My body stills and my brain takes over. I push his head away from inside of me and sit up on the pillow. My fingers raking through my hair uncomfortably. He sits up and places his hand comfortingly on my cheek. I gasped for breath as the feelings of utter disbelief and sorrow flood every part of my being.
“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes.
I placed my hand on his cheek in return. My gaze never left his. I struggled to find my breath. Thoughts racing throughout my head.
“It’s not you, I promise you,” I say.
“Amelia,” he says, his voice trailing off.
“You are a genuinely sweet guy, but I can’t do this anymore. This isn’t me. This never should have happened,” I say, scrambling to contain what I’m feeling.
“It’s okay,” Ali says.
I nod stoically. I shuddered breathlessly. Silently hoping he wouldn’t see the tears welling in my eyes. He stood up slowly, gathering my head in his hands before placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“If you are ever in London, look me up. My program is always open to transfers,” he says.
We returned gentle smiles and just like that he walked away. I shook my head and looked up towards the star-filled sky. I brush a stray tear that falls down my cheek with the palm of my hand. In the past few weeks, I have experienced six countries with six different lovers. Different but same in the aspect of the anonymity I yearned for. I wanted the completion of my passport and to experience everything these beautiful countries had to offer me. Yet with each country I visit, I dream of Italia. MMy heart is telling me one thing, my brain another. I am my family’s origin. I grab my Nonna’s journal from the bag sitting beside me and settle against the pillows behind me.
If this is a trip of self-discovery, then I need to discover the biggest part of myself. I need to know why for sure why Italia was never to be spoken. I need to know why I have another family who I know nothing about. I need to know about the Marcellis.
I open to last page of her journal, grazing the pages with my fingertips carefully. The very last page has a small, folded letter taped inside its pages. The paper envelope not as old as the pages it’s attached to. I gently pull it away from the blank page. Turning it over, I see “Amee” etched in my Nonna’s familiar handwriting.
“Nonna,” I whisper.
I open the letter to see a handwritten letter from my Nonna. The tears flow freely from my eyes and down my cheeks. Feeling the closest to her I have in months, years.
My dearest Amee,
I knew only you would be the one with the will and strength to open this journal and read my innermost thoughts and discover my most sordid secrets. I also know you have my stubbornness inside your veins. When you are told not to do something, the desire to do it becomes stronger. In doing so, you have learned our most closely guarded secret. I come from the Marcelli family. Being a Marcelli is dangerous. I am writing this to you because my dear Amee, I trust you to make the right decision. I want you to experience where our family grew. I want you to see the beauty of Italia. I want you to smell the gentle sea breeze. I want you to taste the incredible food. I want you to meet the most amazing people. I want you to be safe and strong. I know that only my Amee could handle the trials and the pain that await you there my sweet girl. When you visit Roma, breathe in the air, and touch the water from the fountain. It was the last thing I left before your Nonno, and I left. Magic runs below the Trevi Fountain, mi amor. I love you forever, Amee.
Nonna.
Suddenly, a small piece of paper falls out of the letter. I open the paper through blinding tears. As my eyes begin to focus and notice it’s a check. My brows furrow and my eyes squint.
Pay to the order of Amelia Quinn.
Carlotta Marcelli.
4.2 million.
4.2 million dollars.