Ten years ago he’d said these words to me, told me that he loved me. I’d believed they were the words of a lonely, infatuated boy: real, but not lasting. Now the same man was standing before me, saying that he’d loved me all this time – and that it was real. He didn’t care that I was older than him; he didn’t care that I was ridden with insecurities; and he’d forgiven me for doubting him.
Was I brave enough to accept his love? Could I accept that he wasn’t perfect, that he had his own problems to deal with, that he drank too much, and his hot head led him into trouble more often than not? Could I accept that he did a dangerous job in a dangerous world, and that we would be apart for months on end?
He’d asked me once if I was brave enough to take a chance on love. I finally knew the answer.
“I love you, too, Sebastian. More than you’ll ever know.”
He gasped, staring at me with wonder. And then he kissed me.
Not the boiling, surging kisses that heated my blood and shredded my resolve; but a kiss so sweet and gentle, so honest and simple, that my heart cracked open, and filled with love.
He pulled me to his chest and we stood in silence, our arms wrapped around each other.
I was vaguely aware of the continuing quiet tide of humanity flowing around us, but for that moment, we were the only people in the whole world.
“You mean everything to me, Caro.” Sebastian spoke softly into my hair.
“You’re so brave, tesoro,” I said, quietly. “You’ve never been afraid to love.”
I felt his smile. “That’s because I learned from you, Caro.”
I shook my head.
“It’s true,” he said, gently.
I sighed and pulled my arms a little tighter around him.
He laughed softly and stroked my cheek.
We continued to stand there, basking in a love that came from within, warming us, filling us.
Eventually, Sebastian rubbed my arm and stood up straight.
“I guess we’d better get going before Signora Battelli starts vacuuming around us.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling up at him.
At that moment, I’d have followed him to the four corners of the Earth and the very gates of Hell.
We walked back to our room in blissful silence, and every now and then I felt Sebastian’s fingers squeeze mine.
“I can’t stop smiling,” I said, stupidly. “I think I’ve pulled a muscle in my mouth.”
“I know what you mean,” said Sebastian, grinning back. “Although I’ve got some ideas about how you could do that for real later.”
I slapped his arm.
“You don’t change, do you, Hunter!”
He threw himself back on his bed and grinned up at me.
“Do you want me to change?”
“Oh, you could do with a bit of polish here and there, but otherwise, no, you’ll do.”
“I’d like you to polish me right now,” he said, smiling wickedly.
“Well, I’d love to oblige, but Signora Battelli is going to be knocking on our door in about two minutes.”
He pouted. “We could make it quick.”
“Oh no, I want to take my time.”
“How much time?” he said, his gaze heated.
“Hours, possibly days… whole months even,” I said, staring back at him.
He groaned and closed his eyes. “Months?”
“Years,” I said, softly. “A lifetime.”
He sat up, his gaze serious. “Do you mean it, Caro, a lifetime?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Then his head sank to his chest. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up at me: his smile was glorious.
“Okay,” he said, his face glowing with happiness.
Yes, I did mean it. There was no doubt. And I could tell from Sebastian’s reaction that he was overwhelmed with happiness. I felt the same way. Overwhelmed, over-brimming, over-full, flooded with joy.
We packed up our small bag, moving easily around the room, touching each other as we passed, as if there was a physical necessity to express our happiness somehow.
Sebastian paid off a relieved Mrs. Battelli: we’d taken so long, she was obviously wondering if we were planning on moving in permanently.
Sebastian thanked her beautifully for her delicious breakfast, telling her that he’d never enjoyed a pensione more. Then he kissed her hand, and the stout widow blushed.