Roman Crazy
Page 20
Finally, he nodded at the chair, indicating that I could, and should, sit back down. Knowing him, and his temper, I knew it was all I was going to get.
Rolling my eyes, I slid into the chair. And waited. I eyed the coffee cup, watching the foam dissolve and waiting for him to say something. Anything. It didn’t go unnoticed that we were together less than thirty minutes and had already fought more than Daniel and I had in years.
“I don’t want to argue,” I finally admitted, the silence driving me crazy. “We probably should, but I really don’t want to. I just had to apologize.”
He nodded, focusing on my wringing hands on the table. Could he see the white line from my wedding band? To me, it glared like a beacon screaming to all that saw it look here!
Married woman running around Rome with her wedding band off!
If he noticed, he didn’t comment.
“I don’t want it. I needed it then, but—”
“I need it,” I said, making sure there was no way he missed this. “You deserve it. Then and now. I shouldn’t have left how I did. I should have explained and not just . . . Jesus, not just panicked. When I got home I thought everything would go as we planned and, well, unplanned things happened and changes were made and—”
“I don’t understand,” he said, reaching out his hand but pulling back quickly.
And you can’t understand because I’m afraid to tell you.
Then his phone pinged, and now he was the one rolling his eyes. “Daisy is wondering where we are and she . . . oh. . . she wants to know what I am planning to do with you.”
I waited a beat or two, willing my heart to stop racing. Would he say nice to see you again, have a good life? Would he enfold me in his enormously powerful arms and crush me to his chest and whisper the words I was longing to hear, that he was sorry and that he had missed me and that thank God I was back?
“One more coffee?” he suggested.
Best line ever! It was innocent enough for anyone else, but for us—with the complicated history that we had—it spoke volumes. Neither one of us looked away. For the briefest moment he seemed sad, so very sad, but then the tiniest of smiles crept back in when he texted her back.
I wanted to ask what he said.
But for now, I was just grateful to have another few moments with Marcello, sitting for another coffee and getting to ask a few of my own questions, if he’d let me.
“So how long have you been working with Daisy?”
He seemed taken aback by the switch in topic. “It is, let’s see . . . four years now. We have worked on several projects together since she joined the firm, and we are just finishing one up.”
“Yes, she told me about that. An old bank. Lots of frescoes, mosaics, right?”
His face lit up with excitement. Marcello had always been passionate about his career.
“Yes, it’s been a bank for almost 150 years, but it had been a monastery since the fourteenth century. The bank modernized it in the 1870s, and then again in the 1950s—they made some terrible changes then. We worked with them to develop several new spaces this time, strengthening the integrity of the original shell.”
When Marcello spoke about work his accent became a bit more generalized, more of the world rather than of a small town in Tuscany. I could easily see him presenting his plans in a boardroom, in some beautifully restored space filled with like-minded professionals. This was Grown-Up Marcello . . . and it was something to see.
“Sounds amazing. Maybe I’ll get to see it while I’m here,” I murmured. I knew I’d see the vase at the office, but the bank itself, that may be too much for either of us to handle.
“And how long is that?” he asked quietly.
I exhaled on a long sigh. “That’s the million-dollar question.”
“What does a million dollars have to do with you staying in Italia?” He looked puzzled.
“It’s just an expression. I have no idea how long I’m staying. Could be a couple of weeks, could be a month, could be . . .” I let my voice trail off, not wanting reason and logic to get ahold here just yet.
His phone pinged again. Looking at it, he drew in a breath and held it, lips sealing together in a flat line. His eyes moved over the text a few more times before he looked at me. “Sorry, work.” He seemed distracted.
“Oh, do you need to go?”
Why did you give him an out? Keep him talking!
“No, it’s Daisy, something about she found the perfect volunteer.”
Keep him talking about anything but that!
“It’s just some vases,” I blurted.
Brilliant work, Avery.
“What is?” he asked, setting the phone down next to his cup.
When the waitress stopped back to see if we wanted something besides coffee, I was grateful for the distraction. It gave me time to think about how to tell him that we may or may not be working in the office together. It was a distraction until she left two dinner menus on the edge of the table.
Depending on how this conversation went, I wondered if we would be making it through the coffee, let alone dinner.
“What Daisy has to talk to you about is the vases.”
“I don’t understand.”
I nodded, draining my coffee. “You lost a volunteer. The bank job you guys are working on?”
“Yes.” He nodded slowly, confused. “Anna. She is pregnant.”
“So you need someone to pick up where she left off. With the Romanesque vases.”
“Yes.”
“I know how to do it.”
“So.”
Rolling my eyes, I slid into the chair. And waited. I eyed the coffee cup, watching the foam dissolve and waiting for him to say something. Anything. It didn’t go unnoticed that we were together less than thirty minutes and had already fought more than Daniel and I had in years.
“I don’t want to argue,” I finally admitted, the silence driving me crazy. “We probably should, but I really don’t want to. I just had to apologize.”
He nodded, focusing on my wringing hands on the table. Could he see the white line from my wedding band? To me, it glared like a beacon screaming to all that saw it look here!
Married woman running around Rome with her wedding band off!
If he noticed, he didn’t comment.
“I don’t want it. I needed it then, but—”
“I need it,” I said, making sure there was no way he missed this. “You deserve it. Then and now. I shouldn’t have left how I did. I should have explained and not just . . . Jesus, not just panicked. When I got home I thought everything would go as we planned and, well, unplanned things happened and changes were made and—”
“I don’t understand,” he said, reaching out his hand but pulling back quickly.
And you can’t understand because I’m afraid to tell you.
Then his phone pinged, and now he was the one rolling his eyes. “Daisy is wondering where we are and she . . . oh. . . she wants to know what I am planning to do with you.”
I waited a beat or two, willing my heart to stop racing. Would he say nice to see you again, have a good life? Would he enfold me in his enormously powerful arms and crush me to his chest and whisper the words I was longing to hear, that he was sorry and that he had missed me and that thank God I was back?
“One more coffee?” he suggested.
Best line ever! It was innocent enough for anyone else, but for us—with the complicated history that we had—it spoke volumes. Neither one of us looked away. For the briefest moment he seemed sad, so very sad, but then the tiniest of smiles crept back in when he texted her back.
I wanted to ask what he said.
But for now, I was just grateful to have another few moments with Marcello, sitting for another coffee and getting to ask a few of my own questions, if he’d let me.
“So how long have you been working with Daisy?”
He seemed taken aback by the switch in topic. “It is, let’s see . . . four years now. We have worked on several projects together since she joined the firm, and we are just finishing one up.”
“Yes, she told me about that. An old bank. Lots of frescoes, mosaics, right?”
His face lit up with excitement. Marcello had always been passionate about his career.
“Yes, it’s been a bank for almost 150 years, but it had been a monastery since the fourteenth century. The bank modernized it in the 1870s, and then again in the 1950s—they made some terrible changes then. We worked with them to develop several new spaces this time, strengthening the integrity of the original shell.”
When Marcello spoke about work his accent became a bit more generalized, more of the world rather than of a small town in Tuscany. I could easily see him presenting his plans in a boardroom, in some beautifully restored space filled with like-minded professionals. This was Grown-Up Marcello . . . and it was something to see.
“Sounds amazing. Maybe I’ll get to see it while I’m here,” I murmured. I knew I’d see the vase at the office, but the bank itself, that may be too much for either of us to handle.
“And how long is that?” he asked quietly.
I exhaled on a long sigh. “That’s the million-dollar question.”
“What does a million dollars have to do with you staying in Italia?” He looked puzzled.
“It’s just an expression. I have no idea how long I’m staying. Could be a couple of weeks, could be a month, could be . . .” I let my voice trail off, not wanting reason and logic to get ahold here just yet.
His phone pinged again. Looking at it, he drew in a breath and held it, lips sealing together in a flat line. His eyes moved over the text a few more times before he looked at me. “Sorry, work.” He seemed distracted.
“Oh, do you need to go?”
Why did you give him an out? Keep him talking!
“No, it’s Daisy, something about she found the perfect volunteer.”
Keep him talking about anything but that!
“It’s just some vases,” I blurted.
Brilliant work, Avery.
“What is?” he asked, setting the phone down next to his cup.
When the waitress stopped back to see if we wanted something besides coffee, I was grateful for the distraction. It gave me time to think about how to tell him that we may or may not be working in the office together. It was a distraction until she left two dinner menus on the edge of the table.
Depending on how this conversation went, I wondered if we would be making it through the coffee, let alone dinner.
“What Daisy has to talk to you about is the vases.”
“I don’t understand.”
I nodded, draining my coffee. “You lost a volunteer. The bank job you guys are working on?”
“Yes.” He nodded slowly, confused. “Anna. She is pregnant.”
“So you need someone to pick up where she left off. With the Romanesque vases.”
“Yes.”
“I know how to do it.”
“So.”
