city like I do. He can’t stand there, numb to the smells of the pastry shops, flower stands, and restaurants.
He lets go.
My chest falls, but he pushes forward. We take street after street, and he checks his phone.
“Where are we going?”
“To find Dani and Ajay.”
“Oh.”
It’s as colorful as our conversations get.
THIRTY-ONE
“Marty! Pierce!” Dani wraps us into a strong hug, though it seems impossible, since she can’t be taller than five feet four. “Benvenuto!”
“Buonasera,” I say. “Or is it not late enough in the day to say that?”
She shrugs. I give Ajay a hug.
And then it starts to get awkward.
Pierce’s issues are beyond me, and beyond our bickering. And I wish I knew what they were, or how I’m a part of them, or if I could fix them. I want him to let me in, but I don’t know how to show him.
It’s especially worrisome because he’s closed off to his friends too.
But we charge forward, and I walk in line with Pierce the whole time. Ajay leads the way through cobblestone alleys and plazas. Our shoes hitting the stones matches that of my thudding heart. Dread creeps through me, and I can’t make it stop.
I take a cleansing breath, and clear my throat.
“We don’t have time to see much,” I shout to Ajay. “Where are we going?”
“Gallery of the Academy of Florence,” he says. The smile shows through his voice. “I looked it up. Zero percent chance we’ll get lost.”
“David,” Pierce says. “That’s where that statue is.”
Dani cackles. “Pierce, you are the only person I know who could make a masterpiece seem dull and depressing. Perk up, honeybuns.”
That makes him smile, briefly.
About thirty minutes and two wrong turns later—turns out Ajay researched the gallery but not how to get there—I walk into the gallery, and I’m surprised to see there’s more than just David in this museum. In one room, giant oil paintings of portraits and landscapes surround us. In the next, sculptures of a hundred nameless heads and faces watch us pass by.
But when I turn back, I see him. David. And I see all of him. He’s a spectacle, and a representation of the human form that would make any guy feel fat. Sculpted—literally—abs, defined arms. I walk around to the back to find more defined regions.
I see the awe in Pierce as he stares up at David. And that makes me relax, even for just a minute. There’s hope in this situation.
We meander and work our way up the Arno River until the Ponte Vecchio appears in the distance, causing nostalgic chills to flood my body. The guidebook on Florence had a few pages on this bridge slash market, and just like the rest of the Florence section, I wore through the pages.
The shops on the Ponte Vecchio are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. They’re all old-looking jewelry shops, and the shine of gold and silver catches my eye as we walk through the bridge. Dani stops to look into the window of a shop, and I get out my phone to take a few photos of the bridge.
“Did you know these all used to be butcher shops in the 1500s?” I ask.
“I did not, but I was hoping we’d get a lesson from you,” Dani says with a laugh. “Wasn’t sure if his bad mood would ruin our whole tourist experience.”
“So you noticed.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, it’s clear. Anyway, butchers. Neat.”
“Apparently the grand duke would cross this bridge a lot and didn’t appreciate the, um, smells,” I continue. “So he put a stop to that.”
“I don’t think I blame him.”
The rest of our sightseeing plans quickly devolved into eating and drinking at the Italian (obviously) restaurant by our Airbnb. We ordered based on the words we could figure out and ended up with a feast complete with a five-euro jug of their finest house wine. I took a small glass and nursed it the whole evening.
But back in our room, we’re out of distractions. There’s nowhere else to go, and I feel stuck with him in this bed. It hasn’t been a great day. But a part of me, a huge part of me, wants to be able to curl into him at the end of the day. Or to hold him close to my body and pretend we didn’t just go through a ton of annoying shit.
He comes back from the bathroom and strips quickly to his briefs. He’s got the same smoldering glare that’s been on his face all day, but it