Page 69 of Unrestricted
"You know," he says.
"I want to hear it."
"I looked for you for three years," he says. "I stopped asking myself why a long time ago." He holds my gaze. "You're it, for me, Eliza. I love you.”
I put my hand on his face.
He turns into it slightly the way he does when he thinks I'm not paying attention and I am always paying attention.
"Good," I say. "Because I love you too."
He puts his hand over mine. The light moves across the ceiling. The house is quiet around us and outside the gate is unlocked but I won’t run.
I'm exactly where I belong.
EPILOGUE
Eliza
The sauce is nearly done and the pasta is just about ready. The kitchen smells of garlic and tomato and everything feels right with the world.
This kitchen has been one of my favorite rooms in the house ever since Adriano let me remodel it. I had the black cabinets stripped out and replaced with a dove gray.
It's still the neutral palette he favors but I rebelled and bought a set of red pans which hang on a rack over the island. I'm slowly but surely changing the whole house. It turns out Adriano likes his décor toned down but not to the point where it feels like he's living in a clinic. That’s something I can work with.
I drain the pasta and combine it with the sauce. Then I shred some basil and arrange it artfully on top. I set down the dishes on the kitchen table just in time for Adriano to walk in.
His work day isn't over yet but he always takes a break to share a meal with me and whether he knows it or not today is special. It's the one year anniversary of the day he found me inEdinburgh. I’ve been thinking about it all day, wondering what would have happened if I’d made a run for it.
More than likely I’d have broken an ankle tripping on the cobblestones. Adriano would probably still have made me get on the plane. He wasn’t as soft and cuddly to me back then as he is now. I should have known a man who likes cinnamon buns would turn out to be warmer than he first appears.
He looks at the plates on the counter and then at me. "Pasta al pomodoro?"
"Sorry, there are still no anchovies."
It's a fib. There is a jar in the pantry. Puttanesca is actually one of my favorite dishes and I make it often. It’s become a thing between us. Whenever I want our night to be extra spicy I make puttanesca. Adriano never fails to take the hint. Any excuse to fuck me in inventive ways is fine by him.
Adriano gives me a wry smile. "And I'm still not a child."
That’s debatable especially when his Roma lose a match. I’ve never seen pouting like it.
I sit opposite him and break a piece of bread from the loaf. He pours the wine, the chianti from his cousin Lorenzo’s vineyard of course. I haven’t met him yet but we have plans to visit Tuscany later in the summer when Rome gets unbearably hot.
"To our one year anniversary.” Adriano says, raising his glass.
My eyes widen. I didn't know he knew that.
One year. It’s hard to believe sometimes we’ve made it this far. Things are still a little awkward with his family but I believe Gabriele's wife has stopped making noises about killing me so that's good.
I pick up my fork and eat. Despite his protests about the simple dish, Adriano eats with his usual enthusiasm. He likes everything I cook. At least he says he does. I know I've had acouple of dubious attempts to replicate his bollita but he's been nice about it.
My mother finally came to visit last month. She and Adriano got on better than I expected. He cooked for her and she gushed over how much better his food was than mine. I still complain to her about that.
"I have news," Adriano tells me.
"Oh?"
"Katya's pregnant. Gabriele's going to be a father."
