Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
It was awkward between us since we were both thinking about the same thing at the exact same time. If Antonio had known my father was there, he would have chosen a better time to make his move.
We made small talk about Mama and Conway, but that conversation ran out quickly. Neither one of us participated in the discussion much because our thoughts kept returning to the man who asked me out in the gallery.
Father must have been waiting for me to bring it up, and when I didn’t, his patience waned. “Who was the young man?”
I looked down at my cappuccino, seeing the same shade of warm brown in the coffee as I did in Antonio’s eyes. “His name is Antonio Tassone. He has a gallery a few blocks down the road. He’s an artist as well.”
Father drank his coffee, his eyes turning to me. “He paints?”
I nodded.
He didn’t ask anything else, hoping I would say more on my own.
“It’s a bit ironic…he came into the gallery and bought one of my paintings. About a week later, I went into his gallery and bought one of his…but neither one of us knew they were paintings we’d made. Neither one of us knew we were artists.”
He gripped his coffee mug with his fingers. “That’s an interesting coincidence.”
“Yeah…it is.”
“He’s a good-looking young man.”
I tried not to smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything like that in my life.”
“What?”
“Call a man good-looking.”
“I’m just saying…” He looked into his coffee and took a drink.
“I’m guessing that’s your way of telling me you like him.”
He looked out the window and shrugged. “I liked what I saw.”
“You don’t know anything about him. I don’t even know anything about him…”
“But I liked the way he approached you. He was confident, taking control of the conversation and saying what he wanted. When you resisted, he didn’t press you. Not only did he not press you, but he said he would wait. He sounds like a gentleman, Vanessa. But a gentleman who’s also strong, authoritative, and confident. The fact that you’re both artists who enjoy each other’s work indicates you’re compatible, have a lot in common…and understand one another. Honestly, I don’t see a single issue with this man.”
“The issue isn’t him…and we both know that.” I dropped my gaze, unable to look him in the eye once I mentioned Bones.
“Nothing wrong with getting to know someone new.”
I didn’t want to get to know someone new. “I’m not ready.”
“It’s been—”
“I’m not ready,” I repeated.
My father turned silent.
“I love Griffin as much as I did before. I miss him every day. Getting to know Antonio wouldn’t be fair to Antonio. He shouldn’t date a woman who’s still in love with her ex. And I don’t want to force myself to move on from Griffin if I’m not really there. I don’t want to rush this. If I rush it, it’ll just make it worse.”
My father gave a slight nod. “I didn’t mean to press you, tesoro. I just thought Antonio was a nice young man.”
“I’m sure he is…”
Father rested his hand on mine on the table. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Father. I’m sorry that happened when you were there.”
He pulled his hand away. “It’s a little strange to listen to a man ask out your daughter, but I’ve come to realize you’re a grown woman. You’re at the time of your life when you’re looking to settle down. That’s exactly what you should be doing…looking for someone. And I hope you find a great man, a man who loves your artwork as much as you. Because your artwork is a pathway to your soul, and if he understands that…then he understands you.”
Ten
Conway
When our honeymoon ended, we drove north from Positano, through Naples, and back toward Florence. The drive was too long to make it in one shot, so we decided to stay with my parents on the journey.
Muse and I spent our time exploring the village, eating lots of pasta, and fucking after dinner. Every day was the same as the previous one, but it felt like a new adventure every time. If she weren’t already pregnant, I would have knocked her up by now.
We were thirty minutes from the house when Muse spoke. “Con?”
“Yes, Muse?” I drove with one hand on the wheel, my other hand resting on hers on the center console.
“I love Verona. But…I love it here.”
“Where’s here?”
“Florence.”
I turned to her, still aware of the open road ahead of me. “And what does that mean?”
“Remember when we talked about moving here? To be close to your family?”
“Yes.” That was a long time ago.
“Well…how do you feel about it?”
Did it really matter how I felt about it? She was my wife now. She got to call all the shots. “Everything is settled in Verona, including stuff for the baby. My land is there. It’s close to work. Moving right now would be an ordeal.”