Part 12 (2/2)

”What's wrong?” she asks.

”I... uh, Liv, I have to leave town the Thursday before Memorial Day. I just found out this morning. The United Nations a.s.sembly agreed to vote on our proposal, if we can get it to them by the end of the month. I have to go back to Tuscany, and then Paris. I'll be gone for about ten days.”

She blinks. ”Oh.”

s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t.

”Simon called this morning,” I say in a rush. ”I was going to tell you at the cafe. If the a.s.sembly votes to put the Altopascio site on their protected list, we'll be able to raise more money for the repairs, increase the size of the team, even get enough funding for the third phase of the project. There's a few dozen people who are counting on this, not to mention the whole town. I'm so sorry.”

Liv shakes her head. A petal falls from her hair onto the floor. She starts putting all the Wisconsin gifts back into the box.

”It's okay, Dean. I shouldn't have made all the plans without checking your schedule first.”

”No, it's not... I mean, it's... there's nothing I want more than to be alone with you.”

Curses blister my brain. I can't f.u.c.king stand the look on her face. The disappointment she can't hide.

”Liv...”

”Dean.” She puts her hand on my wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. ”Really, it's okay. I know how hard you've been working for this, especially after the earthquake. It's great that the a.s.sembly has agreed to vote on it.”

”It's just... we thought we'd missed the deadline, but they gave us an extension.”

”I know. It's okay.”

But it's not okay. It's not f.u.c.king okay that my wife planned an anniversary trip that we have to cancel because my work is taking me out of the country again. It's not okay that we haven't been alone together in weeks. It's not okay that having everything means we're losing sight of each other.

And it's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned disaster that I can't figure out how to fix it.

”Forget it.” I grab Liv's arms, pulling her toward me so she tumbles onto my lap in a rush of sweet, flower scents and warmth. ”I'll tell Simon I can't make it. We're going on our trip.”

”Dean-”

”It doesn't matter, Liv. They can do the work without me.”

”No, they can't. You've been working on the site for years now, and there's no way you can insult the WHC by not showing up. What if you need them in the future?”

”I'll figure it out.”

”Dean, love of my life.” Liv puts her hands on my cheeks and turns my face to look at her. Her brown eyes are warm with love and understanding. ”You're going to do this. You're going to give your proposal to the UN because it's what you've been working toward. Because there is no way you can risk losing the site completely. We'll just postpone our trip until we can figure out a time that works for both of us. Maybe even on our actual anniversary.”

My chest is tight. I hate the unease simmering in my blood, the disquiet that started the second I heard I had to leave again. I take a breath and reach up to pluck a flower from Liv's hair, crus.h.i.+ng the fragrant petals between my fingers.

Not only do I remember every last detail of our wedding day, our honeymoon is imprinted on my mind like a painting. Liv sitting on the balcony of our rented apartment, her body clad in a flowered sundress that flowed over her bare legs, her head bent over a Paris travel guide.

My wife... my wife... laughing at a comedian street performer, gazing at Vermeer's The Lacemaker, stopping to look at the old books in one of the stalls along the Seine. Her long hair falling across the side of her face, the movement of her arm as she reached up to push it back.

That was poetry. Right there. Poetry.

Determination fills me in a hard rush. No way am I letting my wife's plans be postponed.

”Come with me,” I tell her.

She blinks. ”What?”

”Come with me to Europe,” I say. ”Instead of reliving our first year, we'll relive our honeymoon in Paris. We'll go to the same restaurants, visit the museums and that little cafe where you couldn't get enough of their macaroons. I'll bore you to tears telling you all the architectural details of Notre Dame. We'll go to-”

”Dean.” Liv touches my hand to stop my barrage of words. ”I can't go with you. We can't do all that.”

”Why not?”

”I can't leave the cafe for more than a couple of days,” Liv says. ”We're too busy right now. And the week after Memorial Day, I'm swamped with meetings about the festival. Besides, you'll be so focused on work we wouldn't have time to do all those things together anyway.”

Frustration fills my throat. Liv presses a kiss against my lips and eases away from me.

”We'll figure it out, Dean, I promise,” she says. ”It'll take some adjusting, but we've been doing that for awhile now.”

I don't want to adjust. I want to grab things and force them to work the way I want them to. The way they should.

”I'll go make us a quick dinner.” Liv glances at the clock. ”Archer is dropping Nicholas off at seven, so I'll call and see if he wants to eat with us too.”

I watch her go, my gaze sliding over the straight line of her back, her legs and round hips, the thick, dark hair falling like a curtain over her shoulders.

My beauty. It feels like a weight is pressing on my chest. I can't figure out why I'm so knotted up, but then it hits me.

My wife gave me the chance to make her completely mine again. Just for a few days. And I have to say no.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

OLIVIA.

I'd launch Plan B, except I only had Plan A. I look at our wall calendar in the kitchen, which is filled with color-coded details about our daily activities and schedules. With Dean gone again and the festival scheduled for the second week in July, there's no way we can have a romantic weekend getaway anytime soon.

Maybe we could go somewhere after the festival. Except then we're getting into the end of July and August, and summer is always a busy time for the cafe, especially if we end up catering the Edison company picnic. But I might be able to get away for a few days.

Unless Dean suddenly discovers he has to go to Siberia to excavate a wooly mammoth.

Now, Liv, stop it.

I give myself a mental kick and get a sippy cup of milk for Nicholas, who is occupied with a toy toolkit on the sunroom floor. I open my laptop and pull up my Liv in Wonderland blog. I'm half-tempted to write a blog post about the trials and tribulations of a busy married couple trying to get away together, but that isn't something I want others to know about.

Instead I write about the multiple preschool and kindergarten options available for children today and t.i.tle the post ”Finger-painting en route to MIT.”

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