When in Rome...Break His Heart

by Lena Mae Hill

  They arrived at the top of the escalator and started down, and that’s when she saw him. Weston was standing at the bottom, his hands in his pockets, his blonde hair parted on the side as always, with that one irrepressible cowlick sticking up in the back. She had never loved him so much as she did right then. He’d come for her.

  She raced off the escalator and threw herself into his arms, not caring if anyone was looking or what they’d think of her. She kissed him hard on the mouth, right there in the airport, where anyone could see. And she didn’t care one bit if they did, if they thought she was tacky. Weston didn’t respond, but he didn’t stop her, either. His arms had caught her. True, he didn’t get down on one knee with a ring, but this was a start.

  “You’re here,” she said, blinking back tears. “I can’t believe you came.”

  “I said I’d pick you up.”

  “Oh, right.” She bit her lip and stepped back to study his face, with all its angles and contours, as familiar to her as her own face. He was studying her, too.

  “You look…tan,” she said at last.

  “Working at the golf course,” he said. “Want to get your luggage?”

  “Right.”

  At the baggage carousel, she hugged Nick and Cynthia long and hard. Even if they lost touch after school, she would have this summer with them forever, a bond that tied them from afar. If they ran into each other after forty years, they would still have something to talk about.

  “Good luck,” Cynthia whispered, squeezing her hand one last time.

  Weston had pulled Maggie’s large black suitcase from the carousel and was waiting for her. Neither of them said a word until they stepped out of the airport into the Arkansas heat. It wasn’t like Rome’s heat, though she couldn’t say exactly how. It was drier and fiercer, not as humid, not as urban. Weston stowed her bags in the back of the Forerunner and came around to open her door. Like he always had.

  Was he going to pretend nothing had happened? Could she?

  “Thank you,” she said, climbing in. They left the airport, and she rolled down her window, letting the vast greenness of the countryside assault her eyes as they drove along the winding road that led away from the airport that had taken her away to Rome, where she’d lost her senses. Lost him. She inhaled the earthy, warm smell of Arkansas summer and hung her hand out the window, letting it swoop up and down on the current of passing air. Black-eyed Susans, daisies, and Queen Anne’s lace flocked the sides of the road.

  “You’re different,” Weston said after a while.

  “How can I not be?” she asked turning to him, thinking of what Cynthia had said on the plane. “We’ve been apart for the first time in our lives. I know I messed up, Weston. You don’t have to forgive me. But I’m not going to be the same person I always was. We’re both going to keep growing and changing, our whole lives. I just hope—I hope we’ll be growing and changing together.” Breaking off, she stared straight ahead, not daring to gauge his reaction before he spoke.

  He waited until he’d navigated the two turns through the pit stop town of Cave Springs and headed towards the highway. “So you’ve grown,” he said at last.

  “I hope I have. I know I made a mistake, but I learned from it. I wanted to be free to make those mistakes, I guess, even when I knew they were mistakes. I was tired of being perfect.”

  Weston snorted. “How can you be tired of being perfect? It’s perfect.”

  “You know how I said I’ve always been who I am? Well, that’s true. But who I am can change. I think you’ve changed, too.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s not a bad thing,” she said. “It’s okay to change. I’ll love you no matter what, Weston, no matter who you are now. We’ll get to know each other over and over again. If you’ll let me.”

  “You already know me,” he said. “I’m the same person when you’re here and when you’re not.”

  “I’m not.” She rolled up her window to let the air conditioning cool the car’s interior as they turned onto the highway. “I’m a mess without you,” she admitted. “Weston…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I want you back, so much. I’ll do everything I can, for as long as I have to, to make you see that. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I always will.”

  “Until what?” he asked. “Until next time?”

  “There’s no next time,” she said. “You have to know that I’ve learned that much. I’ll never do anything like that again. If I could take it back, I would.”

  “Me, too,” he said.

  She bit back her questions. She wouldn’t ask what he meant by that, if he’d met someone else and made mistakes, too. He could do what he wanted when they were apart, just like she had. If he didn’t want to tell her, that was his right.

  And she could do the one thing that scared her the most—ask the question.

  “Can we try again?”

  He was quiet for a whole minute. She had to chew on a hangnail to keep from rushing him. She wasn’t going to try to control everything anymore. He had his own timeframe.

  “We can try,” he said, glancing at her. “But it might take a little time.”

  “Really?” she asked, hardly daring to breathe. “Because I know I messed up so bad. I know I can never undo what I did. But I want us to be…us again.”

  “I want that, too,” he said quietly, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. He stared straight ahead. “But it might not ever be the same as it was.”

  She swallowed the ache in her throat and nodded. “Okay. I can accept that.”

  She wanted to ask so many things. If he still wanted to marry her someday, if he would ever see her the same way, if he wanted to be her boyfriend again. But she was too scared of the answers to ask those questions. Because he was different, too.

  “Do you want to go eat?” she asked. “Only if you want. I haven’t had real food since we left Italy.”

  When they got off the highway, he turned the Highlander down the familiar street that led to Logan’s Roadhouse, and she had to swallow hard not to tear up. He could have chosen whatever he wanted, but he didn’t. He chose her favorite place. And he’d said he wanted them to be together again. It was more than she had a right to hope for.

  He pulled into a parking spot, turned off the car, and removed the keys from the ignition. Then he turned and leaned towards her, and her heart started hammering in her throat. For a split second, she thought he was going to kiss her, the same way he’d been doing for years. But he paused halfway through the motion, looking a little startled, and quickly turned away and climbed out of the car.

  Maggie took a shaky breath. This was harder than she’d expected. Nothing had ever been complicated or uncertain between them. Now, everything was.

  He still opened the door for her, though, still ushered her into the restaurant ahead of him. But this time, his hand didn’t linger on her lower back. Now that it was gone, she missed it. She’d been the one to take him for granted. Now, each missing part of their relationship screamed for her attention. It was all in the missing touches, the physical contact. When he’d done those things, she’d barely noticed. Only now did she see how much those little caresses had meant to her, how reassuring the brush of his hand could be.

  “So tell me about Rome,” he said, folding his menu and pushing it aside. He did not reach for her hand across the table. He scrutinized her so closely that she wished she’d sat beside him, the way Kristina said couples should sit.

  Maggie took a peanut and cracked it so she’d have something to do with her hands, to keep them from reaching for his. That was off limits now. He was off limits.

  “Well, I got an A,” she said. She’d gotten the email from Professor McClain when they’d landed. It seemed she’d put their plane trip to use and graded their papers already.

  “Of course,” Weston said, waiting until her hand was gone from the peanut bucket to reach in.

  Maggie swallowed back the hurt, along with the urge to
tell him how close she’d come to getting a B. Instead, she forced herself to sound normal as she recounted their adventures in Rome and Milan and Florence. But even as she talked, she was aware of how much she had to leave out, of the lies of omission that became necessary so she wouldn’t hurt his feelings. She could never tell him everything again. It was a punishment that hurt more than she’d expected. She had broken something between them that couldn’t be fixed. At least not without leaving fracture lines where they’d glued it back together. And she couldn’t erase that. She had to live with it.

  When he asked if she wanted dessert, she almost choked. They never got dessert unless it was a special occasion. Only six weeks before, he’d asked her the same question. She’d been sure there would be a ring that night. Now, she didn’t know if there would ever be one. And if the ring never came, she’d still want him. Being with him was enough. Rome hadn’t just taught her painful lessons. It had taught her to enjoy the moment.

  “I’m okay,” she said, her throat tight. It had been the perfect meal to bring her back to America, but even the familiarity of her favorite restaurant felt odd. It was so loud and bustling and bright, and the pictures of famous movie stars and vintage cars felt foreign instead of comforting. She ached to reach across and take Weston’s hand, to anchor herself in his stable presence. For six weeks, she hadn’t touched him, hadn’t been touched with love. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it, needed it. Her skin felt like it was going to slide right off her body and wrap itself around him.

  She held herself back, even when she had to dig her nails into her palms to keep from reaching for him as they walked to the car, a few paces from each other instead of holding hands. They weren’t together now. They couldn’t touch each other casually, presumptuously. She’d dumped him, and she couldn’t expect to get everything he’d given her before. If she hadn’t broken up with him, maybe he’d be giving her a ring on this very night. But she’d never know. That was a punishment, too—not knowing.

  Before taking her home, Weston took her to his apartment to pick up her cats. As he unlocked the door, she finally worked up the courage to rest her fingertips between his shoulder blades, aching to feel the familiar planes of his body again. But his back stiffened, and she withdrew, biting her lip again. Was this how it was going to be?

  “Do you…do you think you still love me?” she asked when they were inside.

  His face filled up with all of it, all the hurt and frustration and anger and betrayal that she hadn’t wanted to see, that he’d been holding back throughout dinner. She’d put all that there. Maybe that was what had changed him, and what had changed in him.

  “Damn it, Maggie, of course I love you.” He pulled her to him and kissed her roughly, urgently. She didn’t think he’d ever kissed her that way in the six years he’d been kissing her. It took her a moment to return the kiss, to keep herself from asking what had gotten into him. He was usually so gentle.

  Finally, he pulled away, and his eyes searched hers. Had he always looked at her that way? How had she doubted that he wanted her? This time, she pulled him in for the kiss. Seeing that look in his eyes, that naked hunger, made her want him in a way she hadn’t for a very long time. She pushed him backwards, and he sank onto the couch, pulling her down on his lap. Straddling his hips, she pressed her mouth to his, found their perfect fit remained.

  She reached for his jeans, unzipped them, and when he started to stand, she pushed him back. He opened his mouth to say something, but she couldn’t bear a rejection, not now. Covering his mouth with hers, she melted into him with so much relief she thought she’d faint.

  Suddenly, he wrapped both arms around her and flipped her back on the couch, pressing his body to hers. Relief and desire flooded through her, and she clutched at him, frantic and ready for him. But instead of rushing ahead at breakneck speed, he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, until she couldn’t bear to wait any longer. She’d waited six weeks for this. She needed release.

  She pushed his jeans down, but he caught her hand. “Slow down,” he said. “I haven’t seen you for six weeks. I want to make it last.”

  “Maybe I should shower first,” she said, suddenly aware of the day of airplane travel clinging to her like pond scum.

  “You don’t want to do this?”

  “No, I do,” she said, linking her legs around him and pulling him close again. “I definitely do. But I’ve been on a plane for an entire day. Can we…take a shower? Together?”

  “Is that allowed?” he asked, carefully removing her glasses. He folded them and set them on the coffee table and sat up.

  “It’s just a shower,” she said. “When was the last time we did that together?”

  She thought he was going to say something awful, to ask if she’d done that with her Italian lover, but he swallowed a couple of times and then said, “You’re right. I guess maybe we did let things get too comfortable.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “But it’s true,” he said, standing and pulling her up. The determined set of his jaw sent a thrill through her. Once he took a challenge, Weston would never back down. And this challenge was going to be a good one. In the bathroom, he turned on the shower and stripped with quick efficiency. Suddenly Maggie felt self-conscious, as if she hadn’t undressed in front of him hundreds of times. As if he hadn’t seen her naked just six weeks ago. But if he was up for the challenge, she wasn’t going to argue.

  She stepped into the shower after him, hugging herself. Weston’s back was to her, and for a second, she was shocked by the familiarity of it. It felt like forever since she’d seen his body, but also like it had been only the day before. Warm water beaded on his shoulders and arms, now golden tan from the hours spent on the golf course. She took a breath of the steamy air filling the shower, then reached out her fingers to trace the muscles in his back, down to his hips.

  He turned and pulled her closer, cradling her elbows in his hands. “Let me wash you.”

  Mutely, she nodded. Weston reached for the loofah she’d gotten him, dumped body wash on it, and began to wash her neck. The sudsy water ran over her skin, and she pressed closer to him. His hands moved over her shoulders, drawing her even closer and moving the loofah in circles on her shoulder blades, down her back, around her waist to the front, slowly working his way up, up, over her peaked nipples.

  “Can we…get out?” she asked, her voice small. She didn’t think she could stand it another second.

  “In a minute,” Weston said, continuing his torturously slow progress over her body.

  At last, what felt like an hour later, he turned to move her under the spray of the shower, letting the water rinse the soap away. As soon as she was clean, she shut off the water and stepped out, reaching for a towel automatically. Only one towel hung on the rack now, instead of the two he’d always kept. Her towel no longer hung next to his. Ignoring the twist in her heart, she grabbed the towel and gave herself a quick once-over with it, then grabbed Weston’s hand and pulled him into the bedroom.

  “Maggie.” He tugged at her hand, pulling her back to him. The heat off his skin swept over her body, and she was suddenly sure he’d changed his mind. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears prickling at her eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  “Coming from you, that’s really saying something.” Weston gave her a little smile and kissed her again, deeper and slower, his hands moving over her in their familiar, loving way. His hands knew her body, knew what she liked, found all the places she wanted to be touched.

  She drew him down onto the bed, ready for more, but he sat up and pulled open his drawer. He took out a condom and ripped the package open while she bit down on her lip, hard. They’d never used a condom once in their entire relationship, and she didn’t want to know if he had them now because he’d been using them with someone else, or if he’d gotten them because he thought she was n
o longer safe. She didn’t know which would be worse, so she fought back the urge to ask. Until she got tested, she had no right to ask.

  Weston moved over her, propping himself up on his elbows. His kiss lingered on her lips, and her own mouth answered hungrily. She’d never wanted him so bad in her life. Reaching down, she guided him in. With blessed familiarity, he began to move in her. Her relief and eagerness when she neared her ending would have been comical if it hadn’t been so valid. Finally, at last, when she thought she would explode if he didn’t get her there, he brought her home.

  How had she ever thought it was a bad thing that he knew her so well, could so predictably please her? She couldn’t stop shaking afterwards, as she lay curled into his arms. She was finally, finally satisfied. Even if it wasn’t exactly the same as it had been, maybe that could be a good thing. Growth could be painful, but it was a way forwards. If they both took the chance again, if they worked at it, they could make it right. She just knew it. And even though she didn’t know what would happen next, she knew that she was where she belonged. She would never doubt it again.

  The End.

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  --Lena Mae

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