Lunedi

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All the time we've ever had is just borrowed. I always knew, but today, tonight, I realize more than ever.
Verona is beautiful.
I should enjoy it but it somehow doesn't feel right.
Something in the back of my head tells me that this happiness is a big lie. It's like I'm acting a role to fulfill that promise that I gave Audrey – to not think back or ahead.
I got rid of the car around four p.m. and just dropped our bag off at the apartment that we'll be staying in. It's close to the city center, in an old, but well renovated building, fourth floor. I didn't even give it a closer look, since Audrey was waiting on the ground floor. I wanted to spare her walking up all these flights of stairs. She was going to need that little bit of strength which she has, for what we were about to do next. She told me two weeks ago, that she had been trapped in a golden cage, photographers, media, Secret Service and the whole world watching her because of her father. No chance to have just a few days for herself. We're gonna change that today. We're both running from our demons, telling ourselves that this is the last chance we'll ever get, to live a life like everybody else has, who is not wanted because of fame or crime.
Four hours in a row, we strolled through the streets. Along Adige River, through the narrow medieval streets, the dark alleys, along the old brownstones and the many churches they have here. They've had so many of them that they even started to use them as restaurants, museums or whatever. She was really surprised when she found out the diner, we were having a coffee in had been a church, too.

Nobody recognized us. There's no-one following us. No agency, no press, it's just us.

She hasn't walked that much in…. I don't know how long. Must be eight months or more. Given that, she's holding up really well. I believed that after one or two hours up on her legs, she'd say she was tired. But instead, she kept tearing me even further into the alleyways, as if she wanted to explore each single one. She couldn't get enough of the city.
It's the smile on her face that keeps her going. I'm sure she lost track of time and didn't think about returning to our apartment even once. I softly guided her through the city, so that we wouldn't move too far away… didn't let her know that I was still worried her powers might leave her at one point and she won't be able to make the way back.
At least this proves that she got a lot stronger throughout the past two months. When I got her out of that Chinese prison transport, she was nothing but skin and bone, unable to speak and unable to walk more than a few steps.
She recovered.
I'm not quite sure what role I played in it, but at least I didn't fuck it up. There was nothing I could have done, except giving her time to heal, a bed to sleep in, the feeling of safety and shoulder to lean on, when she wanted to.

Her joyful mood even let me forget from time to time why I know the city so well. I've been here quite a few times in the past years. Right now, I don't want to recall the faces or the names of the people I've dealt with. If there had been another choice on how to make a living, I would have stayed far, far away from them all.
I know the good parts of the city – the shiny ones, where all the tourists go. The bad parts are not that far away. Sometimes, it's just one turn around a specific corner, where you can get every sort of drug that there is on the planet. They look unobtrusive, these places, but I've been here so often that I could paint a city map full of these spots: drug dealers, hidden back-alley stores where you can buy guns, a few nice ristorantes with a back room reserved for the Mafia.

For a few moments I really forgot them all. When we leant against the parapet of Ponte Pietra, let the sun warm us and watched the beauty all around us. Cypress Hills and Roman Castles to our right, the medieval city buildings to our left, separated by the picturesque river and its bridges, all hundreds of years old.

I held her in my arms and for a long time we just stood there, watching. Lovers have hung padlocks with their initials all over the place. There are hundreds of tourists everywhere. We really don't attract any attention here, standing at the middle of the bridge, in brightest daylight, acting just like any usual couple.
Come on, we are. We're not acting. Are we?

Every few minutes, I nearly freak out when I see some guy passing by who doesn't fit being a tourist. Damn it, stop thinking about that. Nobody knows we are here. Even if this or that guy was a drug dealer or attached to the mafia, they won't recognize my face. Nobody expects us to be here. If Marc told the Secret Service, CIA or FBI or whoever was in charge of the 'first daughter' situation, they'll suspect her to be locked up in a basement, not out here with me.

I promised her that I'd leave these thoughts aside, at least today, tomorrow and the day thereafter. These are the last few days we'll ever have together. Stop thinking, damn it. You promised.

She's much better at this.
The whole day it seems she hasn't thought back once. There's a big smile on her face, it doesn't even die when I tell her what we still can't do: Museums are off limits. Some public places are off limits. Riding on a bus is off limits.
Basically every place where they have security cameras.

There's still a lot you can do, if you're trying to avoid being caught on camera.

After endless hours of walking through these streets, even I am tired.

We've ended up in a back-alley, only two corners away from the famous Casa di Giulitta, where Shakespeare's Julia is said to have lived. The famous balcony is actually quite unobtrusive and small. A bitter disappointment – one that you'd even miss, if it wasn't for the crowds of tourists who paid to get a photo up there.
The place we're at now isn't one of the restaurants with a back room where you can do shady deals. At least not as far as I know.
In the past, I've always cherished the atmosphere, the few tables directly in the alley, next to the ivy clad walls, under a chain of lights.

We're not looking suspicious. The lonely guy who was here in the past years, alone, without company, drinking water to his dinner, the one I was back then surely looked more suspicious. What a waste and misplacement, for such a romantic restaurant.
I couldn't have cared less, back then. Nearly every restaurant in this town has this atmosphere. It's a city made for couples, for tourists, but certainly not for lonely men who've just completed a major arms deal a few blocks away.
That guy is not here today. Today, there's a different one.

The waiter doesn't recognize me, though I recognize him. Must be my hair that has grown longer and the beard.
Audrey hates it, I know, but the decision wasn't really up to me. It must remind her of that time in China, nine years ago. Being here in the city and doing that last part of our trip to Munich bears some risks to be found. We have to minimize them. In case a security camera catches a picture of us, it's much less likely that they identify me, if I wear a beard and sunglasses.
Audrey has worn a large sun hat and sunglasses all day – it's not enough to hide her completely, but maybe it'll help if a camera catches us after all.

That's the worst feeling of all: not knowing how close they are. It don't even know who 'they' are. Could be CIA, could be the Secret Service, could be the NSA or any other agency, who are on the mission to find out who extorts Mark Boudreau. Maybe there's even more than one agency involved, maybe they don't even know about each other and everyone has their own goals.

The last time I contacted Chloe was three days ago. We agreed on absolute radio silence, no matter what happens. I need to stay untraceable, especially here in Italy, as we're staying in the same place for days, not moving. Whenever you're not moving, you're an easy target.
I'm sure whatever agency is on the case, they know nothing. Audrey and I have been off the radar in the past two weeks, on the boat. Nobody could have seen or traced us, we were simply nonexistent to the world.
When we went ashore again, I only relied on my Italian mafia contacts. No traces. Nothing. We're staying in an apartment that I rented from them. We drove one of their cars. I made no single phone call. That must be enough to live these few days in silence.

Three days ago, Chloe told me that the U.S. agencies were still trying to figure out if Audrey is alive or not. The ones who believed my story – must be that group that caught me, two months ago – most likely have orders to shoot her at sight and get rid of every evidence of her existence. I guess that's the CIA. They have no interest in getting Audrey back alive. They're just out there to prevent a third world war and to choke off out the political affront that her existence still bears.
And then there's the Secret Service. It looked like they believed me, two months ago, when I told them that Audrey was still alive. They clearly want her back. It was their mistake to lose her – if another agency brought her back, that'd be even worse.
Another group, possibly some sort of FBI special command, have doubted Mark's story, as he told them he got extorted by someone claiming to have Audrey. They're trying to follow the money that he gave me and don't even believe that Audrey could still be alive.
I told Chloe to do her best to hide it. I hope she managed to. His money was transferred to a numbered account on the Caymans, from there changed into coin and transferred via many relay stations to one of Chloe's accounts. Then I bought the weapons and arranged the transport, the hideout in Kazakhstan, paid for Belchek's help. They don't believe Audrey's alive. Even if they find something, they'll probably think we just pulled off that heist to steal Mark's money.

We are safe here.
As safe as we can be.
All their leads will lead nowhere. They're preparing for the big showdown in three days, while we sit here in a nice romantic alleyway in Verona, ordering a bottle of red wine.

That's an expensive one, Audrey remarks, as she hears my choice of wine.

I don't care. I've got around four thousand Euros still in my pocket. That's it. Enough for three days. If they catch me, I don't want to be caught with money that has Petrucci's fingerprints on it. I'll get rid of every single bill, breaking the two-hundreds into smaller ones, mainly at places frequented by tourists.

Audrey obviously got used to my tight budget throughout the past weeks. We couldn't afford anything and even had to cut short on our choice of what to eat because my budget was simply gone.
I've got some money now. Better spend it now than never. Stop thinking.

First, she looked at me, her eyes asking why I suddenly didn't care about spending the precious few thousand Euros that I earned doing that last trip with the boat. Then she realizes that she'd violate her own rules: no future, no past.

At least you know now, how hard it is to adhere to that simple-sounding rule. I've violated it every ten seconds, in my thoughts.

The waiter comes back. Una bottiglia di Chardonnay Blanc de Blancs, per favore.

Si.

She smiles at me, even a laugh escapes her lips.

What is it?

I love it when you speak Italian.

Why?

It sounds sexy to hear you talk and I don't understand a single word you're saying. Didn't know until today that you speak Italian, too.

Spanish and Italian are a lot alike. It's not hard to get a few sentences straight. My Spanish is still very good, though I haven't used it in ages, it feels. The few sentences in Italian weren't that hard to pick up. Change every ending e for an i and you're almost there.
When people around here aren't talking too fast, I understand all they're saying. It helped a lot, when I was here. They all thought I was an unaware bystander. I must have been typically American in their eyes. English and nothing else – it is the language that rules the world. That's what they all believe around here. That someone from the U.S. wouldn't bother learning another language. Being underrated is a real advantage.

Audrey leans over the table and I do, too.

Say something, she teases me, smiling.

She looks so happy. I remember the days when we used to travel a lot. That's one of the memories which is not off limits. The days we spent in Seattle, in Chicago… even though it was winter back then, rainy, snowy, cold and full of fog, I had the best time of my life. It was so cozy to stroll through the cities with her, at night, after all our business meetings were done. One day, we went through Seattle, January, though it snowed. It was picturesque. We were almost the only ones, arm in arm. No matter how cold it was, her smile warmed up the whole city for me. We kept walking for hours, talking about a friend of hers, about Kim, about… almost about our future.

Sei la donna piu bella del mondo, I tell her. You are the most beautiful woman in the world.

She just smiles as an answer. I guess she didn't understand. Spanish or Italian just isn't her thing. She once told me that she took French and German classes back in college, but I never heard her use any other language.
Though she doesn't understand a word I'm saying, she enjoys it. It seems to have the same effect on all women. Teri loved it, too, when I talked to someone in German. Well… her Spanish was perfect, even better than mine.

Ti amo, I add.

Now that one she understood. It's an easy one.

I love you, too, she answers.

Is there a flicker of sadness in your eyes, Audrey? I guess so. You couldn't hide it. Right in that moment, when you said you loved me, you realized it, too, what a big lie we're living these days. It doesn't matter if or how much we love each other. In just a few days, it'll all be over.
You'll be going back to Mark and I'll…. I still haven't decided. There are a few options, but none of them sounds good.

Forget it.
Lean back, enjoy the wine. Don't get too drunk. One glass is enough. Enjoy the food. Enjoy the warm summer evening, the atmosphere around here…. Audrey. Our way home isn't that long, but I better be careful not to make any mistakes now. We're so close. Just don't fuck it up now.

For the first time in weeks, we have enough money to get something decent to eat. At a restaurant. I haven't even cared about what to eat, when we spent those weeks in the Kazakh convent. Not feeing hungry, not starving, had been enough. My mind seems to work differently when it's in disaster mode. That's what I call those times… unfortunately the disaster mode keeps comes back again and again. No matter how hard I tried to stay away from all the trouble – it always caught up with me after a few months of peace.

We keep sitting there for a whole while. As I ask for the check, in Italian, she teases me again. Come on, Audrey, I could ask for a check in twenty languages, I guess. That's easy.

She would never confess that she needs a little help walking. All these hours in the streets have made her tired. The two and a half glasses of wine, too.
Arm in arm, we walk back the few hundred yards, over the Piazza della Erbe, which is dark now, and much less crowded. The market stands are closed. A few tourists are still here, mostly the younger crowd, they're partying.

Our apartment isn't that far away. It's hard for her to climb all these stairs, to the fourth floor. At the last landing, she asks me to pause.
I just grab her and carry her upstairs, she's too tired to say no. I let her feet down to unlock the door. It swings open and there we stand. Suddenly it feels like a big step.

We've last shared an apartment as a couple…. twelve years ago, I guess.

Audrey knows exactly what I'm thinking. It's like she can read my mind.
She grabs the collar of my jacket and pulls me closer.

Are you gonna flag right before the goal?, she teases me. She wants me to carry her across the threshold.

No. I lift her up again and kick the door closed behind us. That's as close as we'll ever get.

I have no idea how the apartment actually looks like. Petrucci told me it was a big, beautiful one. As I threw the bag with our few things inside, I only got a glimpse of the hallway. Time to switch on a light and explore.

It's at least 1500 square feet big. There's a kitchen, a wide living room – even a piano at one of the walls – leading to a balcony with an impressive view all over the city center. Probably Audrey has seen much better in the past, but I haven't had a place like this in the past ten years.

Maybe it's the wine… she's seductively opening up the top few buttons of my shirt – and couldn't have cared less about the picturesque view.
I'm okay with it. That's not the wine. I don't need wine to be okay with this. There's only one person on this whole planet who I trust enough to let her open up the buttons of my shirt. Nobody should have ever seen the traces of my past. The inevitable questions that come when you stare at the scars that won't come off, no matter how hard you rub or try to point to ointment on them, to make them go away. I've tried it all. It doesn't work.
Kim saw them, once, when we were at that hospital in New York. She said nothing and just bit back the tears.
Renee jerked when she first saw them.
If there's one thing I don't need, it's their goddamn pity.

She has gently wiped the shirt off my shoulders. Her lips are at my neck. It's time to forget the past, all these other people, just kiss her back. Open the button that keeps that summer dress up on her shoulders. There we go.
We'll have a whole day tomorrow to explore the rest of the apartment. Here's the door to the bedroom.

Switch off the light.

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