Paolo unloads a box from his car and sets it inside the cottage. ‘That’s the last one, Mia.’
‘I think that should go over there,’ says Mum, directing Dad to the corner of the living room, where he places a lamp-shade. She steps down from the ladder she’s standing on and admires the painting she’s just affixed to the wall. ‘All done, sweetheart. Now it looks like a home.’ While Paolo and Dad have worked on making the modifications the cottage needed to make things more comfortable for Luca, Mum has infused it with all the trimmings a new home needs, and it’s evident she’s enjoyed every minute. She’s even converted one of the spare bedrooms into an art studio for me.
Dad shakes Luca’s hand and pats him on the back. ‘Tomorrow night, Silvio’s bar. We’re watching the Grand Prix,’ he says. He turns to Mum. ‘You and Mia should come, too, Julie.’ Mum raises her eyebrows, her face illuminated by a playful smile that makes me realise how much I’m going to miss her when she and Dad return to Melbourne.
With some encouragement from Paolo, Luca’s been convinced to go back to work in the new year. While he won’t be able to do everything he used to, Paolo’s reassured him he’ll be able to do enough to ensure he won’t have to sell his share of the business. Rehab starts on Monday; I’m due to start studying at the Academy of Art next spring.
Luca grins. ‘Thanks for everything,’ he says. Mum bends down and gives him a kiss on both cheeks.
‘See you tomorrow night,’ says Paolo, holding open the door for Mum and Dad. Luca and I wave them goodbye and retreat back inside.
‘We’re all set now, amore mio.’
Luca flashes me a smile, the kind of spectacular smile with enough power behind it to make your whole day sing. ‘Some mail came for you today,’ he says, motioning to a few letters on the windowsill.
I pick up the letter and slowly tear it open.
Sender: Jones & Frazzetto Art Dealers of London
Dear Ms Moretti,
It is with great pleasure that we enclose the remaining balance for the commissioned works for The Florentine Bridge. In addition, we are pleased to inform you that your collection of paintings recently sold at a London auction. Several other potential buyers have expressed an interest in further commissioned works from you. We are proposing a series of paintings based on Signor Giovanni Fiorelli’s photographs. We have enclosed the details of this request and look forward to hearing from you should you be interested in this proposal.
Yours sincerely,
Clara Jones & Joseph Frazzetto
I fold the letter in half and tuck it back in its envelope, a smile spreading across my lips as I fixate on the view of Florence in the distance, an idyllic sea of terracotta-coloured rooftops visible from the window of my studio.
‘Life will lead us to where we need to be,’ I murmur.
‘What’s that, bella mia?’
‘Sometimes we just need to believe that everything’s going to work out exactly as it should.’
I feel the warmth of Luca’s hand on the small of my back and the reassuring awareness of being held—not just now, always; not just by him, but from within—anchors itself deep inside me. Just underneath that rests a feeling of looseness and tranquillity.
‘You know, when you were in the hospital and they weren’t sure if you’d make it or not, I prayed so hard that you’d live to see the sun rise and set again. I’d watch the sun come up every morning, and then I’d come to the hospital, where I’d sit by your bed and describe how beautiful and special it was.’
Luca swallows as if something has caught in his throat.
‘I took our padlock to the Ponte Vecchio before you woke up. I thought you’d want me to.’
He lets out a small cough and says, ‘I’m glad you did that.’
‘Do you remember anything about the coma or the accident?’
‘I just remember the headlights of the car veering towards me. But right before I lost control and came off the bike, I thought of you. And as for the coma, the only thing I remember was hearing your voice—you were begging me to come back to you. I came so close to dying, Mia. It makes me think about how brave you really are. I was unconscious; I didn’t have to fight like you did.’
‘It was a different kind of fight. Your fight to stay strong and accept what’s happened starts now.’
He nods, blinking slowly. ‘You know what, amore mio? I think we should visit our bridge,’ he says, pointing out the window towards the city centre. ‘If we leave now, we could make it before sunset.’
I walk beside Luca as we make our way towards the Ponte Vecchio. From the other side of the piazza, Signor Fiorelli tips his hat and I wave back. The cobblestoned streets are uneven, and Luca’s working hard to handle what is far from a smooth ride on these city streets.
‘Let me push you?’
‘I’ve got it.’
‘I know you have, but—’
He stops pushing his chair and looks up at me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
He smiles at me reassuringly. ‘On the way back,’ he says, winking at me.
When we reach the centre of the Ponte Vecchio, we stop under the middle arch and admire the reflection of the bridge glistening on the mirror-like surface of the Arno. Here we watch tourists come and go, snapping pictures they’ll file away and look back on with fondness in weeks, months or years to come. Enamoured couples bend down by the statue of Cellini and snap their locks shut around the gate, despite the warnings not to. I hope they’ll remember the way it felt to be here, on a bridge over a river that holds the energy of hundreds of lovers before them.
A cool breeze brushes against me and I pull my coat around me. My thoughts sift their way through all the events that unfolded since Luca and I first came here and the last time we were here together. I let all those memories knit themselves together: the laughs, the tears, the smiles and the blissful silences, the intoxicating highs and the devastating lows. The softness of a touch and the euphoric high of a kiss. When Luca reaches for my hand and looks at me in that way nobody else does, I’m almost certain he’s been thinking about the same things.
‘I want you to know that no matter what, I’ll always be here, Luca. No matter what happens to you or to me.’
He pulls me onto his lap and I nestle my head against his body as we watch the colours in the sky trickle away while the sun disappears. When Luca moves his face towards mine at the exact same time I move mine towards his for a kiss, everything clicks back into place. In this world of uncertainty, one thing I know for sure is that tomorrow morning that same sun will rise again, beaming light and warmth upon us as it marks the beginning of a brand-new day.
‘We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?’
Luca strokes my cheek and smiles. ‘This bridge is like us, Mia: it can withstand anything, no matter what life lobs its way.’
‘Prendiamo la vita come viene.’