FINGERING IN FLORENCE
I spentthe following day being shown around Rome by Lorenzo. He showed me the tourist sights of the Pantheon, the Imperial Forums, and the Colosseum. We spent the majority of our day together in Old Town of Rome. Walking the quiet cobbled streets together, talking of life and loss. We finished off the day at dinner at his favorite restaurant, drinking more wine than I have had in my life. He practically rolled me up countryside to watch the sunset at the Gianicolo. Truly the Eternal City in all its glory. The following morning, we took a short flight and landed in Florence.
The stone bench I sat on was cold against my skin peeking through my long sleeve cotton dress. The jaded green water in front of me lay motionless around the sculpture of Neptune with his trident. Even with the fountain not running until late afternoon, the water still gave me the odd sensation between needing a nap or having to unbearably pee.
This is my life. I am sitting here overlooking Neptune’s Fountain at Piazza della Signoria in Florence.
A notification sounds on my phone in my hand, and I look down to see two text messages.
Finn.
FINN: Hello love. How is Italy handling a Goddess in their midst?
I chuckle shortly at his text. The man had a natural talent to make me smile.
ME: They are coping. I am seeing so much. Tell all soon.
FINN: Looking forward to it. Remember you are Irish too.
ME: Oh, there’s no forgetting that.
FINN: Good.
ME: I hope no one is propositioning you in the bathroom until I get back.
FINN: It’s a promise?
ME: Promise.
As I put my phone into my purse beside me, a feeling I can’t describe invades my heart.
I started something with Finn. There’s something I can’t describe with him. Things got carried away with Enzo, yet this raw magnetism draws me to him every time. Two men agreeing to follow me on my quest.
I take my eyes off the fountain in front of me and pull out my Nonna’s leather journal. My fingers grazed across the pages and began reading another page from her diary. Several pages I could only understand bits and pieces due to time erasing her pencil written thoughts. I wrap a lock of curled hair around my index finger, twirling it around my finger.
My family does not understand love. My mother discovered Armando and I and immediately forbid me from seeing him again. We are opposing families with similar business. We are supposed to be enemies. My love supposed to be picked for me by my father and blindly agreed to by me. I wanted love. I wanted so much. Our families hated one another. Our love would never be accepted. He would never be accepted. I would never be accepted.
Nonna.
They say I want so much out of life that life is not willing to give me. I do not want much. I just want to live my life as my own. I want happiness. I want art. I want love. I want to be able to see the Uffizi and see its beauty without being told when and where to go. I am a prisoner to their ideals. When will my life be mine?
The Uffizi. Oh, I have dreamed of going there. Observing the pure beauty of the most famous painters in the world. Nonna, your life was your own. You did it.
Lorenzo’s raised voice draws my attention away from the pages in front of me. I furrow my brows in confusion, putting the journal back into my purse. I crane my neck and shift in my seat to Lorenzo arguing with a man. Their bodies stiff with frustration and irritation. The man in front of him heavily bearded with full, jet-black hair. His camel-brown button-up shirt was open showing a white tank top underneath. His gold chain around his neck swayed with his over dramatic movements as he argued with Lorenzo.
Sounds like a total douche, but not bad looking in the least.
He points his finger in my direction as Lorenzo slaps it away and pushes him back from him.
Woman you don’t know.
You have work to do.
Fat.
I am a size twenty-two and not skinny by any means, but I will not let fat be my only identity.
“Shut the fuck up, Antonio!” Lorenzo exclaims.
I released a deep breath at the words coming out of this stranger’s mouth. He seemed close with Lorenzo. I have no idea who Antonio is or why he has followed him around like a lost puppy since Rome.
Lorenzo insists he’s his assistant, but the mafia idea I had isn’t so far off. No, he isn’t in the mafia. Holy fuck, what if he is? No. The mafia isn’t real anymore, right? What if I fucked an Italian gangster and now, I’m in Florence with him and no way to escape?
I take a deep calming breath to ease the delusional rantings in my head.
Calm down, you fucking twit.
His head turns to look at me and I am met with ice blue eyes. My knees go weak from his intense gaze. His hand waves slightly in the air and Antonio walks away from him, cursing in Italian under his breath. As soon as he walks away, Lorenzo walks closer to me. The sight of that man walking towards me in his white t-shirt and dark indigo blue jeans nearly makes me come on the spot. His t-shirt formed around his muscled arms, flexing as he puts his dark sunglasses on over his eyes. The temperature suddenly warm from the sun or because the man in front of me. I wasn’t sure. I stood up to meet him as he walked closer to me. He wrapped his arms around me, one below my shoulder and the other around my waist. His manly wooded scent surrounding me. As he pulls his arms away from me, he runs his fingers lightly down my cheek and through my hair.
“You alright?” I ask.
“Just difference of opinion,” he states.