As I stand on the platform waiting for the Eurostar bound for Rome, I think about the way drops of watercolour pigment can run and bleed into each other across the surface of wet paper. They do this amazing thing: they bloom. When I was learning to paint, I was taught that good blooms, the kind you can control, were something to be embraced, because they added vibrancy and excitement to a piece. Bad blooms, on the other hand, were considered messy, appearing in all the places you didn’t want them to, and were to be avoided at all cost. These days, when I take brush to paint and intentionally work with this technique for fun, I know that I’m consciously creating a work of art because I get to choose the colours I want. Ultimately though, the drops do what they want. I observe my painting once I’m done and think of how beautiful it is, in all of its loose and messy imperfection. Even in those places where the colours are muddy, it’s still more perfect than I could have ever imagined it to be.
I step through the sliding doors of the train, and find a spare seat. After six failed attempts at reading the same page of my book over and over, I spend the rest of the trip gazing out the window, watching out for the right station, my body tense at the thought of seeing Luca again, not knowing how he might react to seeing me. In Rome I change to a local intercity train.
Only a handful of people disembark at Orvieto train station, mainly tourists. I wander around for about fifteen minutes before I need to ask for directions on how to reach Rosetta’s apartment.
‘Excuse me, could you tell me where I can find Via della Fonte?’
‘Not too far from here, signorina. Take the first left and then your second right,’ says the passer-by.
I follow his directions and stop outside the apartment, realising that I’m more nervous than I thought I was. My heart starts racing as I reach for the doorbell, knowing that in a few minutes I’ll be seeing Luca again.
‘Yes?’
‘Uh, Rosetta, it’s me, Mia.’
The intercom goes quiet for what feels like forever. Somehow, I convince myself that Luca has found out it’s me waiting for him here and has told her not to open up. I turn around and begin to walk away. It’s then I hear the click of the metal door and Rosetta’s voice calling after me.
‘Mia, wait!’
I turn around to see Rosetta standing there, smiling at me. She walks towards me and locks me in an embrace.
‘I’m so glad to see you,’ she says.
She makes small talk, telling me her boys are out with her husband, Francesco, and that the weather is unusually cold for this time of year. She asks how I got here and if I came alone. Finally, we speak about Luca.
‘Mia, I want you to know that I tried so hard. I begged him so many times to call you, to let you in, to reconsider, but he refused. I know this isn’t what he wants, though, and I wanted so badly to call you, to let you know how he was doing, but he made me promise not to. Please forgive me,’ she says.
‘It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay, but I understand. How is he?’
She’s searching for the words. ‘The same, really. The rehab facilities here are pretty average, and it’s hard to notice any improvement.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Upstairs. Come, I’ll take you to him.’
As we ride the lift up to the apartment, I ask Rosetta about how Luca manages to get in and out of the flat.
‘He doesn’t go out much. Just for rehab. He was only discharged from the hospital two weeks ago, and that was only because he insisted on coming home,’ she says. ‘But what worries me the most is that Fiorentina played Juventus last week and he wouldn’t even let me turn on the TV.’
‘But he loves soccer! Fiorentina is his favourite team. He never misses a game.’
‘I know,’ she replies, sighing.
She leads me to the living room and smiles with reassurance before leaving me to stand there alone. He hasn’t seen me yet. He’s facing a window that overlooks a narrow street. Aside from a few passers-by going about their day, and some sheets hanging on a washing line, there isn’t much to look at. It feels so wrong, so unfair, to see him sitting there in a wheelchair, lost in his own thoughts like this. I think about how bittersweet it is to feel such immense gratitude for life on these kinds of terms and how not being able to make something better for someone in the way that we want to can cause so much angst if we let it.
‘Luca?’
His hands reach for the wheels of his chair, and he slowly turns around to face me. It’s the same Luca in so many ways: the same olive skin, the same defined cheekbones, the same impeccable style in clothing. Except he’s in a wheelchair. He has a wounded demeanour that almost rips my heart open.
Our hearts collide somewhere in the middle of the room when our eyes meet. And there they hover uncertainly until he averts his gaze, and I’m unsure whether to move forward towards him.
I clear my throat. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m okay,’ he says flatly. I wait for him to continue speaking. He doesn’t. Rosetta pokes her head through the door and tells us she has some errands to run. Sensing our discomfort, she says, ‘Would you like to maybe take a walk outside?’
Luca flips his head up. ‘That would be great, Rosetta. There’s only one small problem,’ he says through clenched teeth. It’s so out of character for him to snap at someone—anyone. I cringe at his callous behaviour.
I decide not to spend one more second in the unbearable silence. ‘I think that’s a great idea. Let’s go outside,’ I say.
‘Fine,’ he says.
I hold the door open in the lift until he manages to wheel himself in. We ride in silence, only speaking once we reach the cobblestoned road outside. It’s cold on the street, and I suddenly wish I’d brought a jacket with me. I cross my arms as we walk up the inclined street that Luca’s arms are working hard to navigate.
‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ he says breathlessly.
‘I wanted to see you.’
‘I thought I made things clear.’
‘Please don’t treat me like I’m a stranger,’ I say, my voice uneven.
He doesn’t answer me and keeps propelling himself up the hill, tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. We take a spot outside at the closest cafe in the piazza and sit across from each other.
‘Um, I should go order us something to drink. Corretto? Double shot?’
He nods, looking as though he’s in discomfort.
‘Does it hurt? Are you in pain?’ I ask.
‘My body’s fine.’
I order our coffees and return to the table. Luca grabs his cup but doesn’t take a sip.
‘I wanted to call you, to tell you how sorry I am. I told you in the hospital, but I thought you might have been angry with me for leaving—’
‘I’m not angry with you, Mia. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me. This. All of it,’ he says.
‘This isn’t your fault. You can’t help what happened to you,’ I say.
He shakes his head.
‘Why can’t you look at me?’ He keeps staring at his cup, and this time I can’t help raising my voice. ‘Please, Luca, just look at me!’ The group of tourists sitting at the table beside us glance over and pretend not to have overheard me.
‘Because it hurts,’ he whispers.
I draw a deep breath. ‘I hate this so much. I hate being apart from you. I hate the way things have changed between us. I hate that this has happened to you—to us.’
‘Stop, Mia.’
‘No! I came here because I want you to come home. I miss you. I can’t stop thinking about you.’
‘Please don’t do this.’
‘Why won’t you hear this? Why won’t you let me in?’
‘Why? I can’t walk, Mia! There are no guarantees I’ll ever walk again.’
‘I know you’re angry that this has happened. That you haven’t accepted it yet. But you almost died. You were this close to dying, Luca,’ I say.
‘This is not what you want. Trust me. I’m no good for you anymore.’
‘How dare you even think that!’
‘I can’t do this to you. You deserve more, so much more. You don’t deserve this.’
‘You’re a hypocrite of the worst kind,’ I say, the blood rushing to my cheeks. ‘You don’t deserve this, Luca. What do your days look like right now? Rehab followed by hours of staring blankly out an apartment window while life goes on around you, while the person who loves you more than anything in the world is a hundred miles away thinking of you every second of every day, aching just as much as you are? My heart knows what it wants.’
‘So does mine.’
‘You’re lying,’ I say, my voice cracking as my eyes fill up with tears.
His chocolate eyes flash with hurt.
‘I know you think you’re doing me a favour, but you’re not. I accept you for who you are and for whatever the future brings. And this is what the future brought and yes, it’s completely shitty and horribly unfair. I wish I could change it for you. But love—love is something that knows no boundaries. You don’t just fall out of love because someone can’t walk,’ I say.
‘One day when you’re married with kids of your own, you’ll be enjoying a life without these kinds of limitations or obligations, and you’ll thank me.’
‘No,’ I say vehemently. ‘Don’t even go there! I will never thank you for pushing me away like this. Never. No way. You told me I was your forever. I want you to be my forever. I don’t want this.’
‘Yes, Mia,’ he says softly.
‘Okay, so if you ever learn to walk again, what happens then? Is that when I’ll get a call from you? Or maybe the next girl that comes along who accepts you for who you are can have you, but I can’t?’
‘That’s not fair. You know I’d do anything for you, bella Mia. But not this. You have to know I’m not doing this because I don’t love you. I’m doing this because you’re the single most important thing that ever happened to me.’
The tone of his voice makes my heart feel heavy, knowing that all of this has been much harder on him than it has been on me. He places his hands on the wheels of his chair.
‘No, don’t go. Please don’t go.’
‘This conversation is finished. I’ll get Rosetta to take you home,’ he says.
‘We were happy, Luca.’
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows.
‘Look at me,’ I whisper.
‘I can’t.’ His face tightens and he bites his lip.
‘Look at me, Luca.’ My hands reach out to frame his face and we hold each other with our eyes for what must be seconds. Seconds that feel like hours because I’ve missed this so much. I lean forward and press my lips against his so softly that it almost feels like we aren’t touching. Instantly it doesn’t hurt anymore. Luca pulls me deeper into the kiss, into that place where we completely lose ourselves, that place where we are whole again. This is us. It’s over way too soon.
He gently pulls away.
‘No,’ I whisper. ‘That feeling, Luca? It isn’t based on whether or not you walk.’ He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair. I reach for his chest and feel the rapid beating of his heart.
‘You do feel it,’ I murmur.
His hands glide over his unshaven face.
‘Look, I know you’re hurting, but what has happened to you doesn’t make you any less able to care for me. Not being able to walk doesn’t change the fact that you are perfect for me.’ I open my bag and grab the photo book containing the pictures I’ve taken of the paintings of us. ‘These are snapshots of what we had,’ I say, dropping the book on the table. ‘Us. Our story. Everything we lived and what we stand to lose if we remain apart. We made those memories. I kept those close to me when I didn’t know if I’d lose you. You changed me, Luca. You’re everything I never knew I was looking for and more,’ I say, wiping the tears from my eyes.
He looks up at me, his own eyes filled with tears, and says, ‘Mia, I’m so sorry.’
‘I’m checking into a hotel,’ I say as I glance around the square. ‘Right over there. That’s where I’ll be. Until you’re ready. I will be there for a day, a month, six months or a year. I’m not going anywhere until you come home. Otherwise, I’ll make this my home.’
The room service I ordered goes cold under the dome of its metal cover. I’m too busy contemplating how precious life is, how much trust is truly required of us in order to live life fully, especially in times of uncertainty when we feel the overwhelming need to control or move away from anything that might hurt us or those close to us. I decide that if I do lose Luca, this gift of insight and deep knowing is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life, no matter how long or short it ends up being. Luca gifted me so much more than his unconditional love. He gifted me a fresh pair of eyes.
From the balcony, I watch couples fill tables in restaurants where streetlights illuminate the piazza and outdoor heaters take the chill out of the air. I pull myself away from the balcony and go to run a bath when the hotel phone rings.
‘Ms Moretti, there’s a gentleman by the name of Luca Bonnici insisting on seeing you.’
‘Please let him up,’ I reply.
A minute or so later there’s a knock at the door. He’s shaved and is wearing his favourite pair of jeans and a cotton shirt. There’s a bunch of roses on his lap.
‘Come in,’ I say. I sit on the edge of the bed so that we’re sitting at eye level and he moves as close as he possibly can, our knees almost touching.
‘I can’t hurt you anymore, Mia.’
‘I don’t know what you mean by that.’
‘I’m sorry I made you find an empty bed at the hospital. I knew that if I saw your face, heard your voice, felt your touch, I’d never be able to leave. I asked about you every day. Every single day.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘That letter, and those pictures—how do we ever get back to that?’
‘Everything’s changed, but the important things have stayed the same.’
He bites his lip.
‘I’ve wanted to tell you that I’ve been painting—a lot.’
‘I saw. They’re beautiful.’
‘You haven’t seen half of it, Luca. My work has been selling. I’ve been working on commissioned paintings.’
‘Really? That’s amazing. How did this happen?’
‘I’d been painting with Signor Fiorelli. It was good for me—for both of us. Anyway, he sold a few paintings for me, and then Clara bought one, and then she commissioned three pieces of work. I didn’t know it was her at the time because she stayed anonymous, but she offered me a lot of money for them.’ I pull out my cheque and show it to him.
His eyes widen as a smile spreads across his face. ‘That’s great, really, really great,’ he says.
I nod happily.
‘That’s enough to cover your tuition for the academy,’ he says.
‘It’s also enough to cover our living expenses until we can work things out with the officina.’
Luca’s smile fades. ‘I want this more than anything, Mia—to be with you, to start a new life with you—but I need to be able to work it out first.’
‘You don’t need to do anything. You just need to trust.’
‘I’m supposed to be the one looking after you.’
‘Just come home and we’ll work out the rest later—together.’
He takes a deep breath.
‘I’ve already arranged a place for us to stay. Somewhere you’ll be comfortable, and if you do happen to find yourself staring blankly outside the window, the view is pretty special.’
He shakes his head. ‘You’re unbelievable.’
‘I told you—I’m not going home without you.’
There’s a long pause, and he lets out a long exhale.
‘Say yes, please just say yes,’ I whisper. ‘I promise you this will be okay.’
Prendi la vita come viene.
I hold my breath, watching Luca’s expression, trying to work out what he’s thinking.
‘I don’t want to live another day without you.’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Si.’
‘Stay with me tonight?’
‘I’m not going anywhere. Ever.’