It’s almost dawn as we lie tangled up in each other like two vines of ivy grown inextricably wrapped together. The world outside the window has gone from midnight to deep purple to light pink as I lay here with my cheek on Marina’s chest. Her fingers play in my hair, and I feel her press a kiss to the top of my head.
“I love you,bella,” she says softly.
“I love you, too,” I whisper back and tighten my arm around her middle. She sighs in what sounds like great contentment, and before long, her breathing becomes deep and even, and she’s finally asleep.
I stay awake for a bit longer, wanting to remember this day, this moment. Because I feel different. It’s so hard to explain, andas a writer, that’s a little frustrating for me, but it doesn’t make it less true. I feel different, and it’s because I know we’re going to make this work. Fourteen years and an ocean separate us, but Marina is here now. I don’t know yet what her plans are, but I do know I want to be a part of them. All of them. I won’t let her run from me or shut me out when there’s a problem. I will chase her down if I have to.
I push myself up onto an elbow and just watch her sleeping face. Her smooth skin and long, dark lashes, and full lips, her face framed by all that hair. She’s stunning to look at, there’s no arguing that. And she loves me.
She loves me.
I lie back down and snuggle in. It’s my turn to inhale deeply and let it out as my body finally settles into relaxation. I’m going to be sore in muscles I didn’t know I have tomorrow, and the thought brings a smile to my face. I burrow into Marina’s neck, inhaling her apple pie scent.
“I love you,” I whisper, knowing she’s asleep but wanting to put the words out into the universe anyway.
This is where I belong.
Epilogue
Fourteen months later
Marina is nervous.
I can tell by how many times she’s smoothed her hands down her sides. I’ve been working at my desk for an hour now while she gets ready, and she’s walked past my doorway about a dozen times so far.
“Baby, you ready?” I call out.
A beat or two goes by before she appears in the doorway. “I think so? How do I look?”
She’s not dressed up, but her look has changed. The food tour business doesn’t require her to wear a suit or dress if she doesn’t want to, but she’s starting a new position today, and she wants to impress. So she’s wearing her dark jeans, but also a white blouse and a herringbone blazer that looks fabulous on her, makes her look like a sexy college professor. I’m not sure how she’ll feel about that comparison, though, so I keep it to myself.
“You look amazing. Professional.”
She blows out a breath. “Okay. Good.”
I get up and cross the room to take her hands in mine. They’re clammy. “Babe. You’re gonna be great. Chuck already thinks you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to his business.” Chuck owns Big Apple Food Tours, and he’s said a hundred times over the past year or so that he doesn’t know what he’d do without Marina. She practically runs the place already. And today is her first day as Tour Coordinator. “Howmany restaurants do you visit today?” Asking her to spout facts, I have found, helps her to relax.
“Six,” she says, then pulls out the little notebook I gave her back in Rome because I finally talked her into actually using it, flips through a couple pages, and relays them to me. By the time she gets to number six, she’s much calmer. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, then jerks her chin toward my desk. “How’s the writing?”
“It’s coming along.” I’m about halfway into a new script I’m working on, and not being able to write hasn’t been a thing—not even a blip—for over a year now. “Got a meeting with Scott next week.”
“And dinner with Serena at seven, yes?”
I nod. “I’ll grab us some wine and cheese from that place down the street. We’ll head out as soon as you get home.”
She nods, then glances at her watch. “Okay. Gotta run.” Her colloquial English has greatly improved in the time she’s worked here, but her accent is still my favorite thing. She leans in and kisses me. “Love you.”
“Love you. You’re gonna have a great day.” I kiss her again and follow her out to the living room where she stops to kiss Reggie on his furry head. She waves at me one more time and is out the door.
My phone rings before I have a chance to do much else.
“Hey, Jess,” I say, happy to hear from my friend, who is arriving in town this week to meet with her publisher. “Flight okay?”
“Yup. Just checking to see if we’re still on for lunch tomorrow.”
“We absolutely are,” I say, looking around my living room.
“You good? You sound…wistful. In a good way, I mean.”
