Ellie shook her head, crossing towards the front altar. A moment later, she heard Henry’s footsteps close behind her.
Why must he always be so near? Do I not affect him at all?
“I don’t agree.” She stepped out of his proximity on the pretext of examining the detail on the gold filigree decorating the altar table. “If the day is special enough, and the person special enough, why wouldn’t you dedicate the time and effort?”
Henry snickered, drawing a chastising glare from an elderly woman praying the rosary at his side. He gave the woman a charming smile and nodded his head towards the exit.
The setting sun cast the square in deep purple and orange shadows, and a street performer’s accordion filled the air with soft music. “I see your point,” Henry said, turning to face Ellie and blocking her attempt to keep walking. “But what day—or person—would be so special to go to all that effort?”
You, you idiot. Every day of my life with you would be special.
Ellie ducked her chin and brought her fingers to her throat, avoiding his gaze. “Christmas. Isn’t that a special day?”
He tilted his head as though weighing her words, then nodded. “I agree Christmas is special, but to wait for an entire year, to design everything for one singular occurrence, then wait another three hundred sixty-four days for it to come around again?”
She crossed her arms, tucking the guidebook against her chest like a shield. “If it matters enough, then yes. I would wait an entire year for one moment, no matter how brief.”
Henry’s eyes fixed on hers and softened. Perhaps this was the moment where he finally reached past her surface to what dwelled below. “El,” he said softly, “Christmas. Do you mean my family’s party, seeing each other at Christmas?”
Her fingers fluttered around her guidebook and she shifted it in her grip. “The parties were special to me, that’s all.” She turned away and opened the book again, the pages swimming before her eyes.
“El.” Henry pushed the book down with one hand and lifted her chin with the other. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Her chest tightened, screaming at her to retreat into the safety of her shell. Instead, she sucked in a fortifying breath. “My life isn’t like yours. I didn’t have friends and studies and… adventures to fill my days. The only time I—” A knot pressed against her throat and she swallowed it down, refusing to allow it to take hold. She released a forced laugh. “Please, forget I said anything.”
Henry stepped forward, his toes touching hers as he drew her close, wrapping her in his arms and tucking her head under his chin. Tension seeped from her body as she tucked her nose into his shirt, breathing in his soft linen scent. “Oh, El,” he whispered. “Those parties… I waited all year to see you, too.”
Ellie met his gaze, expecting to find humor or levity. Instead, she saw pain, a deeper hurt she had only glimpsed before. She opened her mouth to speak, but never had the chance.
“They said they’d meet us here, they must be nearby!” a voice called and, having heard nothing but lyrical Italian voices for the past day, the flat American accent struck Ellie’s ears like an assault.
“We’re early,” a woman replied. “They’ll be here.”
Ellie glanced up to see Henry watching her with a half-smile.
“I think we found the Richardsons.”
“You must be Mr. Morley,” the man said, approaching Henry with his hand outstretched.
Henry paused for the briefest of moments, unsure if or how to correct the use of his title, but the woman to his side swatted the man’s hand away.
“It’s Lord Morley,” she said in a too-loud whisper. “You’re a historian, you should be better at this.” She was at least a decade his senior, a petite woman with a sharp nose and pinched appearance, her silver-streaked hair pulled tight in a low knot. Her eyes sparkled with youthful exuberance and her lips spread in a wide grin. She turned to Henry and dropped an overly deep curtsey. “LordMorley, a pleasure to meet you. I’m Alice Richardson, and this is my husband, Miles.”
Henry couldn’t help but grin as he gave her a quick bow. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Richardson. Please call me Henry.”
Alice looked at him as though the request were a trap as the man at her side stepped forward, bobbing his head towards Henry in an awkward half-bow, half-nod before extending his hand again. “Dr. Miles Richardson, Harvard University.” He motioned towards Alice. “My wife is also Dr. Richardson, but of Radcliffe.” He scowled at his wife, but Henry couldn’t miss the spark of affection shooting between the pair. “And I’m anAmericanhistory professor. We fought a war so we wouldn’t have to worry about such things.”
“Alex’s colleagues, of course,” Henry said with a smile as he took the offered hand.
Alice cast an expectant glance at Ellie, and Henry’s mind tumbled. He had been so caught up with Ellie, in connecting with her and finally having time with her, he hadn’t thought about how to explain her presence. “This is Lady War—I mean, Eleanor, Lady—”
“I’m Eleanor,” she said, bobbing a quick curtsey, then extending her hand to Miles. “Henry is my husband.”
My husband.The words wrapped around him like a blanket, soft and soothing, filling a place in his soul he didn’t realize was empty. It was too comfortable, too much like a relief for it to be true.Her husband. The vision of being her husband existed only for a moment, so pure but so ephemeral. It vanished before he could touch it, hold it tight and explore it, nurture it into something like a dream. A desire he had no right to claim.
Miles was shaking Ellie’s hand when Henry blinked back to reality. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said with a glowing smile, and warmth spread in his chest, the sense of pride in a partner so foreign to him he had to wonder at it.
Introductions made, Miles declared himself simultaneously starving and exhausted. “Our bags are at the hotel but we wanted to make the most of our time in Rome,” Miles said. He fell into step beside Henry as he led them through narrow streets towards what the professor had declared as his favorite restaurant in the city, Ellie and Alice trailing behind. “We have an extensive itinerary planned. I’ve been here before, many times, but Alice has never been. Your wife is an art historian?”
