Page 130 of Deep In Love
“Why?”
We only landed in London yesterday. I still have jet lag, and I planned on finding the first place that sold a sausage roll and gorging myself on them until he had to carry me back to the hotel for dinner with Oliver.
“After breakfast, we have a tour scheduled.”
“What? Why?”
I’m still admiring the dress, the crisscrossed straps in the back and the billowy skirt. It’s beautiful and exactly what I would choose for myself. The reef fish are small and cover the dress in a way that’s both youthful and sophisticated.
Mateo tips up my chin. My core clenches whenever he looks at me like this—like I’m the sun and the center of his universe—but the feeling is replaced with disbelief when he says, “Today, you’re going to meet your idol.”
“No…” I think I’m going to faint. My heart thumps erratically as the room spins. I fall onto the bed.
“Our private tour starts at eleven. Oliver pulled some strings for us.”
I finally find the nerve to look at him, and he’s watching me nervously.
“You’re going to see Charles Darwin’s grave.”
I launch myself at him, nearly taking him down to the creaky wooden floors, but he catches me right before I offer him the world’s sloppiest but most-thankful kiss ever. I don’t dillydally too much with him, because I’m on a time crunch.
“I get to fucking meet Darwin,” I scream, kissing him one more time before taking the dress.
I have no idea how I got so lucky, but I’m not questioning the universe.
Not today.
Not when I’m hours away from meeting my idol.
The verger guides us through the airy hallways of Westminster Abbey, and as expected, the massive church is gorgeous and brimming with history. Tombs of royalty and grand minds. Stained glass windows and intricate art along the walls. Cloisters brightened by summer light.
It’s beautiful and quiet, and as wonderful as the tour has been so far, I’m jumping out of my shoes as we get closer to where Darwin is entombed.
The final resting place of an incredible mind.
We round the corner, and Mateo squeezes my hand as we’re guided into the north aisle of the nave. The verger stops, and his long black robe billows. On the ground, a large slab of slate-gray marble reads “Charles Robert Darwin.”
Mateo’s grip on my hand is firm, which is good, because my knees give out beneath me.
I’ve imagined this moment a million times. Wondered what I would say or if I would ask him anything. Every word in the English language is lost on my tongue as I reread his name.
He’s right beneath me. Well, his bones are. I’m sure he’s entirely decomposed at this point, but the idea stands.
I’m occupying the same space as one of the greatest naturalists to ever live.
“Hi, Darwin,” I croak, giving the grave an odd wave. “Can I call you Darwin, or would you prefer your full title?” Mateo chokes on his laughter, and I stop my introduction to glare at him. “Please ignore my rude boyfriend,” I continue, “he doesn’t understand the importance of this moment.”
“I’m Mateo,” he says, stepping forward to greet the grave.
I can feel the odd looks from the verger and the other people in the church, but I’ve waited a lifetime for this moment, and I’m not wasting any mind power on people staring at me.
Yes, I’m talking to a grave. People do it all the time. Let’s move along.
There’s a bouquet of flowers sitting above his name, and I crouch down to place a small aquamarine stone beside them. When I pondered what crystal he would carry, the one bringing intelligence and thought was my first choice.
“I’ll give you a moment,” Mateo says.
Before he steps back, I kiss him. “Thank you.”
