Twenty-Nine

 

 

Aria

As I lived out a dream come true, which had me mentally pinching myself to make sure this was in fact real life and not literally a dream, I felt like I was an outsider, like there was a secret everyone I came in contact with was a part of, one that I wasn’t privy to knowing anything about.

That is, until Gio walked me down a hallway which lead us to a circular room, and as I looked around at the blown-up images surrounding me, all the comments suddenly made sense. Because surrounding me were my images. Shots of the hills where my mom and I used to hike, the beautiful boudoir shots of Giselle and Natalie, images of the gardens in the back of the house. Some in color, some in black and white, all mine.

I walk into the room and twirl slowly taking it all in. These are my photos. We aren’t the only people in the room. Several others are in here, all pointing and discussing my photos. In the corner is a photo of me with a plaque, like the other photographers have, that reads Meet the Artist.

“You did this, not me.” Gio’s arms go wide pointing to the room around us. The hot tears falling down my face can’t be stopped as he pulls me into his arms. “You did all this, baby.”

“I don’t understand. How did you get my photos into this exhibit?”

“I might have snuck into your darkroom and stolen a couple of your photos. I sent them to a few different galleries, and Blake, the exhibit coordinator, called me a couple days ago saying it was last minute but he would love to have your work featured as an up and coming artist.”

My heart feels so full at what this man has done for me. It’s easy to tell someone you support them but it’s another thing entirely to go above and beyond—to take action. The last person who supported my art was my mom until she sided with Weston, saying it shouldn’t be anything more than a hobby, insisting I major in something with a future in college. I know my mom loved me; at one time she was my best friend, but she was sucked in by the false glamour of the world of politics. She lived for the sense of power that came with being a senator’s wife. She stopped supporting me to support him and I never realized until this moment how much I needed to feel supported.

“This is simply amazing. Thank you.” I close the distance between us and give Gio a kiss I can only hope conveys how much all of this means to me.

We spend the rest of the evening mingling with other photographers and guests. When I run into some of my favorites for the second time, I thank them for their encouraging words and invitations. They laugh when they find out I had no idea my work was on display here, and congratulate Gio for pulling off such a thoughtful surprise.

When we get back to the hotel it’s late and I’m shocked to see Gio’s father, Salvatore, sitting in the living room, only a single light illuminating the room.

“We need to talk, Son.” Salvatore completely disregards my presence but Gio doesn’t.

“Aria, do me a favor and head to our room for a few minutes while I speak with my father.” He gives me a soft kiss and I do as he says, closing the door behind me. I slip out of my dress and heels and take a quick shower to rinse off my body and face before putting on a shirt and comfortable sweats

I know I shouldn’t, but I open the door slightly to see if Gio and his dad are still talking.

“By killing the senator over that girl, you have practically pinned a bullseye on our foreheads!” Salvatore booms.

“I don’t give a shit. I did what needed to be done. I’ll deal with Sebastian just as I’ve been doing for the last year.”

“I don’t trust your judgement, Giovanni. You have continuously chosen her over your own family, your flesh and blood. It’s time to let her go.”

“And what? Marry Cecilia? You can’t be serious!”

“It’s her or your family.”

Giovanni goes silent and my heart shatters. Gio’s life is his family and his dad making him choose has me wanting to attack him, to knock some sense into the man who has no idea what he’s doing to my heart, but I don’t. I do, however, slide on my flip-flops and slip out the front door, needing some space without waiting to hear what Gio’s answer is. I take the elevator down to the lobby and head out the back to go for a walk along the beach.

I kick off my flip-flops and toe the water. It’s warm to the touch from the summer heat beating down on it all day. After walking for what seems like miles, I sit down and stare out into the Atlantic, the moon’s reflection hitting the soft waves as they come up and just barely hit my feet before rolling back. I think about Gio’s father’s ultimatum. Me or his family. I would like to believe in Gio’s eyes and heart, they are one in the same; I know in mine they are. But it doesn’t matter how Gio or I feel because his father doesn’t share the same feelings we do.

I wasn’t able to see Gio’s face when his dad gave him the ultimatum but I could feel it, deep in my gut, that those five words broke him. I think about how Weston came into my life and slowly destroyed mine and my mom’s relationship. For some reason, he was jealous of how close my mom and I were from the beginning. He wedged a rift between us that grew and grew until we were so far on opposite ends of the spectrum there was no healing the damage he created. I can’t do that to Gio. I can’t come between him and his family. I love him with every ounce of my being but the cliché quote I’ve read so many times comes to mind. Sometimes you have to love someone enough to let them go.

I have the money to move. I have the means to start over, no matter how bad it will hurt. I can walk away and not make Gio choose. I can put him first, the same way he’s put me first every day since the day he saved me from that basement, from that nightmare that would still be my reality if it wasn’t for him. The same way he believed in me enough to make my dreams a reality.

I’ve only just made the decision and my heart already feels like it’s been ripped out of my chest but I stand up and take in a deep cleansing breath, set on returning to the hotel room, having one last night with Gio, then putting him first and walking away. I wipe the sand from the back of my thighs and start the trek back to the hotel room. I don’t see it coming. I don’t hear the footsteps, but I feel the hand cover my mouth. I feel the needle prick the side of my neck. I smell the masculine cologne engulf my senses as my eyes, against my will, close.