Anywhere (8 page)

On the train, Asher and I mapped out our plans for the next two months.

“What if after Germany, we head to London, and you can meet your friend. Oh!” I said and looked up at him. “Do you think your friend would want to travel with us?”

The hesitancy on his face made me realize my mistake right away.

“Oh, god. Sorry. Never mind. You have plans with them. I wasn’t trying to butt in…I just wasn’t thinking.” I could feel the blood rushing to my face and was kicking myself for being so stupid.

“It’s not that, Skye. It’s just
who
I’m going to see.” He shook his head. “I can’t really show up with you at my side.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, nodding like I understood. But honestly? I didn’t. All I could think was that there had to be something wrong with me.

Asher was quiet for a few moments, and I tried to sink farther and farther into my seat.

“It’s my ex,” he finally said. “She spent last semester in London and is taking summer classes. When she heard I’d be coming to Europe this summer, she asked me to meet her after classes were over.” He paused, ran his finger along the window. “She wants us to give it another shot.”

“Oh.” I watched him staring out the window, purposefully not looking at me. “Why’d you two break up?”

He turned to look at me then, shaking his head a little. “I don’t know. She dumped me. I never knew why.”

“Wow. How long ago was that?”

“Five months. Right after she left for England.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to do the long distance thing?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “She never said.” He was quiet, then said, “I got the feeling she met someone, but I never asked outright.”

I nodded, thinking. “So, do
you
want to give it another try?”

He stared at me for a moment. “I thought I did…but I don’t know.” And then he shrugged.

I didn’t ask any more questions.

Walking out of the station in Venice was like entering a completely different world. It was quiet. Like
strangely
quiet after the bustle of Rome. I mean, there were plenty of people around and you could hear the chugging of motor boats, but there were no cars, no horns beeping, no crazy traffic. Water spread out all around us, and boats passed by, making small greenish waves.

We hopped on a
vaporetto
, a bus boat, that took us to St. Mark’s square. We had to hurry past the gorgeous, Eastern-style church with its really cool onion domes because we needed to make sure we had a place to sleep, and it was late in the day.

We went straight to the hostel and managed to reserve beds in the dorms. Then we headed back out to wander and get some dinner at a little café we found not far away.

It was perfect—watching the sun set over the burnt orange roofs of Venice (of VENICE!), the city turning a deep amber in the fading light. The buildings were more colorful than in Rome—orange, red, pink, yellow, and cream. And lots of green shutters. (What was it about the colors in Europe? They seemed richer, deeper somehow.)

We sat and talked while tourists and locals meandered about. Life here felt slow. I liked that. And it was exactly what I needed, today especially. To be soothed by the relaxed pace and the lapping sounds of the water. I was a tangle of conflicting emotions. I’d texted Paige on the train, and let my mom know that I was still alive. I was not up for talking with her today of all days—the wedding day—so my phone was turned off. Again.

Paige’s texts had made me smile, though.

ME:
Herein lies my daily text to prove I’m Not Dead Yet.

PAIGE:
Wow. Italy makes you talk funny.

ME:
Pasta! Pizza! Gelato! Spaghetti!

PAIGE:
I see your Italian has improved.

ME:
Grazie! (I’m sure there’s a phrase for that in Italian. There are all SORTS of words in this language, too.)

PAIGE:
Hahaha. I’m glad you’re there. Especially Today.

ME:
Me, too. A thousands times over.

And I was. I was so happy to be in Italy and far, FAR away from the scene of what my mother considered to be my Greatest Disappointment Ever. I’m sure that’s what she was calling it by now. If I hadn’t left, I would have already been pronounced Mrs. Blaine Thompson, the thought of which actually made me shudder. Blaine had wanted me to take his last name and I’d wanted to keep my own. Between him and my mother—I don’t know why she cared, but she’d argued heavily for his name—I’d finally given in and agreed to take his…just to get them to leave me alone.

Honestly, I felt as if I’d escaped a life sentence.

But still, I’ve never been good with upsetting people.

And people were Very Upset with me now. So it’s not like I was unaware of the Heavy Disapproval aimed at me from the States. I could feel it even an ocean away.

“You okay?” Asher said, and I realized I hadn’t said much since we’d left the restaurant and headed toward the grand canal.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just thinking.” He looked at me expectantly. “Today was the wedding day.”

“Oh.” He nodded, and we walked a little ways in silence. “Are you regretting this? Coming here?”

“What?
NO.” I shook my head. “God no. I’m grateful to be here. But still I feel bad about the whole situation.”

“That’s understandable. But if you’re not wishing you’d gone through with it, then you made the right decision. That’s what really matters.”

I was quiet for a moment again, thinking. Then I said, “What’s your ex’s name? Did you want to marry her?”

“Tamara. And I don’t know. I thought I did before. But things change, you know?” He was looking right at me. Yes, I did know. “I guess I’ve got to figure that out,” he said.

We’d made it to the grand canal as light was fading from the cloud-filled sky, and walked the steep steps up to the peak of the Rialto Bridge. When we got to the top, under the huge rounded stone arch, we stood at the railing and looked out.

The water sparkled with lights along both sides of the canal as people strolled on the sidewalks or sat in crowded restaurants. A
vaporetto
full of people, lit from within like a candle floating on water, slipped underneath us. This place was laced with magic at night.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere but here at this moment,” I said, and I could feel Asher turn to look at me though I kept gazing out over the water.

“Same here,” he said quietly. I glanced up at his face and we just stared at each other for a long moment. Butterflies started up in my stomach, and I was very aware of every breath we took, the air that we were sharing.

I looked away first, trying to stop the dancing of my heart and regain my calm—which I wasn’t sure was possible with him standing so close and looking at me like that. I couldn’t do this with him. It wasn’t right—not from my end or his, with a hopeful ex waiting for him.

“Gelato?” I said, my voice sounding breathy, which made me want to cringe. I cleared my throat and pointed to the right bank. “There’s a gelato shop down there. And we do have a Quest.”

“That we do. Lead the way,” Asher said and waved me forward.

There were so many people in line that we had to wait, but I took that as a good sign—especially since most of them looked like locals.

“Oh. My. God.” Asher’s eyes were closed like he was experiencing nirvana, and I had to laugh.

“I know,” I said. It was even better than at Trevi Fountain.

“You have got to try the chocolate,” he said and held his cone out to me. I took a bite and moaned—it was chocolate PERFECTION. “Right?” he said.

I held my lemon and coconut out to him, and he held my gaze—his eyes glinting dark blue in the shine of the street lamp—as he took a bite. I watched his mouth, wanting to catch the drip of gelato on his lips.

I didn’t.

But, oh my god, I wanted to. And, oh my god, that scared me.

“Wow, yours is even better than mine,” he said, licking his lips—oh dear god. “Wanna trade?” He had a devilish grin on his face.

“No way,” I said, and he laughed, bumping me with his shoulder.

“NOW,” he said between bites, “I think we can safely say we’ve completed the Gelato Quest.”

“Only with the caveat that we get to keep having gelato every day.”

“Well, THAT goes without saying.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement on this. Otherwise I’d have to find someone else to travel with.” Ha. Like I would have. I could still feel the effects of his grin.

Asher laughed.

And that’s when we felt the first drops. We started walking back to the bridge, but by the time we got to the bottom of it, the skies opened up. We ran up the steps—oh my god, there were a lot more than I’d realized—and by the time we got to the top, I was drenched and out of breath.

Instead of racing down the other side, Asher grabbed my hand and pulled me under the arch and out of the rain. There were a few others taking shelter there, and we moved off to one side by ourselves.

My hair was stuck to my face, my clothes soaked through and clinging, and I was starting to shiver. Asher let go of my hand to reach up and brush the wet hair from my face.

And I found it hard to breathe at the feel of him.

I glanced up at his face and he searched my eyes. My heart was beating ridiculously fast now and I was so aware of the air between us, could feel every shift in the molecules against my wet skin. Asher’s hand paused and his thumb brushed softly across my cheek.

If I thought it was hard to breathe before, that was nothing compared to now. My stomach was doing flips and my body pulsed with his every touch. I was pretty sure I might spontaneously combust.

My mind thought he should not touch me like that and my body wanted him to never stop.

“Asher.” I breathed his name like it was air.

His eyes settled on my lips. He stared, mesmerized, for what felt like an eternity before he said, “Skye.” His voice was hoarse, soft. “May I…”

“Yes,” I said, before my mind could stop me.

Slowly, gently, he leaned toward me and I closed my eyes as his lips touched mine.

Oh. My. God.

Thrills flooded my body, coursed through my chest, and swirled all through me. He tasted like chocolate and everything that was good in this world. He nipped at my bottom lip then sucked on it so gently I gasped, pleasure swelling low in a slow, persistent throb.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue outlining my lips, running over my teeth, his fingers sliding into my wet hair. I wove my arms around his waist, hooked my fingers into his belt loops and pulled him closer to me. I wanted to feel him against me. All of him.

He moaned deliciously into my lips, then trailed a line of kisses along my jawline. A whisper of “Oh, Skye” escaped his lips and his breath in my ear shivered me. He sucked gently on my earlobe and the aching between my legs almost buckled my knees.

I had never wanted anyone in my life as much as I wanted him in that moment.

No one had ever kissed me like that, like I was being tasted and savored. Like I was being worshipped. The world was spinning—I’d never known it was actually possible to
feel
like that. I was intoxicated with his taste, his touch.

My hands slid up under his shirt (I couldn’t stop them—I swear), over warm skin and smooth muscle. He gasped and then laughed at my touch.

“Your hands are cold,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and started to pull them away, but he stopped my arms and slid my hands back under his shirt.

“No,” he said. “It’s okay. Let me warm them.”

I wrapped my arms around him, relishing the feel of his skin, and leaned my head against his chest. He rested his chin on my forehead, his arms holding me close.

I let myself have that moment, told myself that we were just keeping each other warm, that the kiss had been a mistake—an amazing one, perhaps the most incredible one of my life, but still a mistake—and that it didn’t matter. That it
couldn’t
matter. That we both knew it, given our circumstances.

But I was totally lying to myself.

ten

T
he next morning we stood at the railing of a large boat, taking a tour of the bigger islands of Venice. The sky above was cloudless, leaving the sun to fill the land, sea, and air unchecked. Even so I had goosebumps thanks to the wind, and was wishing I’d worn jeans instead of shorts. I was contemplating finding a bathroom and changing when Asher handed me his hoodie again. I gratefully slipped it on.