Page 51 of Just for a Taste

I had always been told deep-breathing helped with discomfort, but it seemed to have the opposite effect right now. So many months ago, I had winced at the tightening of strings on a corset, and here I was, on the verge of tears from strings being cut. I was scared to look down, scared that once the last stitch was removed, I would see my skin unfurl in a heap on the ground.

There was a tug—the first of many stitches to be removed—followed by the uniquely sickening sensation of string being pulled through skin. I held my breath.

“Please stay still and breathe normally,” Doctor Ntumba scolded, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her tone. “The more you move, the greater likelihood I’ll actually cause pain.”

I let out a small mm-hmm and fought the urge to say what I was actually thinking: that Zeno, who was not a doctor, had at least waited for the lidocaine to kick in when he gave me stitches.

“You really were right,” I said beneath my breath, suppressing both a laugh and a wince as she wormed out the next few stitches. “These two weeks have been horrible. I didn’t think the pain and discomfort was ever going to end. It still hasn’t, all the way.”

“But you did well, Cora,” she replied with a smile in her voice. “You were a star patient.”

“Was I?” I scoffed. “I was crying every five minutes once you tapered me off hydrocodone.”

“As would anyone else in your circumstance.”

There was one final tug, and then she shifted away. I looked down to see not a pile of my skin, but a mostly healed line of reddened skin along my side. The sight of my body, free of wires and free of stitches, solidified the fact I had crossed a threshold.

“Do you need anything else from me?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the exam table. “Are there any more procedures or medications?”

“Not unless you develop an infection of some sort. No, I would say that while the pain will linger for a long time, you are quite healed.”

I shrugged my shirt on. The area where she had removed the stitches was still quite sensitive, yet feeling the fabric rub across my skin with little resistance was strangely relieving.

“Thank you for all of this, Doctor Ntumba,” I whispered.

She chuckled and continued to gather up her supplies. “Of course. It was a refreshing change of pace to have a patient other than Zeno. I had almost forgotten one’s blood work could look any different from his.” Then, after giving me another smile, she added, “Have a nice day, Cora. Enjoy yourself now that you properly can.”

I beamed from ear to ear and leaped off the exam table, murmuring more thanks before rushing out into the main area of the abbey. I entered the abbess’s suite, a room I had only really passed through as of late, and paused to marvel at its majesty for the first time in months. It was still early morning, a time Zeno would still be fast asleep, when I would normally sleep beside him. Perhaps I should have simply gone back to bed and gotten up as normal, but I couldn’t. Every part of me felt as bright as the light pouring through the bay window, and I was all too eager to catch the tail end of dawn. For once, I could even draw it in pastels.

I filled a satchel with my old art supplies, a small book, and a few snacks. Then, as I walked out the door, it hit me: I could go anywhere. I was unimpeded by wounds or danger or anything, so why limit myself to painting the sunrise from within the abbey walls? I scoured my mind, considering countless possibilities, then decided on a small area I had driven past several times before.

The spot was little more than a small grove on the cliffside, with barely enough room to set out all of my supplies, but the view it overlooked was immaculate. At this time of day and year, Poggioreale would be an undeniably beautiful contradiction to a ghost town. Mature wildflowers and ivy would frame the lifeless stone architecture. Orange hues from the heavens contrasting with cool blue grass undulating amongst the ruins. Perhaps I could focus on making a realistic landscape, or I could hint at village ghosts in an impressionistic work.

With these ideas and more bustling around in my head, I headed down to the parking area to seek Signora Rafia.

The sun shined directly in my eyes, but I could squint through it somewhat. In the shaded alcove tucked between the abbey and the main road, I saw a woman preoccupied by something as she stood between two cars. Perfect timing, I thought, holding up a hand. Who knew this would be such a short goose chase?

I broke into a light jog, taking full advantage of the sloped terrain. “Signora Rafia, I—”

After ducking into the shade, I realized the person was not Signora Rafia after all, but someone even more elusive. I hadn’t seen Signora Carbone since that night in the garden, at least not up close.

She looked worse than before, even more exhausted than I could have imagined—and, suspiciously, crouched beside the cars. She straightened slowly, her expression flat.

“Oh, hello,” I said, slightly out of breath. I tucked my satchel behind my back, as though I were the one with something to hide. The fabric scratched as I tightened my hands and tried not to stare at hers.

“Hello, Signorina Bowling,” came the low reply. “You are up earlier than expected.”

“Uh, yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Do you know where Signora Rafia is? I was—”

“Why?” The question was as immediate as it was harsh. I blinked once, twice, thrice, and stammered an incoherent reply for a painful amount of time before Signora Carbone sighed and shook her head. “The reason doesn’t matter. Shouldn't you be eating breakfast soon? Lucia has it ready.”

As if on cue, my stomach gurgled, and I considered acquiescing until an enormous cloud floated overhead. I tightened my lips.

“It’s fine. I’ll eat when I get back. I really should be going soon. I don’t want to miss painting the sunrise.”

She shook her head. “Duca de’ Medici would be quite upset to learn his beniamina is skipping meals. Especially while she is unwell.”

I folded my arms tightly, and my tone finally broke into overt impatience. “I'm not that unwell anymore, and he would understand. Now, please tell me where Signora Rafia is.”

Signora Carbone’s nostrils flared. “She is the only remaining driver who works here, and she is attending to her duties. I am simply obeying orders when I tell you to return to the abbey and resume your schedule.”

It wasn’t as though I could drive myself. Beyond not knowing how to work this electric car, and beyond not having a driver's license in this country, I had the sinking suspicion the remaining car keys were in her pocket, and I would have to pry them from her if I wanted them.

“What orders?” I snapped. “And what duties? Zeno is asleep, and you’re here fiddling around with the cars!” What could she possibly be up to?

Silence, dead silence. Frustration on her face—but something beneath that. Her pupils were dilated, her lips quivering ever so slightly.

Fear. That was fear beneath that frustration.

My arms fell slack. “I-I’m sorry. I understand. You’re just doing your job. I’ll go now.”

She let me leave without another word. Head held low, I walked back into the dining hall. Rather than bothering to set it down, I let the satchel slide out of my hands into a heap on the floor. Several of my pastels toppled out, but I didn’t chase after them.

Breakfast was my favorite, clearly meant to be a celebratory meal. Two treccine —fried dough topped with sugar, so fluffy and delicious it made donuts jealous, and ice-cold, freshly squeezed orange juice and a hot cappuccino.

Even with the massive feast before me, the room looked emptier than ever, and I felt sicker than I had been with all those tubes and wires. Normally, my mouth would’ve been watering, but it felt as dry as when I had first woken up two weeks ago. I prodded at the food with the fork for a painfully long time.

I didn’t notice them at first, watching me from afar—Lucia’s eyes, which had often flickered to the ground in my presence for the past two weeks, were now staring at me intently beneath a deeply furrowed brow.

“Jesus, Lucia!” I cried, startling.

“Sorry, signorina!” she whispered as she came nearer. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but what are you still doing here? You usually run off before I even get the chance to say good morning.”

Lucia nodded slowly and looked around. “Is Duca de’ Medici here?”

I glanced at my watch. “No, he’s probably still asleep.” I realized then that the last time I had left bed before Zeno awoke was in Puglia. Would he panic when he woke up without me beside him? Would he go mad?

“Good,” she said quickly. “I have some car keys. We need to go.”

“Uh—why?”

“This is your only chance to leave! All the footpaths will be blocked soon, and Signora Carbone is already shutting off the cars. Duca de’ Medici is going to make it so you can’t leave!”

The only way I would have been more taken aback was if Lucia had told me she’d be serving chicken-fried unicorn for lunch.

“Zeno is what?”

Her voice rose to a desperate pitch. “He says you’re not well, and that someone could get you sick. You need to leave before he wakes up!”

My fingers felt numb. The world felt strangely cold.

“But I don’t want to leave, Lucia. This abbey is my home. I was here for months without leaving. I’ll be fine!”

Lucia scoffed and threw down her arms. “I know you love him, but please don’t be blinded! There’s a difference between not wanting to leave and not being able to.”

She couldn’t be right. This was everything I wanted. He was everything I wanted. I didn’t even need to finish my thesis now, did I? We would all be happy here again. Everything would be normal again.

“I—I need to think.” My voice was soft, shaking furiously, along with the rest of my body. “I can’t talk about this right now.”

“You don’t have time to—” Lucia froze. She stared behind me, jaw agape, trembling as much as I was. A shadow rose from behind me. “Oh,” she whimpered. “Duca de’ Medici. What a pleasant surprise.”

I felt the warmth of him lingering long before I saw him or heard his voice.

“Yes,” he said in voice devoid of emotion. “A surprise indeed.”

She forced a toothy smile that looked like it pained her. “I’ll go make you a plate as well.”

“It’s fine!” I said quickly. “We can share!”

“No, please do, Lucia,” Zeno replied, taking a seat beside me. “I don’t want to eat any of Cora’s. She isn’t well yet.”

Lucia bowed so deeply and shakily, I thought she would fall over. Then, with that same terrified grin, she replied, “Yes, sir!”

She skittered away, leaving me alone with the person I loved most.

“Now then, Cora,” Zeno purred, clasping my hand. “What shall we do today?”

“I want to go back to sleep for now,” I whispered, staring down at my food. “I’m so exhausted. Maybe after that we can just relax?”

Zeno cupped my face in his hand and tilted my head up. The rage in his eyes melted away immediately. He looked at me with the sweetest of smiles, with utter love and adoration. With eyes that worshiped me.

“Of course, mia passerotta . The world is ours. Not another soul matters.”