“Today, I do.”
The silence stretches out before us.
And then, “Fine. I’ll go. But I swear, if you don’t tell me next time—”
“I’ll tell you,” Jonah says. “But today, there can’t be any more stress. Please.”
This time, the silence remains after Kellan leaves. And the cramps return, full-force.
We are in Italy, the only one of Jonah’s homes not located by a superb surfing spot.
“Why did Joey pick this place?” I ask as he sets down a plate of fruit and biscuits for me. He’s so optimistic, but I can’t stand the thought of that bread touching my lips.
“Who can resist Italy?” His dimple is adorable. “Technically, we’re not too far from water.”
Beyond the window is a bustling city filled with beautiful architecture and honking cars. If there’s water, I’m not seeing it. “Where are we?”
He spreads jam on one of the biscuits on my plate. “Rome.”
I have to laugh. “So by water, you’re actually referring to the Tiber river.”
The dimple deepens. “Did you know that my mother’s family is from Italy?”
I didn’t, actually. But I’m thrilled to learn this. Jonah so rarely speaks of his mother that any little piece of information about her is as valuable as gold. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He nudges my plate closer. “She was born in Annar, but spent much of her childhood here in Rome.”
I reach out and twist my fingers through his inky strands. “This is where all the dark hair and skin comes from.”
As if the dimple wasn’t enough, he goes and blushes, pink stains under the gold of his skin. Gosh, he’s beautiful. And charming. I decide to throw him a bone and take a miniscule bite of biscuit. “Do you speak Italian?”
“A little.” I think he’s trying to hide his relief I just ate, but he’s grinning like crazy. “I understand and read it better than I speak it, though.”
“So, if it’s your mother who has ties to Rome, then why did Joey buy a place?”
“Actually, we didn’t inherit this from him. It was our mother’s—Joey came here a lot because he was willing to keep the place up, unlike the Old Man. Whereas the Old Man and Hannah grew up as cousins, Joey and my mom were tight. This place was my mom’s, and her parents before her.”
I feel this odd twist of pleasure that Jonah would feel that this place here, one of the few remnants he has of his mother, would be where he’d bring me to heal.
He scoots his chair over so it’s flush to mine. I lean into him, my ear against his heart. Its rhythm is steady. Strong. Just like him. I take comfort in this sound.
I manage to eat the entire biscuit.
Rome is a beautiful, magical place.
We spend the next few days doing touristy things as well as acting like locals. Jonah knows the area pretty well thanks to annual visits Joey insisted upon in his childhood, who claimed it was important for the boys to be surrounded by their mother’s heritage.
Jonah lied about his ability to speak Italian, though. From what I can tell, his accent’s flawless; nobody even questions whether or not he’s Italian when he speaks, which is funny considering until just this weekend, I didn’t even know that his family originated from here.
There are so many things about him that I still don’t know, things that I want to discover. I can’t believe in all the years we’ve been together, I’ve never bothered to learn about his heritage except that he was a Magical.
I resolve to change this. From here on out, I need to stop dwelling on how crappy things are and instead focus on what’s right in my life. Like Jonah.
He makes sure that there’s absolutely no stress allowed on this trip. We go out when I want, come home when I’m tired. We go to the places I want to see, eat at the places I’m intrigued by when hunger manages to surface. I finally open up about the ulcer—he’s upset, but doesn’t berate me for it. Instead, he spends time researching ulcers on the net and talks over with me ways we can attack it, outside of a Shaman, who I steadfastly refuse to go see. And finally, hints of his enormous bank account come out when he insists I pick out a new wardrobe and he doesn’t even blink at the exorbitant price tags that nearly have me hyperventilating.
“I love it here,” I tell him one sultry evening. For the first time in a long time, I’m utterly relaxed. In Rome, things are different. I don’t feel pressured, like I am in Annar. Guilt stays away. In its place, I embrace contentment. It’s like there’s a force field around this city, keeping all my troubles out.
He wraps his arms around me, settling his chin on my shoulder. We’re out on the balcony, taking in the panoramic view of surrounding us. “I’m glad.”
I sink into his warmth and tell him the first thought that came to me when I woke up from my nap an hour before. “I don’t want us to leave.”
“Then we won’t,” is his answer.