Page 65 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

She realized that her concept of home had shifted.

Rocco Moretti now felt like home. More than Wyoming ever had.

Even more than Holiday House. It was terrifying how quickly something like that could shift. Terrifying just how glorious a shift like that could be. If she had been told a few months ago that her whole life would change, she would have been sad about it. But now she realized that change wasn’t always bad. Sometimes it was simply the right time.

Sometimes, you were ready for it.

That was astonishing.

After a month overseas, though, she was beginning to feel like she wanted to visit home. It had been three months.

Three months in total since she had seen Melody, since she had been back in her familiar territory.

Just a small visit would be nice.

It was the strangest thing, because she had a deep level of intimacy with him, and yet there were some things she still felt afraid to approach him about at times. The way he handled his issues around his childhood being the biggest, because last time it had been such a disaster. He talked about things, but she always felt reluctant to push when he wasn’t the one leading.

It was because there was something under the surface, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was beginning to fill her with a sense of disquiet that she didn’t quite know how to manage.

She could tell him that she loved him, of course. Take the pane of glass she felt like was between them sometimes and shatter it. Test to see if it was her fault. If her not being able to tell him the truth of her feelings was why sometimes she felt distant from him.

It was a beautiful day, and the apartment they occupied in Rome had the most stunning view. In the evenings, they sat out on the balcony, and looked at the city below.

She had a new appreciation for cities. She didn’t think they would ever feel like home, but now that she had been to a few, she could appreciate that they were all different. That they had different rhythms, different personalities.

She really did love Rome.

The history, the iconic sites, the food.

She loved listening to Rocco speak Italian. She tried to learn a little bit herself. It had turned into an extremely dirty lesson. He had taught her words that she didn’t think she could ever repeat in polite company. But that she used on him with impunity, whispering in his ear when they were at restaurants, or galleries. So why couldn’t she say the one thing she probably needed to say most?

Because of the illusion.

That realization stunned her. Astonished her. She stood there, on their balcony, looking out at the city, realizing that she was afraid.

That it was terribly, terribly worrying that someday, she would say the wrong thing to him. That she would uncover the fact that this happiness wasn’t real. Just like her childhood. Because you could be blissful, and not realize the people around you weren’t.

That filled her with panic. It made her feel like her little boat was adrift, not connected to the shore.

No. She was fine. And Rocco wasn’t her only anchor. She had Snowflake Falls. She had Wyoming and Holiday House, and friends. She just had to remember that. She had been lost in a haze, and it had been lovely. But she had perhaps let herself become too comfortable with this part of her life.

Maybe she needed to remember to anchor herself.

So she went and found him, lounging on the couch in the living room, and she decided to crawl on top of him, folding her hands and resting them palms down on his chest as she looked up at him. “Hi,” she said.

She could feel his body hardening. And she smiled.

“Hello,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said.

“This does not feel like a prelude to talking,” he said.

“How very rude,” she said. “As if me pressing my body against you could only be an invitation for one thing, and not conversation?”

“You know how it is between us,” he said. He held her chin, and she looked at him. She wanted to freeze time. She wanted to make it so that this moment was the only moment. Nothing after it, nothing before. Nothing to worry about.

“What?” he asked.

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