Page 102 of Milo

Deep down, I know this to be true. It's the unfortunate reality we live in. Money over everything.

Wealth wins.

Always.

"How does this war end?" I ask, holding Milo a little tighter. "When will it end?"

"Soon, tesoro." Milo's soft gaze pierces mine as his lips curl into a fragile smile. "Very soon."

"You seem confident.”

"I am," Milo hums into my ear. "Everything will go back to normal soon. I promise you."

"Okay," I murmur, unable to keep my eyes open. "If you say so."

What is normal?

"Go to sleep, tesoro," Milo whispers. "We can talk more in the morning."

"I want to go back to the Duomo tomorrow," I say, cuddling up to his body. "I want to watch the sunset again."

"We are here for two more days. We can watch all the sunsets you want."

"I love sunsets," I mutter, fatigue flowing through my veins.

"Me too…” He presses his warm lips against my forehead. "Sleep, tesoro."

My father used to tell us that if we looked hard enough, we could find beauty even in the most peculiar places.

Like in a broken man with a broken heart.

Or in a lonely girl who doesn't want to be alone.

Or in the chance encounter that brought them together.

Or in the storm that might blow them apart.

Chapter 27

Gift of the Present

Even though English is referred to as the universal language, it has many limitations. There are hundreds of beautiful words in foreign languages that describe emotions, senses, and experiences that are simply ineffable in my native tongue.

In Arabic, the word ya'arburnee is the hopeful declaration that you will die before someone you love deeply, because you can't stand to live without them. In German, the word, waldeinsamkeit describes the feeling of solitude and connectedness to nature when being alone in the woods. And in Norwegian, the word forelsket is the euphoria experienced as you begin to fall in love.

Forelsket. Could it be? Or is it merely infatuation? Fascination? Admiration?

Stockholm Syndrome? Hah. Possible but highly unlikely.

Leaning against the door frame, a stupid grin on my face, I soak in the sight of the gorgeously complex man in front of me. There are no words to describe how I feel as I watch him read the daily paper.

Grateful, perhaps, that he opened up about his brother? Hesitant, that he just recently lost a woman he cared for? Happy, that he finally trusts me enough to share? Hopeful, that this is the start of something new?

Something exciting, different, potentially world-defying?

All I know is that I've never felt like this before. It's as if my body went through an emotional cleanse overnight. I've flushed out the toxins, the bacteria, the filth of days past. And despite the fact his heart might not be solely mine, at least not right now, I feel renewed, refurbished, ready.

Ready for a new chapter in a story that's been told a thousand times. From Tolstoy to Shakespeare to Austen. Girl meets boy. It's how it always starts.

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