Page 18 of The Fear of Falling
It’s not that I’m into Benson for his money—I try to pay every time, and he always beats me to it. There’s so much more to him than his wallet, as much as I love getting free pastries. Bensonis indulgent and a hype-man and takes seriously good photos, and he is one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen. But more than that, he knows how to hold a conversation. He is friendly with everyone he meets. He has a wealth of knowledge that seems to have no end and makes me want to ask him about everything he shows me rather than looking up facts on the internet.
I could sit and listen to him talk for hours on end and never get bored.
“Yeah,” he says, tucking me closer to his side as his eyes dart around the shop. “He and Siena have been together for a few years now and are stupidly perfect for each other. Do you want to buy any chocolate? We should grab it before this place turns into a madhouse.”
I can’t decide if it’s a deflection or actual concern for our wellbeing, but I snag a couple of bars and make my way to the front counter, digging into my purse as I go. If I hurry, I can pay for them myself before Benson—
He tosses a couple more bars onto the counter and hands over his card.
“You don’t like chocolate,” I point out, giving him an annoyed glare for beating me to the punch once again.
His grin brightens the whole store. “But you do.” He says a few things in Italian to the cashier, who smiles back at him and hands him his receipt, holding the brown paper bag of chocolate out to me. As much as Benson thinks I’m starting to pick up on some Italian, he’s dead wrong. Most people here speak English, and those who don’t tend to talk way too fast for me to catch anything at all. But everyone is so much happier when Benson busts out his language skills, and I wish I’d had time to learn more before I got here.
I don’t remember the last time I had free time.
“Do you speak any other languages?” I ask as we head out onto a street bathed in golden evening light. Maybe I can glean some more tidbits of Benson if I ask innocuous questions.
“The tiniest bit of German,” he says, linking our hands together as we walk. “Enough Russian to think I’ll be okay when I inevitably get into trouble there. Never could figure out Chinese, though.”
“Oh, well, if that’s the only one you can’t get… I knew you had to have more than one flaw.”
He chuckles. “I can’t decide if you’re impressed by me or just indulging me, Avery Grace.”
A shiver runs through me at the sound of my name. “Did Dani tell you my middle name?”
Smirking, he tugs me down a side alley with the sort of confidence that makes me wonder if we’re going somewhere specific. I didn’t think we had an agenda. “You would not believe the sort of juicy gossip your sister is willing to share.”
“I feel like you texting my sister is breaking the rules of anonymity.” If he’s allowed to get info, I should get the same chance, but I don’t know if hehasany siblings I could text. This man is a vault when it comes to personal history.
“Don’t worry.” We turn left, picking up our pace a bit. “She knows all about our plan and hasn’t told me anything important.”
“My middle name isn’t important? Whathasshe told you?”
Benson glances at his watch. “How do you feel about running?”
“Hate it.”
“Too bad.” He breaks into a jog, pulling me with him as we weave through the throngs of people wandering the busy street. I have no idea where we’re going, but if Benson has a plan, it’s probably a good one.
Except, he’s like eight inches taller than me, so if we have to go much farther, I might ask to jump on his back and let him carry me. I’m about to suggest that when he rounds a corner and slows to a stop, a look of excitement on his face.
“Right on time,” he mutters with another glance at his watch.
That’s when I see the building we’re in front of, with the giant orange dome and the green-and-white-patterned designs in the walls. It’s the Duomo, formally called the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. It’s the building that caught my attention so thoroughly during the taxi ride to the hotel, and it’s the church I’ve been looking forward to the most. I smile wide. “Hate to break it to you,” I say brightly, “but I have a tour scheduled here in like an hour, so we’re technically earl—oh!”
The bells. Like before, their bold sounds seem to fill the entire city as they start up their vigil. There’s no pattern or rhythm, the notes high and low and everything in between, and it ismagical. But we’re not in the right spot.
“Come on.” I pull Benson to the left, apparently catching him off guard because he nearly trips as he stumbles after me. I’ll have to come back and get a picture with the dome, but the other end of the church has the bells, and I want to experience this moment properly. I stop when we reach the other side, and my heart picks up in rhythm as I take it all in. The bell tower, like the front of the church, is peppered with arches and reliefs and Gothic tracery that give the stone a lacey feel. I’m not much of an art person, but it feels different when it’s all made from stone rather than painted on.
“Did you know this building took almost a hundred and fifty years to build?” I ask, though I have no idea if Benson can hear me over the tolling bells. But his attention is fixed on me, so I turn back to the cathedral and keep talking even if Benson likely knows all the same facts about the Duomo that I do. “It’s almost six hundred years old, and the guy who designed the domerevolutionized this type of architecture because he didn’t use any scaffolding. And the bell tower was designed by an artist whose name I can’t remember, but it’s its own feat of engineering and design. It’s all so amazing,” I finish, turning to face the man next to me.
He’s staring at me, his eyes bright as the sunset turns his brown hair to copper. His eyes drop to my mouth and stay there.
Swallowing, I keep talking because no matter how touchy-feely this guy has been over the last couple of days, he hasn’t come close to kissing me except for that forehead kiss last night. But it’s looking like that might change, and I don’t know how to feel about that. “Can you imagine how brilliant everyone who made this place must have been?” I ask breathlessly. “To create something so magical out of nothing? What would it be like to be the sort of person who does something no one has ever done before? To see your vision turn into something real? I would love to someday create something I can be proud of, you know?”
Benson exhales. “You are incredible,” he whispers, and then he’s leaning in, his mouth only a breath from mine.
The bells stop.
