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IV: The Dream

I could feel his gaze on me. Those eyes--the deepest, richest shade of brown--starred deep into mine as I raised my head from where it lay on his chest.

A slow smile formed on my lips when he didn't look away. "Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked as I self-consciously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. My hair was now a mess, thanks to the chilly breeze that whipped at my dark locks as we walked towards 'our spot'.

'Our spot' was nothing more than a small patch of grass underneath a tall, majestic tree but the day Max had carved out the message "M + E" on the wood, it became ours.

"Can't I just look at you?" he asked underneath me with his eyebrows raised.

This was perfect. The weather was a little less than ideal, but paired with our winter jackets, the wool blanket Max brought along was enough to keep us warm. Not to mention the fact that I was cuddled up next to him on the grass, his body heat seeping into me.

I playfully shook my head and in response, he tightened his hold on me, bringing my head closer to his warm chest. "You must have a reason. People don't just look at other people for no reason."

"Hmm," he murmured as he stroked my long hair all the way down my spine where the tips ended. "I have a few reasons."

"Yeah?" I said, playing along. Max was always like this: playful and charming. There was never a time when he was serious. Even when we fought, he'd always find a way to make me laugh against my will. And before I knew it, his lips would be on mine and I'd forget why we even fought in the first place.

"For starters, you're beautiful," he said in a teasing tone. I laughed, but when I saw his expression, my humor caught in my throat.

"You are, you know that, right?" I said nothing as his gloved hand came up to gently stroke my cheek. "I can't stop looking at you," he whispered against my forehead before he planted a sweet kiss on my skin.

"I'll never get tired of seeing your big, crazy-blue eyes. Or the way your cheeks flush whenever you're embarrassed, or the way you look when I kiss you." I smiled at Max before rising up on my forearm and leaning forward to brush my lips against his.

It was a whisper-kiss, but the sensations that rushed through our bodies were as strong as lightning.

Max's hand wrapped around my head and pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. With a sigh, I pulled back to gaze into his chocolate irises. "I love you, Max."

A look of awe appeared in those eyes of his as he took in my words. After he didn't say anything, I began to worry and pulled back. He doesn't feel the same, I thought. "I'm sorry, I--"

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, Elle, but I'm thankful everyday for whatever it is that brought you to me," Max said just before leaning his forehead against mine. "I love you too."


I SAT up with a fright. Looking around the dark room, I realized that it was all a dream. Groaning, I laid back onto the bed and stretched out, feeling the empty cold sheets. 

Only it wasn't a dream, my subconscious reminded me. It did happen, once. 

A long time ago. 

My eyes flew to the alarm clock on the bedside table. The time read 12:15. I couldn't sleep all night, and I'd finally dozed off at four in the morning.

I might as well get up now, I thought as I threw the covers off me. In about six hours, I had my appointment with Colette Devereaux, a representative of a gallery dedicated to display modern art. 

If my portfolio impressed, then my work would be featured in one of the Italy's most famous galleries. 

Suddenly feeling wide awake, I jumped out of bed and walked into the bathroom. My hair was still a bit damp from last night's bath, but by the time I finished my makeup, It was dry enough to be styled.

Using a flat-iron, I curled all my long, brown hair and let it frame my face. Staring at my reflection, I deemed my hair appropriate and flattering paired with my winged eyeliner and wine-colored lipstick.

Taking out from the closet the outfit I chose last night, I quickly dressed in a fit-and-flare cocktail dress from one of my favorite vintage shops. It was a lovely burgundy color to match my lipstick, and it fit me just right. 

After I slipped into my patent leather closed-toe pumps, I grabbed my black trench coat, portfolio, and keys. Just as I was locking up my flat, I noticed a white sheet of paper on the door. 

Good luck, cara. -Dante

Crumpling up the note, I made sure to throw it out before swinging my trench coat over my shoulder and making my way over towards my cherry-red Mini Cooper. I had a three hour drive to Rome, and I wasn't about to let thoughts of Dante ruin my interview.

* * *

"I don't know how to tell you this, Miss Chevalier," Colette Devereaux began as she closed the cover on my leather-bound portfolio. My brows furrowed as I proceesed her words. I thought the interview went great so far. Maybe my work wasn't good enough.

"They're fantastic," she said after taking a sip of her glass of wine. I guess my face displayed my disbelief accurately because she began to laugh. "Well don't look too surprised, darling."

After a few more moments that I didn't speak, Colette frowned. "Usually after I voice my appreciation for artists' work, they jump up and down, completely ecstatic."

"I'm sorry, I'm just in shock." I said before reaching for my glass and chugging the liquid down in one gulp. 

"You shouldn't be, you're very talented, Elle." A wide grin spread over my lips. My God, I can't believe this. "Well, I'm afraid I must run, but expect a call a few weeks from now to discuss pricing."

"Thank you," I said as I stood to shake her hand goodbye. Colette Devereaux strutted away in her six-inch stilettos and black tailored skirt-suit, leaving me alone at the table. 

It felt like I was in a dream.

With an extra bounce in my step, I left the fancy restaurant and walked down the beautiful streets of Italy's capital. The city was absolutely magnificent at night, I thought as my eyes took in the twinkling lights. 

Instead of going up right away to my room, I sat down in a patio chair of a café across the street from the hotel. A waiter came over and asked me what I'd like to drink. Settling on a cappuccino, I thanked him and sat back to watch the traffic. 

Some think it's strange to people-watch, but I find it fascinating. There's something about the way people act when they think no one is looking that draws me in. Once in a while, if I watch close enough, I see scenes unfold before me that inspire my next painting. 

I'll never forget the time I witnessed a little boy walking hand in hand with another girl in a pretty rose-colored dress. They both couldn't be a day past six-years, but there was something so beautiful there. Maybe it was how he looked at her and smiled as they crossed the street with their mothers behind them that had me starring. 

It was like they knew each other for longer than they've been alive. The maturity radiating off those kids was that of an adult; of an old soul. There wasn't a doubt in my head that those two would grow up and one day fall madly in love. And in honor of them, I painted, capturing that moment forever in a canvas. 

The waiter arrived with my drink then, snapping me out of my thoughts. I thanked him and smiled before picking up the white cup and taking a sip. As I savored the heavenly taste of coffee, I continued to observe the people on the sidewalks.

One man in particular stood out to me amongst the crowd. He was tall and looked Caucasian, and wore a black tailored three-piece suit. His shoulders, well accented by the expensive jacket, were broad and his arms-- although lean--were well sculpted. He looked young, maybe in his mid-twenties, but the air of maturity and money that surrounded him made me double-think his age. 

His hair was a bit on the long side and perfectly combed back into a blow-out, tempting every woman within a five-mile radius to tangle her hands in the silky-looking locks. From what I could see from my spot across the street form him, his jaw was chiseled and laced with stubble. Paired with his Godly good looks, this man's powerful walk screamed one word: Danger

Without even realizing, the people walking around him instinctively shied away from him as if to not get in his way. From one glance, even I could see that he wasn't a force to be reckoned with. He seemed like the type that knows what he wants and will annihilate anything and anyone that gets in the way of reaching his goal. 

Suddenly, as if sensing me watching him, the man's head turned in my direction. My eyes widened for half a second before I looked down at the table in front of me and picked up my cappuccino. Praying that the man hadn't seen me, I looked up after a second and sighed in relief. 

He was gone. 

Or at least that's what I thought. 

I felt someone's gaze on my face but I refused to look. From the corner of my eye thought, I saw the man starring at me. With one hand stuck in his pocket and the other holding his briefcase, he stood there in the middle of the sidewalk not walking. 

After what seemed like hours, I sneaked a glance in his direction. He had looked away and was walking briskly ahead before disappearing through the double doors of  the building next to my hotel.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say that was Max.

But that was silly. Max would rather strangle his dog than wear a suit, let alone a suit with a tie and a vest. Plus, I hadn't even gotten a good look at the man's face, just his profile. 

Perhaps it was because I had a dream about him every night since I received Simone's invitation, or maybe because I was sleep deprived, but either way I was starting to see things. Max wasn't here. He didn't race after me five years ago, so why would he now?

No, that was just my mind playing tricks on me. 

Deciding that I'd better get some sleep before my mind made me see something crazier like flying monkeys, I stood up from the table. After paying the check, I ran across the street and up to my hotel room as fast as my heels could take me.

I needed a glass of wine and sleep, I thought to myself as I let myself into the suite, because I'm dangerously close to having a self-pity moment.

The moment I booked a flight to Italy five years ago was the day Max and I were over; the day he left my life forever. I had to get the hell over it already.

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