Page 2 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
“Yes,” I lie automatically. I don’t have to ask him if everything is okay; it’s obvious things are very muchnotokay.
His brows knit together, eyes narrowing. “Who made you cry?”
I laugh, a weird, humorless sound—stunned more than anything that he’s calling me out on my lie about being okay. I guess personal boundaries are not a strong suit of his.
“My ex,” I surprise myself by admitting.
He inhales slowly, nods once like that makes perfect sense to him. And I suddenly don’t feel very original—guy problems are not all that unique.
“You want me to kick his ass?”
I laugh again, this time in surprise. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, shrugging. Then he wanders over to the edge of the balcony, curls his long fingers around the railing, and surveys the piazza below. “Sometimes do you ever just wish you could disappear?”
It’s a cryptic remark, and I’m not sure what to make of it. Then I realize that’s the entire reason I booked this solo trip to Italy. I wanted to get away from everyone and everything that reminded me of Sean, of my failure.
“Sometimes, yes.” My words are almost a whisper. I’m not even sure if he heard me.
We’re both quiet—he standing at the balcony, looking down into the courtyard, and I tucked into the chair, watching him, watching the breeze ruffle his hair.
He turns around after several minutes. “Why’d you break up?” he asks, as if social norms don’t exist between us and just because it’s nightfall and deserted, you can ask a perfect stranger for their innermost secrets.
“Because I didn’t love him like I should have.”And I wanted something he could never give me.
His gaze cuts to mine. “You were the one who ended things?”
“Yes,” I say, finding my voice. “I had to.”I wish I’d ended it sooner.
I want the kind of love people write books about. And not those implausible rom-coms. I’m talking one-hundred-thousand-word masterpieces that are so intricate and complex that they’re first rejectedby a dozen publishers. That’s the kind of love I want. Unwavering. Undying. A true love, the forever kind. Which is why I know I did the right thing ending things with Sean, but that didn’t make it any less painful. We shared an apartment, a dog ...
“I’m Hart, by the way. You are ...?”
“Alessia.”
“Alessi-ah.” He draws out the syllables in his mouth, lingering on the final vowel.
“It’s Italian.”
He appraises me quietly, before finally asking “AreyouItalian?”
I nod. “Yes, on my mother’s side. We still have relatives here.”
“Do you speak Italian?” he asks.
“Sì, un po’.”
Yes, a little.
“Anche io,”he says.
So do I.
“Do you want to get a glass of wine at the bar downstairs?”
I take him in while I weigh his question. His dark, rumpled hair and strong jaw. He’s young. Legal drinking age. Though I would bet not much older. Definitely not my type, but what could one drink hurt? We’re clearly both having a time of it today.
I want to say yes, if only to force my brain to turn off. “Sure.”
