‘I don’t need to know you to know that we aren’t compatible. You’re a Torrington. That’s all I need to know. I wouldn’t have gone there.’
‘Leo, you’re being an arse,’ I say. The words are strained, not because I’m hurt by his stereotyping me, but because I’m infuriated by his arrogance and fighting hard to hold back my natural inclination to snap at him.
‘I don’t mean to offend you––’ he starts to say, but his tone is so patronising that I finally snap. I slam the passport shut and throw it into my handbag by the bed.
‘If you really don’t want to offend me, stop assuming that you know who I am just because you know my maiden name. That’s about all you remember about me, right? How dare you try to tell me that it would be impossible for someone like you to marry someone like me just because of who my family is. Imagine if our positions were reversed and I said that to you!’
Leo’s mouth is still open. He slowly closes it, and looks back to his meal. I exhale and rub my forehead wearily, and I think the conversation is over until he mutters, ‘I am far too old for you.’
‘Leo!’ I groan. ‘God! It’s only ten years and it has never been an issue.’
‘What would we even have in common? How did we even meet?’ He pushes the empty apple puree cup away and frowns at me again. ‘I don’t even want to get married.’
I laugh a little at that, because I know his concerns were always about how a spouse might fit into the demanding schedule he keeps – and now, with the benefit of hindsight, I can see that he was absolutely right. He raises his eyebrows at me and I assure him, ‘I know you didn’t. But you obviously changed your mind because you proposed and then went ahead and married me.’
‘But how? Why would I change my mind?’ Leo’s prompts are impatient and my laughter fades. I can see that he’s tiring again already, and I make a mental note to check with Craig Walker just how much I should be shielding him from stress. If I’m supposed to be keeping him completely calm, I’m going to have my work cut out. I take a few deep breaths and slide off the bed, and then take the seat beside him. Leo just has to come to terms with this because I’m all he has here in Rome. There is no one else, and no one else is coming, and I still have no idea when we will be able to leave or even what awaits him back in Sydney.
The first thing I need to do is to make him realise that he can trust me – that he used to trust me – and there is probably only one way to do that. When I do speak again, I manage to do so very gently – conscious of the delicate subject I need to reference.
‘I know that until you were thirteen or fourteen, you were sure that it was inevitable that you’d end up just like Mike.’
There are two words we don’t ever use when we’re talking about Leo’s family. The first word is ‘step’ – although Teresa is technically his step-sister, and Andrew his step-father. To Leo they are simply family, and on the odd occasion when I’ve used the ‘step’ prefix by mistake, he has always corrected me instantly. The other word we don’t use is ‘Mike’ – Leo’s biological father’s name. We have had exactly three conversations about Mike in four years, and I initiated every one of them. Leo does not dwell on the unhappy periods of his childhood and he prefers not to speak about them, but I have become convinced that those times have marked him in a way that is every bit as real as the tattoos that cover his arms and shoulders.
Now, when I say Mike’s name, Leo’s shock is palpable – as I knew it would be. With that one word I have proved to him that he has trusted me with the depths of his inner world. Nothing at all about his outer life these days would even acknowledge Mike’s existence.
‘You were actually completely wrong about who you are until you experienced a little bit more of the world and you learnt differently,’ I say quietly. ‘It was the same kind of revelation when we met.’ I search for a way to articulate it. I hadn’t understood the breadth and depth of real love before I met Leo. In the past I’d thought I’d loved boyfriends, but in hindsight I can see that those feelings were shallow and fragile. The love I had for Leo was something unique and special – something altogether different, although it’s painful to acknowledge that now even to myself. I sigh and look at Leo again. His gaze is guarded, but he’s watching me closely.
‘It was as if I’d only ever felt in black and white before, and then falling in love with you was my first experience of colour. And I know it was like that for you too. We fell very hard, very fast, and every idea we had about the future had to be reconsidered because the world was suddenly a different place.’ I wrinkle my nose as I fumble for the right words. ‘It was just that good, you know?’