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I step out of my bedroom, take the stairs down, walk the distance to the main door, and push it open. Benedetto is standing beside his car, with the door open for me, dressed in black dress pants and a dress shirt.
His eyes burn, “You look breathtaking,” he leans forward and kisses me softly on the cheek.
Not enough to make you want to keep me, is it?
“As do you,” I smile and climb into the car.
He closes the door, rounds the car, and comes to climb into the driver's seat.
He exhales, “This shouldn't be hard,” he mumbles as he straps his seatbelt on, then starts the car.
We drive in silence to a fancy harborside restaurant with warm lights and a table reserved by a pier. It seems we are the only ones here for the night.
Such a charming place to say goodbye.
I look away from the shimmering warm light on the river and try to stop myself from feeling the coolness of the whistling wind on my skin.
Benedetto pulls a seat out for me and I sit, then he drags his seat to place it beside me and sits.
“You seem edgy, so I'm thinking we can just get this out of the way before we eat,” he exhales.
“Yeah, sure,” I try to be cool, shrugging like I couldn't care less. I fold my arms across my chest.
“You've been the best part of my life these past few weeks, Rosaline, my baby,” he flicks his fingers at my folded arms and I unfold to give him my hands. “If I could, I would place you on a pedestal on every street and in every fucking country and force all men to bow at the feet of my queen,” he holds my wrists and caresses tenderly with his thumbs.
My heart squeezes tears and pumps them to my eyes at his words. If he could, but he won't. And he can't because I shouldn't be kept. I should be freed.
“If I haven't said I love you, it's because the word doesn't feel strong enough to express how I feel about you, how I have felt from the first day I set my eyes on you…”
This is a sad, sad speech for a goodbye.
“I can't do this,” I shake my head and retrieve my hands, “I can't do this, Benedetto,” I stand and he stands.
“You can't do what?”
“Whatever it is you are about to ask me to do.”
“You can't marry me?”
“No, I can't ma…” Wait what? “You saidmarry younotgo back to New York,” I stutter, feeling my heart pounding in my lungs.
“Why would I ask you to go back to…? Sit,” he points to my seat and I plop, pouting. He sits back.
He takes his hand to the pocket of his dress pants and if I wasn't so in my head, I'd have seen the imprint of what looks like a ring case. He pulls the case out and flips it open to reveal an emerald ring, “I love you, Rosaline, my queen, my baby, my slut, and you have no fucking idea how much I love you or how fiercely I want to spend the rest of both our lives loving you.” He plucks out the ring and I'm nodding and sniffing, not minding that my tears are already making a mess on my dress, “You are marrying me, right?”
“Yes, of course…” I chuckle, “I will marry you,” I stretch my hand out and point to my ring finger.
He slips the ring on and this time I hold his face to kiss him, climbing on his lap and slipping my tongue into his mouth to deepen and keep the kiss going.
“You wanted to go back to New York,” he breathes on my lips.
“No,” I shake my head.
“It’s because of that shrimp, Carlos, isn't it?”
“Carlos?”
“I should kill him,” he nods to himself and I laugh, getting what he is trying to do.
