It also took some of the worry away.
I’d never felt that before.
Then, suddenly, I was standing in front of the mirror, staring at my plain white T-shirt that twisted in the front and my light pink midi skirt with tiny white flowers. My feet were in sandals, and my hair was somehow wrangled into pigtails, the shorter pieces framing my face. My light perfume drifted in the air around me.
Nazzareno set his hand on my back, led me out of the hotel suite’s bathroom, and handed me my crossbody purse. I dug in it and found some light lipstick and applied it.
I straightened my skirt for probably the hundredth time. I wasn’t sure if sweaty palms were good for wrinkles, but if they were, I should have a stiff skirt by the time we left.
Nazzareno kissed my forehead, stilling my hands, and told me the most beautiful thing he could in that moment. “You look ready, Ava.”
I nodded, believing him, even though my heart thundered in my chest and my stomach was full of butterflies.
“Talk to me,” I said as he started the car.
Nazzareno didn’t like depending on other people for transportation, and like magic, a Range Rover, which I had a feeling was armored, must have been delivered the day he arrived in New York. He was paranoid about my safety after Olivier Nemours had tried to crush us.
He handed me his aviators, and I slid them on. He took my hand and then pulled into traffic like he’d lived in New York his entire life.
Instead of just useless chatter, he took the drive to teach me how to speak basic Italian. He would say a word, give me the meaning, and then have me repeat it. He tried to hide it, but sometimes when I repeated the words, I could see his shoulders stiffen like I had hit him.
“Okay.” I breathed a little easier, glad to have the distraction. I both needed and feared our ending destination. “Let’s hear you do a New York accent.”
He smoothly pressed on the brake. We were stuck in a little traffic.
He shrugged and said without a hint of an Italian accent, “How you doin’?” He looked at me and smiled.
“Fuck,” I said. “That backfired on me.”
He roared with laughter, and bringing my hand to his mouth, kissed it like he did my face—big, fat kisses.
“That’s because you’ve been here before,” I accused, but I was laughing too.
“Does not feel like it.”
“What do you mean? You told me you’ve been here plenty of times.”
“Sì.”
“I’m so confused.”
“With you, the world feels entirely new. I have been here many times, but this time it feels I am here for the first time. Same with Cairo. Same with my home, where I was born and where I will die. Italia. I have traveled all over the world, some places so remote, no one else existed with me. This time when I go to those places again, I will see them for the first time—just as you do.”
I brought our linked hands to my cheek and rested against them. “Come to think of it, even though I was born and raised here…it felt new to me too.”
“That is love, ah?”
“That is love.” I smiled.
Then I felt like I was going to puke when the car came to a stop and Nazzareno got out and came to open my door. When he did, it felt like the warm air engulfed me in flames, and it was making the nausea worse. My clothes were sticking to me.
“Ava,” Nazzareno called.
I held a hand up. “I need a sec.” I was trying to settle the nervousness that had rose past my stomach and made it to my throat.
He took my chin in his hand and made me look at him. “I was not there for your healing, but I will be there for your break.”
My break?I was about to ask, but he kept my hand firmly in his, shut my door, locked the car, and led me into the building.
