by Gina Azzi
Lorenzo smiles, squeezing my fingers lightly. “I’m so grateful for you, Mia. I love you.” He says it simply. And then I feel something cold slide onto the fourth finger of my left hand and look down in shock. My mouth drops open, and I inhale sharply.
A beautiful diamond glitters up at me from a thin platinum band. I look up at Lorenzo, but he’s no longer sitting in his chair. Instead, he has somehow maneuvered down to one knee at my side. It’s so quiet and yet I hear everything, including my heart pounding in my ears.
Is he proposing?
Like, for real?
“Mia.” Lorenzo’s eyes are on mine, serious and nervous and filled with love. “I love you. I think I’ve loved you since the first night I saw you sitting at Angelina’s; I just didn’t know it then. These past four months…” he shakes his head slightly, his eyes widening “…they’ve been the best four months of my life. So much has happened, a lot has changed, but as we make this next move, I want you to know that I’m all in. I want us to mark the start of this journey as more than just boyfriend-girlfriend. I know you still have to finish school and maybe this is happening too fast…” he shrugs “…but I know in my heart that I want to spend the rest of my life waking up and going to sleep next to you. And when you’re ready, I want to call you my wife. Will you marry me?”
My heart beats faster and I feel simultaneously hot and cold. Marriage? With me? Lorenzo wants to marry me? A million thoughts collide in my head: you hardly know him, you’re only twenty-one, you haven’t dated enough guys to consider marriage, you haven’t been together long enough, has he asked Dad?
And then I remember my mom, the way she let her heart lead her, the words she wrote in her journal, the love she felt for my dad after only a handful of dates, the way she trusted fate and destiny and love. The way she trusted it all. And I know, deep in my heart of hearts, that the love swimming in Lorenzo’s eyes, the love he feels for me, shows me every moment we are together is eternal.
“Yes.”
He kisses me hard, his arms entwining around my waist. His fingertips slip under the blanket, under my coat, under my sweater, tracing the soft skin of my lower back. He kisses me with a passion, a fervor I’ve never experienced. His kiss swallows me whole; it absorbs my desires, strengthens my trust, eradicates my fears, extinguishes my uncertainty. His kiss binds me to him and shows us our future.
Together.
Chapter Sixty-One
Lorenzo
Sitting next to Mia on the plane, our fingers intertwined, I can’t stop looking at the diamond engagement ring sparkling from her finger. She’s wearing my ring. She said yes. She’s going to be my wife.
Jesus.
If someone had told me a year ago that in the coming twelve months I would lose my father, grow to respect my sister, meet the love of my life, discover an unknown brother, and move to New York City, I would have knocked them out for wasting my time. I would have laughed hard at the absurdity of it all. I would never have believed them.
And yet, here I am, sitting next to my fiancée, flying to our new life together in New York, with my family’s blessing. I guess crazier things have happened.
Not really.
My thumb grazes over Mia’s knuckles, back and forth, back and forth, while she sleeps soundly. Her hair falls over her shoulders in caramel and chestnut waves. Her long lashes flutter slightly as she dreams and her fingers twitch lightly. She settles back down, her mouth opening softly, a light snore whistling with each breath she takes.
I run my fingertips lightly over the fresh ink lining her inner wrist.
Sogno con occhi aperti.
I dream with open eyes.
She does. She dreams beautiful dreams. And she’s made all of mine come true. Even the ones I never realized I had.
I shake my head. I could watch her for hours. Spend days just studying the curve of her neck, the tilt of her head. Jesus, when the hell did this happen? I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
Mia Petrella has changed everything for me.
Finally, I get what Dante and Petrarca were always going on and on about in their poems. She has become my Beatrice. My Laura. The one that makes my whole life make sense.
She has given me everything.
* * *
When the wheels touch down in New York, Mia startles awake. She looks confused for a moment before recognition flickers in her eyes and a small smile spreads across her lips. “We’re home,” she says.
Home.
Home is wherever she is, but I don’t say anything. I think she already knows.
We work our way off the plane, wait in long lines at immigration, collect our bags from the carousel. Mia bounces lightly on her toes, excitement shining in her eyes.
“Are you happy?” I ask her as we walk through the doors to the arrival corridor. Excited shrieks, erratic waving, the usual flowers and signs of expectant family and friends desperate to see their loved ones before the holidays greet us.
“Yes.” She looks up at me, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “I couldn’t be happier.”
“That’s all that matters, then.”
She squeezes my hand, pulling me forward. “Dad!” She calls out.
Mr. Petrella looks up suddenly. When he spots his daughter, a huge smile crosses his face, and he raises a hand in greeting. “Amelia!” He calls out. “Welcome home!” Next to him, a petite blonde turns and smiles warmly.
Mia lunges forward and collapses against her father as he pulls her into his embrace.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispers.
“I’m home now,” she says quietly.
Mr. Petrella squeezes Mia’s shoulder as he breaks the embrace. He steps back and sizes me up in the traditional way that father’s check out their daughter’s dates. Or in this case, fiancé.
“Lorenzo,” he says formally, extending his hand.
“Mr. Petrella, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I shake his hand. “In person,” I add unnecessarily.
He studies me for several seconds that stretch like lifetimes. My heart sputters in my chest and I freeze, suddenly scared that this man won’t accept me, won’t find me good enough for his little girl.
And he’d be right.
Then Mr. Petrella smiles and it’s like a glacier melting; the atmosphere transforms instantly. He pulls me forward into an awkward hug. “Congratulations.” He holds up Mia’s hand, his fingers playing over the engagement ring. “It’s beautiful,” he comments.
I breathe out in relief, take in Mia’s shining face, her father’s sincerity, Claire’s nervous smile. The airport bustles around us, Christmas music plays in the background, heavy jackets and thick scarves pass by in hordes, but when I look into Mia’s eyes, it’s as if we are the only two people in the entire airport, in the whole world.
And I’m finally home too.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Mia
Christmas morning is completely different and totally perfect as I wake up next to Lorenzo, his long legs tangled with mine. I gently untangle myself from Lorenzo, pressing a kiss to his cheek as I quietly slide out of bed. I thought Dad’s eyes were going to fall out his head when Claire suggested he carry mine and Lorenzo’s bags to my bedroom after we arrived home from the airport last week. Claire grabbed his hand lightly and winked at me subtly over Dad’s shoulder. I smiled back, and now with each day that passes, we learn more about each other, discover how to be more than just two people who exist in the same space. It’s been nice.
Standing in my bedroom, my childhood unfolding around me, I can’t believe how different everything seems. The dance awards and trophies that line my bookshelves, which once were the reason I woke up in the morning, suddenly seem like they belong to a different time, a period of my life I can recall but can’t really remember. There are some framed photos of me scattered around my room. Some with my parents, one from my dad’s wedding with Claire, another of my mom holding me when I was still a baby, her eyes watching me with so m
uch pride and love. And of course a framed snapshot of Lila, Emma, Maura, and me.
I guess my dad updated the frame as it’s a photo he snapped of us the night before I left for Rome. I pick the frame up, studying myself in the picture. I look completely different, almost like a shadow of myself. I’ve gained seven pounds and even though it’s sometimes heart-wrenching to watch the numbers on the scale increase, I also have to admit that I look better, healthier now. I think it’s because I’m happy.
I smile at the photo. I can’t even wait to see the girls, to introduce them to Lorenzo, to hear all about their lives this past semester with all the details. We’re meeting in New York on January 7—all part of Cade’s Christmas surprise for Lila. Hugging the frame to my chest, I glance at my alarm clock. It’s still too early in California, but in just a few hours from now, Lila will be laughing in delight at the plans Cade has arranged for her, for all of us.
Turning to watch Lorenzo, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, how his hair flips up at his collar, the way he purses his lips in sleep, I know I owe a great deal of my happiness to him, mainly for helping me find my own happiness with myself. And now we get to spend every day from now until forever making each other happy. It’s incredible really.
I sit on the foot of the bed, careful not to disturb Lorenzo. Picking up my phone, I text the girls.
Merry Christmas! Hope you all have an amazing day! Can’t wait to see you all! I’ve got big news.
The girls are going to freak out when they learn I’m engaged. And that Lorenzo and I are planning a summer wedding. In Italy! Of course I want them all to be my bridesmaids, but I want to tell them in person, when we are reunited on January 7. As such, I’ve pretty much been avoiding talking or FaceTiming with them. I roll my eyes. I had to make an exception to see the struffoli Lila and Cade made, but that was only because Lila was way too excited. Given it’s the holidays and they all are wrapped up in their own lives, no one has noticed. Yet.
Heading downstairs to the kitchen, I already smell the fresh pot of coffee Dad has brewed. As usual, he’s sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper, his mug of coffee clutched casually in his hand.
“Merry Christmas, Daddy.” I kiss his cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Mia.” He smiles, standing up to pour me a cup of coffee. “It’s different this year, huh?” he asks, his eyes looking up to the ceiling. To upstairs, where Lorenzo is still tucked into my bed.
“Sure is,” I agree.
“You’re different,” he comments suddenly, handing me a mug.
I take a sip, smiling that my dad still remembers how I like my coffee and makes it perfectly. I nod in agreement. “Yes, I am.”
He watches me for a few more moments. “I’m happy for you, Mia,” he says, sitting back down and handing me the arts section of the paper.
And for a moment, my past and present somehow collide: me as a little girl sitting next to my dad on Sunday mornings, reading the comics and sipping on chocolate milk while my mom dressed upstairs; me as a woman sitting next to my dad on Christmas morning, reading the paper and sipping on coffee while my fiancé sleeps upstairs.
I stifle a giggle. Dad lowers his newspaper, giving me a knowing look over the top.
Everything is just as it should be.
Epilogue
Lorenzo
“Ten, nine, eight …” The countdown to the New Year is loud as the entire group of people in the restaurant chant the seconds together. I smile down at Mia, who is clutching my forearms tightly, bouncing up and down with each passing second. We’re at a beautiful Italian restaurant, ringing in the New Year with her dad and Claire, with Anthony and his girlfriend, Stephanie.
With our family.
Mia’s eyes are bright with happiness and maybe a little too much champagne, but God if she doesn’t look incredible tonight.
“Five, four …”
She leans up suddenly, her mouth gently colliding with my ear. “I love you.”
“Three, two, one.”
“Happy New Year!” the room erupts.
I pull Mia into me, kissing her hard as noise and streamers float around us, as fireworks explode in the night sky as the first seconds of the new year tick by.
“I love you,” I whisper back. “I’ll always love you.”
“Happy New Year.” Mr. Petrella, or Frank as I’m trying to get used to calling him, comes up next to us, pulling Mia in for a hug and shaking my hand enthusiastically.
“Happy New Year, Brother.” Anthony clasps me on the back as Stephanie kisses my cheek.
I look around at the smiling faces, the glitter that still swirls around the room, the crazy party hats and sunglasses strewn across the tables. I watch Mia squealing happily as Anthony lifts her up, hugging her tightly, Claire kissing Frank lovingly as New Years in New York unfolds.
Mia comes up next to me, lacing her fingers through mine. “What are you thinking about?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just this moment, you know?”
She nods. “Yeah, it’s like if you could freeze time and remember everything about right now, each painstaking detail, every emotion flitting through your body, all the thoughts swirling in your mind and hold onto it for all time, you would, right?”
I tilt my head toward her and shrug, “All I’ll remember about this moment is this: ‘We were together. I forget the rest.’”
“Dante?” she guesses.
“Walt Whitman.”
Mia bursts out laughing, music and poetry blending together as I pull her into my arms and kiss her.
“Then I’ll remember for the both of us,” she whispers against my lips, kissing me back.
Her kiss.
Her.
It’s the best way to start the New Year.
It’s the best way to begin my life.
The Senior Semester Series continues
with Maura’s Story in Philadelphia, PA.
Maura
“Rodriguez! Are you okay?” Kay Hillard, our team captain, asks as she peers down over the tops of her sunglasses. Her eyes narrow, a mixture of concern and frustration swimming in their hazel depths.
“Fine.” Clearing my throat noisily, I attempt a smile, a nod at nonchalance, at faking it. My head throbs, my heartbeat pounding in my temples. Too much wine. “I’m fine.” My go-to words these days: I’m fine, everything’s fine, it’s fine.
“You don’t look fine.” Amber Delaney throws in as she expertly braids her hair, fastening the end with a silver hair tie.
I cut her a look but quickly rearrange my features; it’s best not to show a reaction. Any reaction. I wave my hand dismissively. “Just getting over a cold. Really,” I add brightly. Too brightly. “I’m fine.”
Kay nods her head curtly, but she doesn’t look convinced. Clapping her hands twice, she manages to secure the attention of the other girls in the Varsity Eight and we all form a half moon around her. “How did today feel?” she asks the group.
Valerie Manelli, our seven seat, shakes her head. “Something’s off with the start. We’re too slow.”
Our coxswain, Amanda Stevens, nods in agreement. The rest of the girls chime in with their thoughts, their opinions. Everyone but me.
I’m too busy thinking about last night, too distracted remembering the way his hands felt on my skin. The way he trailed his fingertips up my ribcage with purpose, peeling my shirt off in the process. The way he kissed my neck, his lips pressed against my clavicle, his breath tickling my cheek. How he sounded panting in my ear, begging me for more, begging me. He had a fallen angel tattoo on his left shoulder blade, and he smelled like soap and whisky. Like a man. Like all the men.
“Rodriguez.” Kay’s voice snaps me back to the present.
I look up. “Yes?”
“Do you have anything to add?”
I shake my head. “No.”
She sighs and I hear all the words she’s not saying: what the hell is wrong with you? But after a hard look, Kay turns
to listen to Valerie’s additional suggestions about our start. Our Varsity Eight boat is currently ranked number two in the U.S. For most of us, it’s our senior year, our last season to row, to compete, to be number one. And everyone, especially Kay Hillard, is one thousand percent committed to making this season, our final season, our best yet. We will be number one.
I wish I cared. I used to care. I used to care more than anyone. More than Kay Hillard. Turning my heavy sigh into a cough, I recall the way his fingers felt digging into my scalp, tugging hard at my hair. He had ink scrawled across his knuckles.
I peek at my FitBit to check the time. 7:38AM. Practice should be wrapping up any minute. I have an 8AM class. Latin American Economies. Craning my neck to the right, I feel a delicious stretch that travels down my shoulder and arm. I’m sore from last night and it feels good, fulfilling. He was fulfilling.
Kay claps her hands again, signaling the end of practice. Tossing my practice duffle over my shoulder, my back aches slightly, and I smile, reminded of his bruising touch, his unbridled passion.
Climbing the two steps up onto the team bus, I scan the rows quickly before taking an empty seat on the left. Turning toward the window, I pop in my earbuds and choose a random playlist from Spotify.
He had large, rough, calloused hands that sent chills up my spine and unleashed butterflies in the pit of my stomach when he touched me. Pulling my hair out of its ponytail and combing my fingers through my tangled mass of curls, his scent engulfs me once more. It’s heady and wild and complicated.
What the hell was his name?
Acknowledgements
A big thank you to everyone who has continued to support me on my writing journey. It’s a constant motivation to have the love and encouragement from so many family members, friends, and readers – I can’t thank you enough!
To Tony and Aiva – your love is everything. I wouldn’t be me – or doing what I love – without your support. Thanks for being Home Team. You are my whole heart.
