Page 69 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
I say to Melissa, “No. this time we’ll have something stronger than mimosas. And we’re returning to a miraculous change in circumstances.”
“Easy for you to say. You just landed a job as president and part owner of Fierro Motor Company,” she mock complains.
“Can I get something for you, Mr. Fierro?” the flight attendant asks.
“We’ll both have a Manhattan,” I say.
Melissa snorts. “Is that supposed to be a symbolic drink order? Because I’m not a big fan.”
“Yes, it is. You and I, we’re going to conquer New York City together.”
She loses her teasing glint, her smile turning warm and melty as she leans into me.
“You always know the exact right thing to say to me. And you mean it, don’t you?”
“You know I do. That’s our connection, Melissa. We have thatje ne sais quoi, that way of knowing one another and of bringing the best out in one another.”
“You may be right, Lucas. You’re right about so much.” She yawns and her words sound dreamy.
I’m content, at last, not concerned about whether she’ll find her way, catch up to me in our relationship. I see so many signs of her commitment, the ones she won’t admit to herself, like when she spoke up for me to my father today. Like how she encouraged my mother. And how she makes love to me with abandon. I’m content enough to turn my focus to business.
The flight attendant serves us each a Manhattan and Melissa accepts hers with a comical grimace.
“Before we have our momentous toast, drinking to our future, which I know is on the tip of your tongue,” she says, “I want to go on the record as protesting this drink. I want to invent a new version, in fact, one that I can drink proudly and meaningfully. The minute we return, let’s do it.”
“You mock me,” I say through my grin. She’s playful and I know this means she’s happy, untroubled. It makes my heart feel light, lifts everything, including that most sensitive and incorrigible body part of mine.
“My toast is simply this, to the woman I love, I look forward to our journey and sharing our worlds, coming together, happily at times, kicking and screaming at times, and always lovingly.” I raise my glass and clink it against hers. In her eyes, I can see she’s trying to maintain her mocking, teasing attitude but she’s having trouble. There’s a warmth smoothing over the automatic protective shell she wears, exposing her vulnerable loving self. Her eyes light with love as she sips her drink and watches me over the rim of her glass.
“Thank you,” she says, “for finding a way to stay in New York with me. At least part of the time.”
I drink a good measure and put my glass aside, then take her into my arms, pulling her to lean over the console between us. We stay that way in silence as the plane takes off, leaving the ground in Italy to fly nonstop to New York.
I know what I need to do when we get back to New York. I know what my new role in life is. Running Fierro Automotive, opening up a New York office, finding space for a sales floor somewhere in Manhattan. But I have no idea what Melissa’s plans are, what she will do, how we will manage a partial cross-Atlantic relationship.
Most of all, I don’t know if she’ll come with me, if she’ll change her career plans in banking and join me in the Fierro family business, manage our lives that will be hectic with travel back and forth to Italy, spending spells of time there, mostly planned and sometimes unplanned.
I look at her, the stunning beauty of her face showing the beauty of her soul, her pearly clear skin, clear conscience, intelligent eyes and practical soul protecting her passionate heart. She has energy and ambition and I want it all for us, I want her to find her life’s ambition and passion with me, with the Fierro family and business.
It would mean she would need to change her banking and venture capital ambitions, her career in finance to a career in an entirely different business, but I hope she will someday find it exciting enough to entice her. I hope she will adjust her New York City high society dreams to include and embrace Italy and its culture too.
I know I can convince her eventually. If my patience holds out. If her rigid focus softens.
She leans into me as she yawns, squeezing my hand. I’m very hopeful, but I am not one hundred percent certain. Not yet. But perhaps tomorrow, or in the days ahead, I will be certain of one thing: that my affair with Melissa will never end.
