They didn't wake up until late morning. Domani had been too afraid of opening his eyes, and Sophie had been content to watch him. When he did allow reality to claim him, she was waiting to claim his reality. The first kiss of that day lasted only a few seconds, and the next lasted for an hour. They stared at each other for a moment after the first, each confirming that the other was real before rushing together in a surprisingly gentle kiss.
That one, the second one, lasted through the crawling of hands over waists and then chest, cupping and smoothing over in turn. It lasted through the water running and the slow sinking of bodies and moods into a warm bath, peaceful, quiet, and wonderfully crowded. They were older now, and their bodies were honest after a night together and such an unexpected opportunity to touch, but they delighted in that, in this is real this is real Domani's shadowed cheeks and Sophie's hair tangled with sleep for the first time in years. It was real, and with their mouths still together, kissing eighteen years of stories into each others' mouths and when they're all caught up they dress and continue the kiss between white towels and teenage peeks at each other.
What replaces the kisses is words. They don't talk about their past apart, or about a future neither is foolish enough to believe in yet. It still seems like Sophie could be blown away with every wind, and though they don't say that, he puts his arm around her when she finishes dressing by the window, and when the barest breeze is pushed in from the ocean, air made wind in waves that wash over the trees neither of them have ever seen before, she leans against him, into him, safe. And then the words come.
"Venice," she says quietly, smiling but shy with the word. Had the memories become a source of pain to him? Domani smiled back, though, and made a gesture so unconscious and so familiar that she felt like it was Venice. "I know. It wasn't the truth, was it? Tourism, you said. Look, there are no striped shirts on the gondoliers, there are no poles. I remember."
She also remembered the real Italy that he had shown her, and it wasn't about the view. It was more about the way a stone wall felt when old carvings chipped off, the way you had to look both ways even while crossing the street, the elaborate meals that seemed grown by magic, and the grown fruit that smelled like warm meals. Hotel lobbies where they couldn't kiss, and Domani's bed, where they could. That’s what it was. Things that she had never felt before, food too good and sunsets too red and wine too sweet and love more passionate than she’d ever—more love. Something so far beyond what she’d thought love to be before that she knew that this wasn’t the same emotion that John had given her. “Have you been back?” Sophie asked suddenly, suddenly aware that she had quieted.
Watching her, Domani had quieted too. “Yes,” he said, and didn’t blink when she watched his eyes. “Every night since you left.”
“And last night?”
He shook his head, silent, and she remembered the arms on her waist last night, the same way that they had been in Venice, and she understood that Domani hadn’t stepped foot in Venice in years.
They talked about the streets that were still there, and the people that probably weren’t—the old man on a bench who had seen them kiss and didn’t care, the pigeons that Sophie had scared away when Domani twirled her.
“I miss it,” she said at last. “Italy.”
“Come back with me,” he said. “Back to Belpaese.”
Beautiful country. “I—Domani…darling.”
“Please.” If what he was asking was impossible, it was in his eyes, but the expression in his eyes was also what made her think that anything was possible for them. “It hasn’t been Belpaese since you left.”
Evening came quickly, but the light didn’t fade; instead, everything became blue and silver and black, the blue lighter than an England sky and richer than skies should look. The wind had stopped, and only occasionally were the tops of tree ruffled, and then only gently, like a cat arching into a loving hand. “It is beautiful,” Domani said, though it was obvious. Beautiful, their son’s chosen home. They decided to walk.
They walked close enough hat their shoulders collided, his warm under his shirt, hers small, hunched forward a little until he took her hand. It was cool out, and they’d only just missed sunset. They could still see it, inching away backwards, leaving a trail of light in the dark blue sky.
“Sophie?” They stopped, dew soaking into Domani’s trouser legs.
“Yes?” “I love you.” It was quiet for a long time, and he wasn’t afraid that she wouldn’t respond, but he was afraid of hearing it. It meant so much, and it promised so much that he wasn’t sure he could hear it. But.
“Domani?”
“Mm.” Their hands bumped, tried again, wound together even more tightly than before. After a moment, Domani felt Sophie’s thumb move over his fingers.
“I’ll go with you.”