“Just the cocktail dress you told me to bring.”
“Did you know that you in a skirt has become one of my favorite things?”
The memory of what he’d done to me in a couple of skirts set a smile on my lips. “It was a defensive measure,” I admitted. “I thought it might deter you from touching what was underneath said skirt.”
He chuckled, lowering his lips to my shoulder. “So much for that. We’re getting you a dress today.”
“I don’t need you to buy me clothes, Court. That’s such a rich guy thing to say,” I chided.
He turned me in his arms and looked down at me, one brow raised. “What if I want to buy you clothes?”
I huffed, rolling my eyes. “That’s ridiculous. I have clothes.”
“It’s beautiful outside, sunny and warm and worthy of a dress. I want to follow your legs around Florence today.” He frowned, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. “Unless you don’t want to wear a dress,” he added.
I laughed. “You look confused.”
“I am, a little.”
“Why?”
“Because I want two things—you in a dress and for you to be happy. And it only just occurred to me I might not be able to have both. Do you want to wear a dress?”
And I couldn’t help but smile. “If it will make you follow my legs around Florence all day, I absolutely want to wear a dress.”
An easy smile spread on his face. “Good. Because I really, really want you in a dress.”
He kissed me, his hands finding my ass to give it a solid squeeze before letting me go.
I pulled on my tank and jeans, heading back into the bathroom to pull my hair into a bun on top of my head with the help of a few bobby pins. I’d tried it at home a few times, but I’d never worn it out, never showed my neck.
But I looked in the mirror, my face fresh and hair casually twisted, my neck long and body longer with the aid of the V and the high waist of my jeans—I tucked my tank into it to accentuate the line. That was the trick, Marnie had said. That high waist was the showstopper, and almost everything I’d bought from her touted one.
I took a deep breath, a comforting breath, my cheeks high and rosy. I looked happy too, happy and confident and comfortable. And for the first time without makeup or fancy clothes, I felt right.
“You ready?” I called as I straightened up the bathroom.
“Whenever you are,” he answered.
I stepped out, scanning for my sneakers. I hooked them on my fingers, and when I sat on the edge of the bed, I found him still in his chair, one shoe on, the other hanging in his hand, his eyes on me, shifting with emotion I couldn’t place.
“What?” I asked on a nervous laugh, turning my attention to my shoes.
“You’re beautiful, Rin.”
I flushed, smiling as I shoved my foot in one sneaker. “Thank you.”
“I mean it.” He paused. “I didn’t see it. At first, I didn’t see it. I must have been blind.”
It was my turn to pause, meeting his eyes. “You weren’t blind. I didn’t want to be seen.”
“That’s what I don’t understand.”
I sighed again, focusing on tying my shoe so I didn’t have to endure his gaze. “I’m too tall, too quiet, too clumsy, too shy. I didn’t know how to dress or where to even find clothes that fit me. I didn’t know how to put on makeup or fix my hair, and I almost prided myself in that, you know? Like how low maintenance I was, how easygoing I was. But I didn’t feel good about myself. I didn’t feel like I fit in anywhere but with my friends.” I pulled on my other shoe, shaking my head. “I wanted to disappear, and I did my best to. But now…well, now, I’m not afraid. I know it’s stupid that I found that in something as dumb as a tube of lipstick, but it’s the truth. And I’m not sorry for it.”
I put my foot on the ground and looked up, but he was already up and moving—one shoe on, one off.
He knelt in front of me, looking up into my face. “That’s not who you are, Rin.”
“But it is. It’s who I’ve always been.”
“But it’s not who you really are. You’re not too tall—you’re the perfect height for me. I love that about you, did you know? The way you…fit.” I flushed as he went on, “And the woman I know isn’t quiet at all—at least, not anymore. She threatened to out the president of the Accademia's fetish without batting a lash. She poked me in the chest right here,” he pointed to his chest, laughing, “and called me an arrogant son of a bitch. And I am. I’m scary, too. But you stood up to me when I was wrong, and it only made me want you more. And you’re not shy. You’ve begged me to fuck you, begged me to touch you. You gave your body to me to let me do what I wanted with. And that’s not for the timid.” His hands took mine. “But you are clumsy. I’m not gonna lie. There are times when I worry you’re going to go down like a windmill, all arms and legs.”
I laughed, but my nose stung, and I blinked back tears, not wanting to cry in front of him.
“Bartolino was right about one thing only—you are art. You are the woman men chisel from raw marble to stand timelessly in a sacred place. You are the woman they spend their lives painting over and over again, unable to perfect the bow of your lips or the light in your eyes. Those things haven’t changed from the time I met you. But you have, simply by believing.”
I cupped his cheek, and he pressed a kiss into my palm.
“I don’t know what to say.”
With a smile, he kissed me, his hand in the crook of my neck and his lips soft. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t need you to tell me I’m right. I’m always right.”
And with a laugh and a shake of my head, I took his hand and followed him into the sunshine.
21
Parallel
Court
I padded through the narrow streets with Rin tucked under my arm, the conversation easy and comfortable. And I couldn’t stop smiling. I couldn’t stop laughing. I couldn’t stop touching her delicate hand, her long, exposed neck, the soft skin of her back.
But her lips were the hardest to stay away from.
I was completely and inexorably caught up in her. And I had a new plan: enjoy every single moment of Rin that I could while I could.
I felt like an addict, obsessed with the high, with the lightness I felt. Had I been starved for connection for so long? Had I closed myself off so much that I didn’t even know how to be happy anymore? Because I’d thought I was happy putting every bit of spare energy I had into the museum and the exhibition and ignoring human contact.
But here, thousands of miles away from New York, it was easy to forget my past. In Rin’s arms, it was easy to give up the fight. It was easy to believe that there was good in the world, that someone could be so giving, so accepting. So eager and open with her heart.
Rin gave me hope. Hope that maybe I wasn’t beyond saving. Hope that I could be happy again. She was sunshine and rain on scorched earth, clean and fresh and honest, and as the first shoots of green rose from the ash, I found myself kneeling in the dirt, cupping my hands to protect it, willing it to grow.
We walked down the river, crossed into another neighborhood of brightly colored stucco buildings with beautiful shutters and brilliantly painted doors. Bicycles lined the streets, some with baskets of freshly cut flowers. The scent of bread and garlic and spices hung in the air, drifting in tendrils from open windows and café awnings.
It was like coming home. I’d left a piece of me here, and finding it again felt so much better than I’d realized it would.
I pulled Rin into a boutique, a gorgeous store in an ancient building, teeming with clothes and bags and shoes. A tall Italian girl stepped out from behind the counter, her skin the color of honey, her hair dark and eyes darker. Eyes that were fixed on me and thirsty.
“Ciao,” she said, red lips smiling. “Posso aiutarti?”
I felt Rin almost shrink at the sight of her.
“No, but you can help my girlfriend,” I answered in Italian, p
ulling Rin into my side in a gesture that indicated the exact level of my availability.
Rin’s face swiveled to look at me with wide eyes, and I winked, smirking as I pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Of course,” the shop girl said, properly curbed, her attention turning fully on Rin. “What are you looking for, signora?”
Rin took a breath and put a smile on her face. “A dress.”
The shop girl smiled. “Si, come with me.”
We followed her to a couple of racks against the wall, near the wide windows at the front, and I leaned against the wall, arms folded as I watched them.
“These just came in for summer,” she said as she began flipping through them, occasionally looking back at Rin with academic assessment. “Your skin, it’s beautiful, so pale, and there’s not a single mark, not one freckle.”
Rin snorted a laugh. “That’s because I never go outside.”
“Ah!” the shop girl crowed, pulling a cobalt dress off the rack. A short dress. I smiled. “This color looks terrible on me,” she said, “but on you, with that skin? You have to try it on.”
Rin held it up for inspection, frowning. “I think it might be too short.”
But she laughed. “No such thing, not in Italia.”
My smile tilted.
I watched them dig through the racks, lost in my thoughts.
Rin was an anomaly, a rare, unclaimed jewel, virtually untouched, hidden away by her own hand. The girl who had no idea how beautiful she was, the girl without expectations beyond honesty and respect. But she’d never been hurt. She’d never been harmed, and her optimistic shine was blinding. Alluring. Inviting.
I realized as I watched her how deeply I’d come to feel for her. She was the best of everything, the sum of all I could ever want. And I did—I wanted her. I cared for her, desired her happiness above my own. I respected her so completely, needing nothing more than to honor her. I didn’t want to hurt her, couldn’t bear the thought.
And I would betray every one of those desires. Because there was one thing I couldn’t offer, one thing I could never give.
I wasn’t capable of love. I couldn’t even bring myself to try.
But Rin was making it very hard to keep that in mind.
It’s just for Florence, I told myself again, as if the thought would absolve me, wipe away my sins and shortcomings.
And like the selfish fool I was, I gave myself over completely to the notion.
Rin was sent off to the dressing room, and I spent a moment browsing the heels. Two caught my eye. One was a strappy, open-toed contraption that reminded me of a cat-o’-nine, black leather studded with little beads draped over where her foot would rest. Another reminded me of the color of her lipstick, the dark one I’d come to prefer, a pointed toe and delicate strap that would circle her slender ankle.
“Can I get these in an American eleven?” I asked as I handed them to the shop girl.
“Si, signore.” She disappeared to the back of the store just as Rin stepped out in the blue dress.
For a moment, I stood there, staring at her like I’d been struck by lightning. Her skin was so pale against the depth of the blue—I had spent a long while last night acquainting myself with that skin. The V was cut deep, below the curve of her breasts, though there was nothing risqué about it. The panels over her breasts were embroidered with brightly colored flowers, and the loose, high waist was tied with a delicate rope with little gold tassels on the end.
And she was right, it was short.
Her legs went on for-fucking-ever.
She was an absolute vision, her hair in the bun on her crown, her cheeks flushing rosy, her lashes dark and thick and lips so full, shy and sweet and pure and good and mine.
I ate up the space between us with three long strides, sliding my hand into the curve of her waist, the airy fabric gathering in my fingers.
“Oh, you’re getting this,” I said.
“It’s too short. My ass will hang out.”
I leaned back, looking down her body. “I see no ass.” I gathered the hem, my eyes on the mirror in the dressing room. “But I want to.”
She laughed, touching my jaw.
“And your legs.”
Rin smiled, her eyes on my lips, and I brought them to her ear.
“Wear it today. Wear it out of this store. And later, I’m going to take it off and fuck you up.”
She leaned in until our smiling lips met.
I pulled away. “Panties. Give them to me.”
“Oh my God.” Another laugh, this one coupled with another hot flush. “Stop it.”
“Not kidding.” I kissed her nose and backed out of the dressing room, closing the curtain. I stuck my hand in, palm up.
I heard a shuffling, but no panties were in my hand, and I flicked my fingers in a give it gesture, not relenting until she sighed and a warm swath of fabric was in my palm. I slipped them into my pocket, my fingers fiddling with the lace as a slow smile spread on my face.
The other dresses were almost as incredible as the blue one, and when she finally came out of the dressing room, it was in that blue dress, her other clothes in her arms. The shop girl swept them away and behind the counter.
The strappy shoe was from the display was in my hand again. She eyed it suspiciously.
“Those look dangerous.”
“Try them on.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Try them on,” I insisted.
“They don’t have my size.”
“Yes, they do.”
“How do you know?”
I shrugged, inspecting the shoe again. “I checked your heels when you were in the shower.”
“You are so weird,” she said on a laugh.
“You need a pair of Italian heels. I need you in a pair of Italian heels.”
“You’re so pushy, you know that?” she teased, leaning into me.
My hand snaked around her waist and pulled until she was flush against me. “Want me to stop?” I asked, my voice rough.
“Never.”
A little while later, we left the shop with four new dresses for Rin plus the one she had on, two pairs of heels, and a pair of gladiator sandals, which were on her feet. We headed back to the hotel to drop it all off. Rin waited in the lobby because, if we went upstairs together with her in that fucking dress with no panties on, we would never leave. And I had things to show her.
The first place we went was the Duomo, the gothic, medieval cathedral next to the Accademia where David was. We wandered through the church, spending almost an hour under Vasari’s Last Judgment, the fresco painted in the dome in six rows in rings, the topmost ring the twenty-four men of the apocalypse, the bottom ring a depiction of hell. The story woven into the pattern lined up not only concentrically, but vertically, a clever, intricate telling of the end times—the chorus of angels, the saints rejoicing, the gift from the Holy Ghost, and of course, Hell, which was the masterpiece in its depiction of blood and pain, devils and damned.
All the while, I told her the history of the commission, my hand closed over hers, the other pointing up into the dome so far above us, our faces tilted up in wonder. And she listened with rapt attention, asking questions, sparking avenues of discussion that engaged and enticed and bewitched me almost more than her lips.
That thirst for knowledge, the connection of our minds, only made me want her more.
Back to the Accademia we went to stand before David in awe and wonder and not a small amount of possession. He was ours. We’d gotten him, thanks to Rin’s genius, my trust fund, a disgruntled secretary, and a couple of safety pins.
It was late afternoon when we headed to the hotel, our strides even, Rin’s arm around my waist and mine around her bare shoulders. But my hand wouldn’t stay still. My fingertips had to taste the skin of her arm, the silk of her hair when I tucked her head into my shoulder to kiss her forehead. And we didn’t talk for a long while, a sweet silence filled with contentment, a moment shared compl
etely between us, down to our marrow, down to our souls.
Our room was quiet, serene. Rin kicked off her sandals as she walked to the double window and opened it up to let the breeze in, breeze that kicked up the airy fabric of her dress, gently shifting it against her legs. And I moved to stand behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, as we looked out at the winding streets of the city, at the Tuscan mountains off in the distance in gradients of greens and blues.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said softly. “I can’t believe I almost missed this.”
“You really would have stayed behind?”
“Well, I was really, really pissed,” she teased.
“You had every reason to be. I’m a magnificent idiot.”
She chuckled, leaning her head on my shoulder.
We fell into silence for a moment that I spent reveling the feeling of her in my arms. Had it been so long since I felt like this? Since Lydia. Since before that. Had I ever felt so content? So wholly, fully in one moment of companionship?
But I knew the answer, and I knew the reason it was different now. Rin was wholly in the moment, enjoying every second as it came without care for the past or the future. And her calm, easy presence calmed and eased me. With other women, there had always been something in the way, something barring the connection. In hindsight, it was one of two things: they’d wanted something from me besides me, or the spark of compatibility hadn’t been there.
I was starting to believe that Rin wasn’t thinking about what I could give her or what she could take; she just was. And I’d known that from the moment I first kissed her that we were compatible—and not only physically. It was her lust for knowledge as much as it was her lust itself that had affected me so. I found myself tuned to her, our minds and hearts and bodies parallel, equal in our wants and desires.
Rin sighed, idly stroking the back of my hand, a harmless touch that spread like fire across my skin. I opened my palm, pressed it to her stomach, and she arched her spine by a gentle increment in invitation.
I bowed my head to lay a kiss to her bare shoulder, and her hips shifted against me in answer.