Page 58 of The Honest Affair

Chapter Thirteen

Nina

“We could go to the Uffizi. Or see the David since you’ve never gone. The lines are much smaller this time of year, so I’m sure we could get in quickly.”

Matthew gave me a look as he picked up his cappuccino from the top of a bar just off the Piazza Santa Croce. “Come on, doll. There’s no use putting off the inevitable.”

I sighed. It was nine thirty in the morning, and Matthew and I had been up for hours. After spending the night wrapped together in our own perfect cocoon, the fact that I was still on New York time prevented us from sleeping in any later than six. We’d gone for a chilly run along the Arno River, watched the sun rise over the terracotta roofs from Piazzale Michelangelo, then meandered back through the old town to clean up at our pensione. Eventually, we wandered toward the Piazza Santa Croce and nodded politely to the shop owners at the mercato as they prepared to open for the day until we found a place to get some coffee and a few cornetti for breakfast.

Matthew licked a few errant crumbs off his bottom lip, and I inhaled sharply. This torture had been going on all morning too. Like last night, getting ready for the day required a bit of musical chairs. Matthew showered first, and when he emerged, it was impossible not to be a little hypnotized by the way the drape of his towel revealed the elegant curvature of muscle and bone at his hips and abdominals. A few stray droplets clung to his amber skin, then slipped over his left pectoral. I had watched as though in a trance, then looked up to find him watching me back, one brow perked as if daring me to do more than just look.

I considered it, truly. But in the end I edged around him, clothes in hand, and contented myself with a fairly cold shower and more time than necessary to get myself dressed and ready for the day.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to feel his soft skin under my fingers and bury myself in his fresh water scent, particularly after having spent the night completely surrounded by his warm, solid body. It was that I wanted it perhaps too much. And I just wasn’t quite ready to be overwhelmed by him all over again. Not yet.

Much good it did me. I was still salivating, and it wasn’t because of the half-eaten pastry on my plate. With the collar of his black wool coat popped up and his favorite gray fedora tilted to one side, Matthew looked more like a private eye than usual. The kind who generally seduced the lady in distress.

“You came to Florence to do something,” he pointed out. “Might as well get it over with. Then, if you want, we can climb the Duomo or check out some Botticelli.”

My heart skipped again, but this time with dread. In my purse was a small piece of paper bearing an address. Eric had contacted a local investigator before Christmas, who had tracked down Giuseppe’s wife. My first point of contact.

“You’re right,” I said bleakly, then tipped back the remains of my cappuccino. I wasn’t finishing the cornetto. Not with the knots in my stomach. “We should go.”

“Wait, doll. I have something for you.”

Matthew pulled from his pocket a small brown cardboard box the size of a pack of cards and set it tentatively on the bar, next to my empty cup.

“What’s this?” I wondered.

“One year ago today,” he said, “I walked into a bar and met you. And my life changed completely. I know it’s not an anniversary, per se—though one day, God willing, maybe we can celebrate one of those too. But for now, we have this.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. An entire year. Had it really been that long since I had stumbled into that bar on a cold winter’s night?

Matthew nudged the box toward me. “It’s not much. I can’t really afford a lot of fancy jewelry these days anyway.”

“Well, I have enough of that regardless.” I picked up the box. “What is it?”

“I saw it at a shop by the Vatican the day before you arrived.”

I lifted the top. Inside, nestled in a bit of blue silk, was a gold coin-shaped medallion not unlike the one Matthew wore bearing the likeness of San Gennaro. This one, though, had a delicate engraving of a woman inside a circle of writing that said “St. Anna” along the top of the pendant and the initials “O.P.N.” at the bottom.

“What does that stand for?” I asked, pointing to the engraving.

“Ora pro nobis. It means ‘pray for us’ in Latin. Saint Ann is the patron saint of mothers. And equestrians.”

I looked up in time to see his mouth quirk in a slight smile. “Horses?”

“It seemed to fit.” Matthew reached across the table and closed his hand on top of mine and the necklace. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to wear it—that’s why I didn’t get a chain too. But I thought maybe you could keep it in your pocket sometimes if you want, for good luck. Or, you know, in the back of your closet, if you’d rather.”

He shrugged, like what I did with the trinket was of no consequence, but the way his eyes darted, avoiding my gaze, told me differently. He needn’t have worried.

I took the pendant out of the box and wrapped it securely in the blue silk. True, it did feel a little strange to think of wearing the iconography of a religion that wasn’t my own. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t keep it close. I pulled out my wallet and tucked the silk-wrapped disc into the empty coin purse. Once it was zipped, a circular outline was evident through the leather. It would spoil the Chanel, but I couldn’t have cared less. It would only do more to remind of this moment.

“I’ll treasure it,” I said. “Thank you, Matthew.”

His green eyes shone with pleasure. “Anytime, doll.”

“I’m really glad you’re here,” I told him honestly. “I don’t know that I would have had the courage to go through with this if you hadn’t gotten it in your head to follow me. Thank you.”

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