Chapter Twelve

I tapped my fingernails on the steering wheel, glancing at the clock, then the GPS on my phone. It was currently 8:45 PM. Dante’s appearance at USC ended at ten. The GPS indicated I would get there at 10:04. All I could do was hope to catch him in time. I almost expected my car to be dead when I tried to start it up after running out of my parents’ house. Instead, it whirred to life, making me think perhaps fate was looking out for me after all. When I merged onto the freeway, I was somewhat surprised I wasn’t immediately met with red brake lights. Of course, that surprise was short-lived. Within a few miles, the notorious traffic on the 101 came to a slow crawl, then almost a dead stop.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” I muttered under my breath, feeling the engine sputter a bit. “No, girl. You’ve got this.” I rubbed the dashboard. “Don’t give out on me now. Please. Just let me get to Dante, then you can keel over and die a spectacular death, but not now.”

The car made a few more noises, then miraculously evened out. I released a relieved breath as I tilted my head back, looking through the sunroof at the stars above me.

“Please, God,” I began. “I know we haven’t exactly been on a first-name basis most of my life, but if you could just find it in your heart to help me tonight, I promise I’ll never take your name in vain or violate any of those other amendments or commandments or whatever you call them. I’ll even try to go to church more than once a decade. Just let me get to him. Okay?”

I chewed on my bottom lip, as if waiting for someone to answer. When a horn blared, I snapped my eyes forward, seeing that the car in front of me had moved several yards. I stepped on the gas, inching along the freeway.

Nearly the entire way there, traffic was at a crawl. It picked up a little here and there, getting my hopes up, only to come to a standstill again. I always loved living in Southern California, but right now, I cursed the traffic that plagued this city.

As I slowly made my way closer to USC, I couldn’t take the freeway congestion anymore, my nerves and anxiety at an all-time high. I was so close, but the GPS now showed I wouldn’t get there until 10:15. I couldn’t risk it. I swerved onto the shoulder, zooming by all the cars honking at me as I passed, then took one of the exits for downtown LA. The instant I merged onto the city streets, my shoulders relaxed, relieved I was finally able to go faster than five miles an hour. I glanced at my clock again. 9:51. I almost wanted to pick up my phone and tag Dante in an Instagram post to tell him I was on my way. With my luck, though, fate would make sure a cop saw me, who would then pull me over for texting and driving. I didn’t want to tempt fate any more than I already was.

Just as I passed all the congestion that typically surrounded the Staples Center and thought I was in the clear, I slammed on the brakes, police barricades blocking anyone from driving any farther on Figueroa.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I screamed, gripping the steering wheel, my nostrils flaring. Anxious, I glanced at the clock on my dashboard again. 9:58. I craned my neck to determine how far the backup of cars went as a result of the detour. All I saw were red brake lights for several blocks, if not more. Refusing to let fate push back, I scanned the street for a parking spot. Of course, there weren’t any.

My car inched along, the tension in my body building. For every minute that ticked by, my hope this would be the night our separation ended faded even more. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. Maybe I still had unfinished business to take care of before we could be together. But I wasn’t willing to give up. Not yet. Not now.

After an excruciatingly long time, my patience non-existent, I finally reached a side street and was able to veer away from the traffic, taking a left, then a right, returning to Figueroa. It seemed a little too easy. I expected something else to happen to prevent me from getting to USC. Instead, the campus appeared in front of me, the brick pillars holding the sign a welcome sight. I checked the time again. 10:12. I couldn’t waste a second looking around for a spot in one of the parking garages on campus. Instead, I pulled into a no parking zone on the street. At this point, I didn’t care if my car ended up being towed. The only thing I cared about was getting to Dante before he slipped from my grasp.

Grabbing my purse, I jumped out of my car and hurried toward campus, unsure of where his appearance was being held. Even if I knew what building, I wouldn’t have any clue where to find it. I’d never been here before. The way my luck had been going tonight, I was probably on the opposite end of campus from where I needed to be.

Walking at a quick pace, I pulled my phone from my purse, consulting Google to see if I could find out where he would be. Not looking where I was going, the heel of my shoe got stuck in a crack in the sidewalk and my ankle twisted.

“Dammit!” I exclaimed, gritting my teeth through the pain. After taking a moment, I yanked off my shoes, then continued limping through campus, doing my best not to pay any attention to the shooting ache radiating through my ankle. A voice in my head told me this was yet another sign it was too soon, that I should just forget about it. If this wasn’t fate telling me to back off, I didn’t know what it was. But I wasn’t going to let her win. Not when I was so close that I could almost see his smile. I could almost taste his lips. I could almost smell his aroma.

As I trekked through campus, I spied an advertisement taped to a lamppost, Dante’s brilliant smile beaming back at me. I hurried to the poster, reading it out loud. “Eight to ten PM. World-famous chef and journalist Dante Luciano. Bovard Auditorium.”

With absolutely no idea where that was, I spun in a circle, looking at the names of the buildings encircling me in the quad. A beehive of activity surrounded the steps of one of them, so I limped toward it. This had to be the place. There was no other reason for a building on a college campus to be so busy on a Friday night.

Approaching the front steps, I overheard several discussions about what country they’d want to visit most if money were no object, and knew I was in the right spot. I raced up the steps, pushing my way against the current of people coming out of the building, praying Dante was still here. I squeezed into the lobby and checked my watch. 10:22 PM.

“Please, God,” I murmured as I hurried toward a set of doors leading into the theater. “Let him be here.” I reached for the handle, but an usher prevented me from going any farther.

“I apologize, ma’am. No re-admittance. Did you leave something? If you tell me where you were sitting and what it was, I can have one of our ushers look for it.”

“I didn’t leave anything. I…,” I stammered, hoping I wouldn’t come off sounding like an obsessed fan. “I came to see Dante.”

“You and over a thousand other people.”

“I know. I just… Is he still here?”

“No, ma’am,” he said in a drawn-out voice, looking me up and down. It was readily apparent that he thought I was crazy. And I probably looked it — out of breath, hair disheveled, barefoot, holding a pair of heels, limping. “You’re about twenty minutes too late.”

My shoulders fell. I briefly closed my eyes, releasing a heavy sigh. Maybe Mila was wrong. Maybe fate didn’t need a little push. Because I pushed, but fate seemed to do everything in her power to stand in my way.

“Isn’t that the story of my life?” I remarked as I shuffled away, my voice barely audible from the frustration building in my throat, in my heart.

I emerged into the crisp night air, my body chilled now that the adrenaline had worn off. Holding onto the railing, I carefully stepped down the short set of stairs, keeping my eyes downturned as I made my way through the thinning crowd outside the theater. Jealousy bubbled inside me at the notion that all these people had been in Dante’s presence this evening, had heard his voice, had seen his smile. They didn’t realize how lucky they were.

Pausing for a moment, I glanced back at the building, considering whether or not I should take a photo of myself in front of it and tag Dante so he knew I tried to get to him. In the end, I resisted the urge. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe we were doomed to the same fate of Hèloïse and Abelard. Maybe our love was best shared in love letters…or, in our case, Instagram posts.

With slow steps, I limped through campus, my ankle now screaming at me. A few people, clearly students, stopped to ask if I needed any help, but I refused their assistance. I didn’t mind the pain. It was nothing compared to the ache in my heart, my frustration turning into despair. I’d done everything to stay mostly positive through our separation, thinking fate would eventually bring us together again. I didn’t know how much longer I could do that.

When I finally reached the street where I parked, my car nowhere to be found, all I could do was laugh hysterically.

“I get it!” I shouted to the sky. “You win, okay?” I was certain I looked like a complete lunatic — standing on the dirty sidewalk in downtown Los Angeles, holding a pair of heels, my hair disheveled and dress askew from all the running I’d done. “I give up.” I shook my head, doing my best to stop my chin from quivering, barely able to speak through the painful lump in my throat. “I give up.”

I didn’t know why I thought this would work, that I’d get to him, that he’d see me and immediately sweep me into his arms, begging me in his husky, commanding voice to never leave him again. The image in my head was so real. I could almost hear his voice and feel his arms around me. Why couldn’t that be my reality?

Defeated, I reached into my purse and grabbed my phone, about to call for an Uber, but paused. I didn’t want to go home and be reminded of how miserable I was. To see all the clothes Dante had bought me hanging in my sad excuse for a closet. To lay awake in an empty bed, the memory of falling asleep beside him gutting me. I just needed a moment to myself, then I could move on. It was time I finally moved on.

Tears prickling my eyes, I limped down the street, crossed the train tracks, and headed toward what had become one of my favorite spots during my unemployment — the Rose Garden by the Colosseum. The instant I walked through the archway, a sort of tranquility washed over me, the hustle of Los Angeles all but vanishing. I hoped the peacefulness could quiet the troubled thoughts invading my subconscious, help me stop feeling, make me numb, even if for just a minute.

I walked past rows of perfectly manicured rose bushes, the bulbs in full bloom. I took my time as I made my way up the path toward the fountain in the center, stopping to smell a few of the roses, the powdery sweet aroma calming me like a baby’s blanket.

I drew closer to the fountain, smiling wistfully at the sight of a couple who had obviously just come from their wedding reception and were having their photos taken. I gazed upon them with a mixture of envy and longing. They looked so happy, so in love. I experienced that for a brief moment, but was stubborn and pushed it away. And for what?

My ankle throbbing, I took a moment to rest on a bench in front of the fountain. As I watched the water dance in the sky before falling back into the pool, I couldn’t help but think of Dante. Everything seemed to remind me of him. Fountains. Coffee. Pasta. Wine. Even things as simple as an old tree and fresh-cut grass. It only took a week, but he’d ingrained himself in every facet of my life. So much so that even three months later, my need for him had only grown stronger, the hole in my heart where his love used to be leaving me empty.

I closed my eyes, imagining that we were back in Italy in front of the Trevi Fountain. But this time, instead of me saying I needed to leave, I agreed to stay. The smile and relief that washed over his expression when I finally gave him what he wanted, what I wanted, made my heart nearly burst. I ran my fingers over my lips, almost able to feel his mouth on mine, the scruff of his two-day beard scratching my skin.

I wrapped my arms around my body, fighting back the tears forming in my eyes. His intoxicating aroma of basil, mint, and licorice seemed to grow stronger with each breath I took, as if his scent were permanently ingrained in my nostrils. I wondered if I would always smell it, even after years. Even after we both moved on with our lives and tried to find that same happiness we’d been lucky enough to experience for too short a time. Even when we turned to dust.

My phone chimed, snapping me out of my fantasy world. I looked at where it sat on my lap. When I saw I’d been tagged in one of Dante’s posts, I inhaled a shaky breath at the irony. Biting my lips to stop my chin from quivering, I wiped at my tears, doing my best to reel in my emotions, despite the constant lump in my throat becoming more pronounced with each passing second. I didn’t know if I could bear to look at his post. Not anymore. Not knowing fate obviously didn’t think we belonged together. But I’d become addicted to these posts from him, had grown dependent on his words for my own happiness.

Maybe tonight was fate’s way of telling me it was time I found something else that made me happy.

“Just one more,” I said to myself. “Then I’ll stop. It’s time to stop.”

Picking up my phone with a shaky hand, I reluctantly opened the Instagram app, clicking on Dante’s most recent post. My eyes fell on the image and I quickly shot off the bench, paying no attention to my ankle. I turned around in a circle, looking everywhere for a familiar face, but the only people I saw were the newlyweds and their wedding photographer.

I looked back at my phone, staring at the photo of me sitting in this exact spot, my back facing the camera, wearing the dress I currently had on, my hair styled the same, right down to the tangled mess of its present state. I glanced up again, scanning the area, the world seeming to spin around me. He was here. I could feel it. In my veins. In my bones. In my heart.

“Where are you?” I murmured, limping around the fountain as I frantically searched for him, my chest heaving. If he wasn’t here, if this was just a cruel joke, I didn’t know how I would survive. I was ready to fall apart as it was. This… This would wreck me.

I returned my eyes to my phone to determine the exact angle he’d snapped the photo. When I finally noticed the caption, I stopped moving, allowing the words to wash over me. Instantly, I sensed a warmth approach from behind, just like that day back in June when I waited for him in front of the Spanish Steps.

Then it hit me. That voice I’d dreamt about. The heat I’d longed to feel on my skin. “‘I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, to die upon the hand I love so well.’ William Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

God, it sounded so real, right down to his toe-curling accent. I wanted to believe it was, but what if it wasn’t? What if I finally hit my breaking point?

“Please tell me this isn’t a joke,” I begged in a shaky tone, refusing to turn around, worried I’d do so and find myself alone.

“It’s not a joke, Eleanor.” A hand fell on my hip, forcing me around.

I stared into his dark eyes and reached for his face, choking out a sob when I felt the scruff against my trembling hand. I drew my body closer as he cupped my cheeks, both of us gazing at each other, worried we’d blink and it would all disappear.

“How are you here?” I whispered.

“I was about to ask you the same question.” He wiped the tears cascading down my face, his eyes wet with unshed tears of his own.

“I pushed fate and she pushed back,” I explained, swallowing hard. “I tried to get to you, but everything that could go wrong did. I thought it was fate telling me it wasn’t meant to be.”

He brought his body even closer, lowering his mouth toward mine. Our breath intermingled, his eyes searing me, the fire that had grown dull over the past few months now a raging inferno once more.

“And now?”

“Now I can’t help but think that fate has a terrible sense of humor.” I laughed slightly, another tear trickling down my cheek. Swiping at it, his thumb traveled across my face and caressed my bottom lip, sending a spark through me.

“Tell me, Eleanor,” he began, hope building in his gaze. “Have you had enough time to figure out who you are?”

My eyes locked on his, I gave him the only answer I could. “I don’t know who I am without you. You’re a part of me. Without you in my life, I’m hopelessly incomplete.”

He smiled, exhaling a short breath. His lips ghosted against mine, giving me the slightest hint of a kiss. “It took you long enough to figure that out.” He pressed his hand to my back, erasing the last bit of distance between us. Then he kissed me, fully, beautifully, completely, the feeling of his lips on mine releasing all the tension that had built up over our months of separation.

I moaned, running my fingers through his hair as I deepened the exchange, telling him without words how much I missed him, how much I needed him, how much I loved him. Our kiss was passionate, greedy, and perfect in all the ways I imagined it would be.

He pulled away. “Eleanor,” he panted, cupping my face, his gaze intense.

“Yes?” I swallowed hard.

“Don’t ever make me live without you again. Please. I just… It makes no sense, but I don’t ever want to be the person I am without you. Okay?”

I smiled through my tears. “I don’t ever want to be the person I am without you, either. You found me, just like I hoped you would. Now you’re stuck with me.”

“Sempre e per sempre?” He lifted a brow as his lips lowered to mine once more.

“Sempre e per sempre. Always and forever.”

As his tongue swept against mine, his arms holding me in a way that made me think he’d never let go, his need consumed me. I finally lowered the walls I’d constructed over the previous twenty-eight years of my life. I finally realized I was worthy of everything I’d been deprived of before. Happiness. Devotion. Love.

This time, I wasn’t going to let it go without a fight.