocket and sliding it across the table to my sister. She catches her breath as she opens the box and stares at the ring. For the fifth time today. “She’s going to love it,” Claudia whispers.
And I’m going to love her.
Chapter Sixty
Mia
I can’t believe I got a tattoo. I can’t believe I changed my hair. I can’t believe any of this day. And yet as I enter the restaurant where I’m meeting Lorenzo for our date, I do so with a confidence I’ve never possessed before. A certain self-assuredness, a comfortableness in my own skin that always seemed like a foreign concept to me. I’m wearing thick black tights with ankle boots that Lexi lent me. A short black mini-skirt glides against my thighs. Pulling down the cuffs of my oversized olive green sweater, I breathe in deep and stand up straighter. A long cream cashmere coat hangs off my shoulders, completing my look. Another Lexi loaner.
Somehow, everything about tonight seems different. There’s a secret in the air; whispers of enchantment wrap around me like a blanket, and even though my date hasn’t even started, I never want this night to end.
In my hand, I’m clutching Lorenzo’s final note to me. I recognize the quote immediately from Dante’s Il Paradiso.
“Sei ‘l’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle. ’” You are “the love that moves the sun and other stars.”
Dante, of course. A shiver runs down my spine as I reread the words.
When I step onto the patio, my breath lodges in my throat. Tiny lights twinkle in the bare branches of old stone pine trees like fireflies. The air is cold and icy and a fire pit burns bright next to the table, chasing the frost away. A wrought-iron gate wraps around the patio, separating the restaurant from ancient Rome like a great time divider. Below the patio, the ruins unfold, white stone glistening in the moonlight. It’s breathtaking. And surreal.
Leaning against the wrought iron, his hands wrapped over the top of the gate, his arms braced, back straight, eyes looking to the wonder below, is Lorenzo. He turns slowly as I make my way to the table, as if he senses my presence. When his eyes meet mine, a slow smile works its way across his lips. He drinks me in: serious, amused, and a dash of something I can’t place.
“You found me.” He smiles.
“I did,” I agree, holding up the note he left for me. “I had the best day.” I step closer, reaching a hand out and placing it on Lorenzo’s forearm, which is still braced behind him on top of the gate, supporting his weight. “That was…” I shake my head, a laugh escaping from my lips “…something else. No one has ever done something like that for me before. Thank you,” I tell him sincerely.
His eyes shine and glisten like smoky quartz and a shudder runs through me as I realize he’s not done yet. Finding him, having dinner at this beautiful restaurant, with the past unfolding around us, isn’t where our night will end.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. And you’re welcome.” He bends his head and brushes a soft kiss against my cheeks, against my lips. His fingers touch the ends of my hair. “Your hair looks really good. It’s different. I like it.” He smiles at me before adding, “You look beautiful in green, Mia.” Then he straightens, his eyes still assessing me. “But then again, you look beautiful in everything. Wine?” He indicates toward the open bottle on the table.
“Sure.” My voice sounds shaky, and I don’t know why.
“Are you cold?” He picks up a soft merino wool blanket that is hugging the back of my chair, and hands it to me.
I shrug, unsure if I shivered from the cold or the look in Lorenzo’s eyes or something else, but accept the blanket anyway. “Thanks.”
He smiles and pulls out my chair. I sit and look around.
“We’re the only people out here,” I comment, noticing for the first time that our table is the only table on the patio.
“We are.”
“Another one of your surprises?” I raise an eyebrow. “This is pretty cool.”
Lorenzo steeples his fingers together. “I think so too,” he whispers.
A waiter appears next to our table and places down several plates of appetizers: bruschetta, calamari, caprese salad.
I look at Lorenzo expectantly; something feels different, but I can’t place my finger on it. The restaurant is beautiful. The warmth of the fire envelops us in a cozy cocoon amidst the chill of the night. The landscape below us is unreal. Lorenzo looks incredibly sexy sitting across from me, clad in dark blue jeans, a navy cashmere coat, his cream sweater peeking through at the collar. A thin shadow of his beard coats his cheeks and chin, his hair is expertly styled to look like he just ran his fingers through it. It’s his eyes. They’re too serious, too bright, too … hopeful? What is going on?
“Dig in.” He nods toward the appetizers, loading his plate with a sampling.
I spear a piece of mozzarella and a tomato onto my plate and nibble thoughtfully. My stomach is in knots, butterflies fluttering up and down my ribcage. But why?
“What’s wrong?” Lorenzo asks. “You’re too quiet.” He places a hand on mine.
I shake my head. “Nothing, this is perfect. Amazing, really. But …” I stop, what is wrong with me? My incredible boyfriend planned a perfect date, a series of wonderful surprises, and I’m sitting here questioning everything like a crazy girl.
“But what?”
“I don’t know. You seem … serious somehow. Too serious.”
Lorenzo laughs but his eyes look down. “I was trying to wait to dessert but I’m too nervous,”
he admits, looking back up at me, his hand tightening around mine.
“About what?” I ask, confused. Is he breaking up with me? Not coming to New York? No, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he go through all this trouble, plan this amazing day, if he was just going to end things?
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Lorenzo’s voice interrupts my downward spiral of self-doubt. He sighs. “I was going to do this differently, but I guess it’s all part of our story.” He laughs to himself, nervously.
“What’s wrong?” I hunch forward.
“Everything is perfect.” He smiles. “I have one more quote for you.”
“Dante?” I lean back in my chair, relaxing. Jeez, Mia. Stop trying to ruin the poor guy’s date.
He shrugs. Then his face grows earnest, his eyes serious.
“Blessed be the day, and the month, and the year,
and the season, and the time, and the hour, and the moment,
and the beautiful country, and the place where I was joined
to the two beautiful eyes that have bound me:
and blessed be the first sweet suffering
that I felt in being conjoined with Love,
and the bow, and the shafts with which I was pierced,
and the wounds that run to the depths of my heart.
Blessed be all those verses I scattered
calling out the name of my lady,
and the sighs, and the tears, and the passion:
and blessed be all the sheets
where I acquire fame, and my thoughts,
that are only of her, that no one else has part of.”
-Petrarch, Canzoniere Sonnet 61
He raises his eyebrows at me expectantly.
My breath catches in my throat. “Petrarch,” I whisper.
