CHAPTER 5
Roman
After seeingtheDavidwith my own two eyes, I feel a little badly about the bastard comment. He’s incredible. When I mention it to Niilo on our way out the door, he tucks his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and looks up at me, eyes shining clear-water blue.
“I think he’d forgive you,” he replies solemnly. “After all, we paid him nearly fifty euros.”
“Didn’t even have the decency to put pants on,” I mumble, earning a burst of laughter from Niilo. Grinning happily, I try to tone down how pleased I am when he laughs at my jokes. I’m really not that funny, as evidenced by the many friends who’ve never found me so.
Now that we’ve abandoned the worst of the crowds, and there is no possibility of being separated, Niilo lets go of me. I have half a mind to wade back into the sea of people, just to keep him physically attached to me in some way.
“What’s next on the list?” he asks, planting those hands on his hips and leaning into me for a view of my cellphone screen.I pull up my rather unhinged, and dismally unorganized notes app. Niilo’s dark eyelashes flicker as his eyes scan the page. He uses the tip of his finger to indicate one.
“Are you interested in art?” he asks. “This is a gallery of Renaissance art.”
I pause. I do like art, but I’m not sure I like it well enough to devote my very limited Italy vacation time to staring at it. I look down at Niilo’s silver-blond hair, shining in the sun.
“We could skip that,” I say slowly. He gives a short nod, still reading the list.
“I think you might enjoy the Basilica di Santa Croce, since you’re interested in history. Even if you weren’t interested in history or art, it’s worth visiting simply because it’s beautiful.” I nod in agreement, even though his head is ducked and he can’t see it. When he reaches the end of my list, he pats my forearm and steps away. I try not to feel too sad about the foot of space between us.
“May I make a suggestion that’s not on the list?” he asks, looking up at me.
“Of course.” As if there’s anything he could suggest that Iwouldn’tbe on board with.
“Piazzale Michelangelo is one of my favorite tourist spots. It’s just a viewpoint of the city, but it’s spectacular. It’s also very near the Basilica di Santa Croce, and they have cafes and things we could eat at. If you’d like.”
“That sounds perfect to me. Is it something to do at sunset, or…?”
“Actually, midday is the best if you want to take pictures, which”—his lips twitch as he looks at the phone clutched in my hand, home to hundreds of shiny new photographs—“I assume that you do.”
“Okay, so we go now. Do that first, grab something to eat, and then hit the basilica?”
“Perfect.”
As I’m starting to learn, Niilo being right isn’t the exception but the rule. The view of the city from the piazzale is spectacular. Actually, it’s beyond spectacular. It’s something so beautiful and stunning, there isn’t even a word in the English language to describe it. Despairing for the battery on my cellphone, I dutifully make sure I have at least four pictures of every angle, and a dozen more with Niilo in them. After the third time of me entreating him to “look at the camera!”, he humors me with a coy little smile on his face, and a glint in his eye that promises retribution.
“Why am I suddenly the only one in these photos,” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me. I take a picture, because, cute.
“I want some without me in them,” I tell him. “Just you.”
“And Florence,” he adds, dropping the mock scowl and fixing the grin back into place. I click the camera button again. Florence is great, but come on. We know who the real star of this show is.
“Okay—”
“—now together,” Niilo interrupts, pulling my phone away and striding off to find a fellow tourist to ask for help.
He manages to snare a German woman, who understands the assignment perfectly and holds her thumb down on the shutter button, flooding my album with pictures of me and Niilo. She declares us “a lovely couple,” and gives Niilo a look so dripping with affection, I half expect her to pinch his cheek.
“Any good ones?” he asks as she walks away, peeking at the phone as I scroll through.
“About a hundred,” I confirm happily.
“Excellent. Was there anything else you needed a picture of? That leaf, perhaps?” He points helpfully at a flowering bush that is, to be fair, very pretty. “Or maybe you should crouch down and retakeallthe pictures but from closer to the ground.”
“Okay, smartass,” I scold, tucking my phone away and maintaining a flat expression despite the teasing pinch of his mouth. “I’ll just have you take any pictures I need lower to the ground, seeing as you’re miniature.”
“You like it,” he says on a laugh, nudging me with his shoulder as we walk toward one of the cafes. I reach over his shoulder to open the door before he can. I do like that he’s smaller than me. Boy, do I. Smaller but not weaker; smaller but holds space and moves through the world with a confidence I can only dream of possessing.
