When she returns, I help her set the table and steer the conversation elsewhere.
“So, how’s old Kevin? Still sailing around the world?”
Aurélie laughs.
“Last time we talked, Dad wanted me to meet him in Costa Rica and join him on his boat for the next leg of the trip. Me—who gets nauseous just thinking about stepping onto a dock.”
She shudders dramatically.
We eat the osso buco with saffron risotto she ordered from our favorite spot in the city, laughing and catching up the way we always do whenever her work and mine allow it.
Aurélie is a painter, and whenever she needs inspiration—or time to lose herself in her work—she disappears completely. She even turns off her phone and escapes to one of my properties in Europe, or to one of our father’s places here in the States.
Part of me always worries about her like she’s the same little babymammaplaced in my arms for the first time, the day I sat in the armchair, staring at her then-emerald-green eyes and wondering how something so small could feel so important. She’s far from helpless, and I know she won’t always need me. But I’ll look out for her anyway. Always.
Before I leave her apartment, she hugs me again and says,
“Don’t stay trapped in this Romeo courtship fantasy, or you’ll let your Juliet slip away, mon frère.”
I kiss her cheek and say goodbye.
In the elevator, I think about what Aurélie said. If I had answered her, I would’ve said this:
I hope it doesn’t take that long for me to kiss her. But if that’s the time I have to wait... so be it.
I’ve only truly fallen in love once in my life—but it was a young man’s love. Nothing I have ever felt compares to what Cecilia makes me feel.Nothing.
Just outside the building, I reach for my keys, and my phone vibrates in my pocket. The moment I see her name on the screen, a smile pulls at my mouth.
“Ciao, cara mia,”[IX]I say, unable and unwilling to hide the affection in my voice.
Cecilia gives a laugh. “Cara means dear, right?”
“Yes.” And also beloved, precious, adored. But I don’t tell her that.
“Well...Ciao cara mio?” she tries, hesitant.
My heart skips a beat.
“If you’re saying it to a man, it’scaro.Caro mio[X].”
“Okay... let me try again.” She takes a breath, and when she speaks her voice is almost velvety.“Ciao, caro mio.”
My voice drops, rougher with something I don’t bother to hide. “Perfetto. Perfect.”
You’re perfect.
For a few seconds neither of us says anything. I can hear her breathing on the other end, and somehow it feels like she’s beside me.
“I’m not calling too late, am I? Or interrupting... You haven’t left New York yet, have you?” she asks, words tumbling out.
“No, you’re not interrupting. And yes, I’ll be here for a few more days.”
I glance up at the half moon, delicate in the night sky.
“You can talk to me, Cecily. I have all the time in the world for you.”
She hesitates for a moment.
