"You have to hold still!" I was giggling so hard that my stomach hurt, but I didn't care. His goofy smile morphed as he stuck his tongue out at me, crossing his delightfully warm eyes to make me laugh even more. My easel propped up an incomplete portrait of him, the charcoal not quite blended to my liking yet, his nose and mouth unfinished due to his restlessness.
"Okay, okay," he gave in, his eyes playfully glinting. His tongue disappeared, his coral lips softened, and his eyes relaxed and rested on me. I tried to regain my composure and focus, but I couldn't help the warm blush that prickled my cheeks. I loved to be the one his eyes rested on.
I turned back to the portrait, starting to outline the shape of his lips. Golden, early afternoon sunlight was flooding into the room, dancing off Michael's thick dark hair and adding even warmer tones to his olive skin. I could hear music starting to play, an aria, in the kitchen downstairs; in the room across the hall, my brother Stefano was shouting. I stared at my recreation of Michael's eyes as I tried to make out Stefano's words.
"Chi fa da sé, fa per tre!" he was exclaiming. "Stupido! Stupido!" A series of heavy thunks from the same room made me jump. In the distance, the aria decrescendoed into a somber melody.
Realizing I had become stiff, I blinked to compose myself, squeezing the dusty charcoal between my fingers. I found Michael's eyes—the real ones—and he was still watching me, but with a more pained expression, like he wasn't sure what to say. I shook away the stiffness and swallowed—Stefano was now cursing furiously in Italian across the hall but with less volume.
I returned to my picture, shading in the image of Michael's jawline, running my pinky across the dark stroke. Even with pain in his face, Michael had such a lovely one; it was the kind of lovely face that artists before me searched endlessly for, the kind of beauty that consumed you if you let it. Art existed to worship beauty like his; and there he was, sitting by my window, still watching me.
He was waiting for me to say something, but I simply listened to the aria, the steady tides of the melody. I carefully sketched the details of his dark hair, thick and tucked behind his ears. His oversized, ivory-colored linen shirt was a hand-me-down from his older brother, though I didn't know which one. He was slouched on the stool, relaxed, his hands folded in his lap. The sunlight glittered, particles of dust dancing through the air.
By the time the sunlight faded from my window, I knew I had finished the portrait. I glanced at him with a tiny smile, and his gaze on me fell with his stillness. He stood, stretched, reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. I added a few finishing touches to the portrait as he lit his cigarette with a match, blowing pearly smoke from his lips out the open window. He leaned on the frame, looking out at the garden, where our families were mingling and drinking coffee.
I stood up, brushing my hair out of my face with my wrist to avoid my dusty, blackened fingers. I quickly signed the bottom right corner of the portrait with my messy signature before adjusting the easel higher. I positioned it towards him, stepping back and exhaling a satisfied breath.
"Ecco," I said nervously, presenting the portrait, biting my lip. I didn't know if it was what he hoped it would be—it was a goodbye gift, after all.
I felt his warm fingers graze my waist and I held in a gasp. His shoulder brushed against mine and he studied the portrait, the smell of cigarette smoke following him closely. I bit the tip of my tongue as I watched his reaction, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, his eyes wandering across the image.
At last, he turned to me, his cheeks suddenly dusted with pink, eyes wild. His fingers were firm on my waist as he pressed his soft lips to mine, warmth flooding through my face. Goosebumps ran across my skin despite the thick June heat. When he pulled away I had to remember to breathe, my eyes readjusting to the light.
"You have a gift, Luisa," he told me as I fought the mystical effects of his dizzying kiss.
"I'm going to miss you," I sighed. He took a long drag from his cigarette and with the other hand, tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.
"I'll be right here when you come back," he promised. He offered me a sweet half-smile, reaching into the pocket of his pants. He pulled out a white hanker-chief and stepped closer to me, brushing more hair out of my eyes.
"You have charcoal on your face," he told me, chuckling, wiping the cloth across my cheeks and fingers. I was too distracted by the closeness of his body to reply. Downstairs, another aria began to play. I figured it was my brother Raffael's doing—he often listened to opera while he cooked.
"Don't be sad, Lu," he sighed, taking his warm hand in mine. "You'll like it there, at the Accademia. Rome is a great city, and it's only art school. How bad can it be?"'
"I'm being sent away," I reminded him, sighing and rolling my eyes. "I'm a 'problem.'"
"You aren't safe here," he said soberly, his tone cryptic and secretive. I didn't know what he meant, given that "You aren't safe here" wasn't Stefano's reasoning for shipping me away. Apparently, I needed to 'learn my place.'
"I don't want to go." My voice broke and I felt idiotic. I didn't like to cry in front of Michael, no matter what it was about.
"I'll be right here when you come back," he repeated, "and I'll look at that portrait every day and think of you until I can see you again."
His eyes glinted softly, his warm hand touching my bare shoulder. I hated knowing that I had to leave the very next morning, to somehow fly thousands of miles away from this boy that loved me.
"So you like it?" I asked with a timid smile, making him grin wildly.
"I love it, Lu, it's uncanny. I'll frame it," he beamed, stepping away to throw his cigarette out the window. He came closer to me, eyes glinting again, the old floorboards of my room creaking underneath him. He opened his hands, embracing me, pressing a kiss to my neck. I couldn't contain my sigh of pleasure and rested my fingers in his thick hair.
"I love you," I wanted to say. It was on the tip of my tongue.
"You'll be back before you know it," he said quietly, his hot breath on my neck. "This is only goodbye for now."