My first project in Tuscany, the one I got when I left San Diego, had been a great success. The Romanos praised what I had been able to do with their hundred-year-old house, blending the old and the new. I was truly proud of what I had accomplished.
That project opened the door for another, then another, and two yearslater, I became one of the most highly sought-after designers at Elena’s firm. It required a lot of hard work and sacrifice. Most of the time, I was living the dream.
The long workdays did serve the purpose of keeping my mind off my heartbreak. Even though I was in demand and able to spread my wings as a designer by taking risks with my ideas, my heart and mind missed Miles and MJ. I had to lean on God even more to get through that first difficult year, when I questioned my decision almost daily.
One of the benefits of my newfound success was being able to make several trips abroad with Ren, as well as some solo trips. On one of those, I sat on a beach in Santorini watching the sunset, dreaming and thinking how it barely rivaled the sight of dancing fireflies in Miles’ backyard.
As I smiled at something funny Ren said while the scenery flew by the train window, a familiar sharp pain in my chest made me inhale quickly.
“What’s wrong, amica? Feeling okay? I’ve got a mint if your stomach isn’t feeling good,” she offered, already digging into her monster of a purse. I joked that she could live out of it for a week.
I patted her hand and said, “No, I’m good. Just thinking.”
Ren knew me better than anyone, and over the last two years, we had grown even closer. She told me she had some good news and bad news to share that weekend, but wanted to wait until we were all together. My friends and family had adopted her into our ever-growing group, and she fit right in.
“Oh. Is it about a certain man in California? Bet he’s thinking about you, too,” she said in a sassy tone.
When I didn’t answer her, she continued.
“So, how long have you been writing letters to Miles?” When she saw my wide eyes, she said, “Don’t be surprised. I saw it when I snuck up on you at the train station.”
Busted…
Unbeknownst to anyone, including Ren, I not only wrote letters to MJ over the past two years, but I wrote some to her handsome father as well. I never sent them, but I kept them in the journal I now write in almost daily. It helped me put on paper what I couldn’t figure out on my own sometimes. The first time I wrote a letter to Miles, I felt as if God was telling me to keep going. So I did. I wrote him a letter about once a month ever since I walked out of that café.
Ren was still the only one I’d told about falling in love with Miles. And, like the queen she was, she never broke my confidence. So, writing to him provided me with another way to process my feelings. Sometimes it helped, other times it just made me ache for what I’d given up.
Two years ago, when I got on that plane in San Diego bound for Rome, it took everything in me not to stand up in the middle of the safety demonstration, flee my seat, and run back to him. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I had given him the opportunity to ask me to stay. Even though I was disappointed in that moment that he didn’t, over the next several months, Ren convinced me that he did it from a place of love.
Miles had never confessed anything like that to me, but we had talked about our growing feelings. Whether what he felt was love or just deep affection, he was the kind of man who would put me and my dreams first. The problem was, it only made me love him more because of his sacrifice.
“I know the dates you’ve been on weren’t stellar,” she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. “But if you’re not going to send him the letters, then don’t give up on men yet.”
She knew me too well.
“Stellar?Ren, I’m scarred for life over some of those guys. Mama’s boys, guys who look at the mirror more than I do, some who checked out the servers right in front of me,” I scoffed, jumping my shoulder up so her head would fall when she started to laugh.
“Okay, so those didn’t work out. But Paolo was nice, at least,” she said, checking to see what station we were pulling into.
Paolo Renaldi was very nice; confident, with eyes that never strayed from me unlike the others. He owned several restaurants, and on our first date at the one in Rome, he had his chef prepare all my favorite dishes after having asked about them beforehand.
We’d met through Elena at a party and had some great conversations that led to phone calls and four dates. Paolo was a perfect gentleman. Any girl’s fantasy at six-three, dark curly hair, brown eyes, and a sharp jaw. On our last date, he kissed me for the first time. I was nervous but excited, but his kiss, while sweet, lacked a spark.
I called him a few days later and told him that I’d love to stay friends, but only friends. He was shocked but said he understood. How could he possibly understand that I would forever compare every man to Miles Austin?
The next morning, Mama joined us but we were still waiting for Alex and his family. Even without them, Enzo’s house was filled with laughter and conversation. Corinna had cooked enough for an army, as usual, and I was running around behind Ruby trying to get her to eat.
“Don’t bother, Vicky. She will sit down when she’s ready,” Enzo said, opening his arms for his daughter to run into as I chased her. Watchingmy big hulk of a brother lovingly hold Ruby in his arms was heartwarming. Like so many other things, it reminded me of Miles with MJ.
“It’s a beautiful thing to see him so happy,” Mama said, sitting beside me on the floor, watching them.
“Yeah, it is. I hope she knows he’ll never let her date until she’s forty,” I joked. She put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close.
“And you, tesoro? Areyouhappy?” she asked.
Gathering my enthusiasm, I plastered on a smile and answered, “Yes, Mama. Very happy.”
“Why don’t I believe you then?”
