All the time in the world
For us to see
That life is what we make of it
Venice sparkled under the winter sun, the air freezing and the sky pure and perfectly blue. Sean and Sarah wandered along the calles, hand in hand, until they got to a little campo, a small square, surrounded by beautiful buildings with arched windows and stuccoed façades. Schoolchildren and tourists with cameras and old ladies carrying groceries hustled all around them, busy and unconcerned with their conversation. Strange, Sarah thought. My whole life is being played out, here, and nobody knows, nobody suspects.
“Sarah . . .”
“Please don’t say it,” she blurted out, her hands raised to form a barrier between them.
“Don’t say what?” he smiled.
“Don’t say you’re going away. That I have to marry a Secret heir. That you’ll look after me, you’ll never be really gone, but we won’t be together. Just don’t say it.”
“Sarah, Sarah, stop!” He laughed, and held his own hands up too, braiding his fingers through hers. “Oh. Maybe I should have asked before doing this,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“Touching your hands. In case you try to kill me. You did that before.” He laughed again.
“Don’t laugh!” she said, looking down. She was getting really flustered. He seemed to be playing a game while she consumed herself waiting to hear what he had to say.
“Okay, sorry. Listen. I—” He drew a deep breath. It wasn’t easy for him either, to put his thoughts into words. “I . . .”
“Picture? Take picture?”
Sean blinked and stared as a Japanese woman stood in front of him, camera in hand, a big smile on her face. “Picture, please?” she repeated, gesturing to Sean and then to the man and child behind her.
“Of course. Of course,” he muttered, taking the camera from the woman. Sarah tried not to roll her eyes so as to not seem rude, but she sat rigid, willing the tourists to go.
“Thank you! Thank you!” the Japanese tourists repeated over and over again, and they even bowed slightly before walking away.
“So, yes. Where were we?” said Sean, sitting on the stone bench again.
“I don’t know where we were, Sean. I don’t know where we are. I don’t know what’s going to happen!” Sarah blurted out, finally out of patience.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, Sarah,” said Sean, suddenly serious. He cupped her face in his hands. “You were right all along. I’ve seen the effects of inbreeding among the Secret Families. It’s time for a new era and a new generation whose blood is strong again . . .”
Sarah’s eyes welled up and she smiled between her tears.
“I don’t want to see you crying ever again,” said Sean, and dried a rogue tear that had rolled down her cheek. He stroked her hair, then took her face in his hands again and kissed her.
Sarah closed her eyes and let happiness flow through her. They were going to be together. After all the pain and fear, and the lies and the reconciliation . . . and all the times they were so close to death they could feel its cold breath on their necks . . .
They were going to be together.
It didn’t seem possible.
Sarah’s mind went back to the first time they’d met. She’d heard his voice before seeing him. His deep, warm voice with a hint of a New Zealand accent, and then she’d stepped into view and took him in, those light blue eyes, impossibly clear, and with a warning in them: Don’t come too close. Now the warning was gone, the barriers had fallen, and his eyes were full of love.
“Does this mean you’re coming back to Scotland with me? As in . . . you’ll live with me again?”
“Of course. And Sarah . . .”
“Yes?”
“I just can’t wait to hear you play your cello again,” he said, and kissed her again, the warm Italian sun shining on them both.