Page 67 of Love, Amy

When we finally pull apart, I’m out of breath. “I saw your Wimbledon interview,” I tell Aurelio.

His hands freeze in their continued exploration of my face. “You did?” He watches me warily. “What did you think?”

I frown in mock confusion. “I had to do some research afterwards. I wanted to say things just right.”

Aurelio drops his hands from my face. I immediately miss his touch. “Research?” he repeats. “Didn’t you understand?”

“I understood.” I take his hands, holding them gently between us. Aurelio’s gaze darts from our clasped hands and back to my face, alarmed. I lean towards him, knowing I have one chance to say what I mean. “The thing is, I wanted to make sure you understand.” There’s a moment, a brief hesitation where a small part of me wonders if the words will pass my lips. I’ve never said them before, in any serious way. When I look into Aurelio’s face, I’m sure he’d wait all day, all week, all month to hear them. It’s why he deserves them sooner. I take a deep breath. I smile at him, trying to infuse every small word with sincerity. “Ti amo, Aurelio.” Once more in English, for good measure. My eyes fill with tears, but I blink them back. “I love you, Aurelio.”

The words are quiet, but Aurelio’s response is loud.

“Amy,” he says, serious. He grips my hands tightly. “I love you, too.”

“Why?” I ask, urgent and low. The questions fly out of me. “What possible reason could you give for loving a mess like me?”

He shakes his head, disgusted. “I don’t need reasons, Amy. I feel it here.” He takes our joined hands and taps his chest, right over his heart.

My happiness feels fragile, like an overfilled water balloon. I always thought Beck loved me, but it was for all the obvious reasons. Every day it felt like I measured myself against those reasons, losing an inch to my father’s shadow.

To be loved without reason. To be loved and you’re the reason. Just you, as you are.

Aurelio waits, watching my face. He wants to make sure I get it. He wants to make sure I accept it.

I do, I really do.

But I can’t let him get off that easy. “You love me?”

“Sì.” He nods. His eyes are soft. “I do.”

I tilt my head, considering him. “You love me and I love you?” I trail off, face crinkling in confusion. “No, that doesn’t sound righ—”

Aurelio catches on at the last second, swooping in to kiss me again, effectively shutting me up. When he pulls away, I’m laughing and so is he. I love seeing his dimple pop out. I love seeing him smile. I love his hands on my waist.

He loves me, and I love him. It does feel like a joke, in a way. Or Amy from last year certainly would have thought it was one.

Aurelio’s eyes sparkle at me. “Oh, so you’re a comedian now?”

“I certainly like to think so—” He interrupts me again, kissing me on the cheek, the jaw, the neck. It distracts me so much that I start giggling again.

Aurelio scoops me up, carrying me towards the house. “Enough talking,” he says sternly. It’s not an expression I’m used to seeing on his face.

I start laughing in earnest, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. Months. Years. Aurelio joins in, chest rumbling, eyes crinkling. He kicks open the door to the house, carrying me over the threshold into the dark interior.

“Stop!” I giggle. “We’re going to wake your father.”

Aurelio shoots me a glance, heading up the narrow staircase. “He probably has been listening at the window the whole time.”

“No,” I mock groan. “That would be too humiliating to consider.”

Aurelio heads to the first door on the right, pushing it open. I only catch a brief glimpse of some soccer posters, an open window, and picture of his family on the dresser before I’m tossed onto the bed. I gasp. “My suitcase! We left it outside!”

Aurelio is smiling at me from the foot of the bed. “You can wear my clothes.”

I grumble, but it’s short-lived. Aurelio crawls over me, gently placing kisses on the inside of my wrist, the tip of my shoulder, my jaw, underneath my ear. I wind my arms around his neck. “Then again,” I say coyly, “who needs clothes?”

When I kiss Aurelio again, he’s smiling.

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