I take a deep breath. “I don’t know,” I answer.
But I do. In my heart, I know.
A few weeks later, I’m heading back towards my apartment after a solo guided tour of St. Angelo’s castle. Liam didn’t feel well this morning so I’ll make sure to check on him later. For now, all I can think about is having a shower, a snack and one mother of a nap. I’m halfway through the courtyard when I hear someone calling my name.
I turn around to spot Paolo, my favorite stocky, middle-aged Italian who is the manager of the apartment complex. He’s bounding out of his little office/hut near the front gates of the property, carrying a small package in his hands.
“Buongiorno, Signorina Sullivan. I have a delivery for you.” He hands me an unaddressed package wrapped in simple brown paper.
“For me? Thank you. I mean, grazie.”
Paolo smiles at my effort and heads back to his office. I think about waiting to open the package until I get inside but I was never one to do well with suspense. I pull at the string holding the wrapping together and the paper easily falls away.
My knees nearly buckle.
I am now holding a black leather journal with a photo of me, Ryan and Duke glued to the cover.
The book is smooth and heavy in my hands and I don’t know how or why it’s here. What I do know is that the strongest force on earth couldn’t wrench it out of my hands right now. Whipping the book open, I find a piece of stationery folded inside. I tuck the journal under my arm as I open the note with trembling hands.
Kara,
When I left New York after Jason and Cristina’s wedding, I knew that I’d single-handedly destroyed what would have been the best thing in my life.
Nothing is the same anymore. Days drag and nights are even slower and the memories of us hurt as much as they heal. All I think about is being with you again. I imagine going to the party that first night and doing everything different. I’d tell you the truth. I’d do what I needed to do back home, come back to New York and prove to you that I never stopped loving you.
I replay how I handled things over and over in my head and I want to go back and shake myself. I mean aggressively shake myself. I hurt two women who did nothing wrong and who deserved so much more than what I gave them. For that, I will always be ashamed and deeply sorry.
You were right in what you said to me at the wedding. I was using how much I wanted and loved you as an excuse to justify my actions, but I don’t have anyone or anything to blame but myself. I was scared and selfish. I betrayed your trust by not telling you the truth and I made what we had look like a lie when it’s the only real thing I’ve ever known. I stole a week and lost forever.
But the thing is, I still can’t give up. I can’t stop hoping that we’ll find our way to each other one more time. You have lived in the back of my mind for ten years. You never left. You’ve always been there with your books and your humor, and even when half of me would try to move on, the other half would hold on to you even tighter. You’re the best part of who I am and who I want to be, and when you feel something like that, it can’t be wrong.
What happens next is entirely up to you and this is where the journal comes in. Since a novel is where our story started in college, I couldn’t help but see it as a fitting symbol of our relationship. But as you can tell by the blank pages, our book isn’t finished. I’d like for you to write out our story and when you’re done, no matter the ending, please send it back to me. I put my address in the inner flap. If you don’t want to or if you throw this book away, I’ll understand. But if I ever do get to see this journal again, I hope, more than anything, that I end up reading a romance.
Loving and missing you,
—Ryan
P.S. If you’re wondering who’s watching Duke while I’m on this trip, you should know it’s my dad. We’re not back to how we used to be, maybe we never will be, but I’m trying. I won’t break my promise to you. If you take one thing away from this letter and forget the rest, let it be that.
Great, so someone sprinkled water all over my letter. No wait, that’s me crying. Again.
I’m sad and relieved and so homesick for Ryan that I could die, and how dare he send this to me! But Ryan also said he was on a trip. Wait. Is he here?
I bolt for Paolo’s hut a second later. I’ve never run track a day in my life but now I’m thinking that maybe I should have.
“Paolo!” I yell, my hair falling in disarray in front of my face as I fling myself onto the reception desk.
He’s waiting for me and smiling, resting his chin on his fist as he leans forward on the counter.
“He told me you come here yelling. He knows you very well.”
“He who?” I ask, out of breath. “Was this hand-delivered?”
“Si. Signore Ryan came this morning. He ask for you, he wait a few hours, he give me the package, then he go.”
“He go?” I all but shriek. “You mean he’s gone gone? Is he coming back?”
I’ve never seen Paolo look so smug as he does in this moment, reaching into the left breast pocket of his gray blazer. He pulls out
