Hours later, Antonio and I found ourselves curled up in front of my living room fireplace. We were a jumbled heap on the couch, bodies so close that we were practically morphed together. My head laid on his broad shoulder, and he used one hand to play with my curls. His other hand was used to stuff his face with the pity cookies that Jo had baked for him. By now, my aunt had been caught up on everything and left the house to give us some privacy. Although, now that I thought about it, she'd probably just gone in fear that he'd have a breakdown. Jo had a big heart, but she was never really good with emotions.

"Wonder what she puts in these," Antonio offhandedly revelled, munching on his seventh chocolate chip cookie.

I'd been so mesmerized by the crackling of the fireplace and the head massage he was giving me, to even register that he had spoken.

"Butter," I began after a moment, "eggs, flour, baking soda, baking powder, sugar—both brown and white—chocolate chips, mmfh!"

I sent him a heated glare, which I was sure didn't look intimidating with my chipmunk-sized cheeks, thanks to the cookie that Antonio had stuffed into my mouth.

On another day he would've laughed at me. Or perhaps started up an argument. I didn't ask for the recipe list, I could picture him playfully scowling. Though, he was quiet today. I couldn't blame him. There was clearly a lot on his mind. He looked almost conflicted.

"What are you thinking?" I couldn't help but ask.

He looked almost hesitant to answer. "Nothing. Just that, my mother asked me to move in with her."

I was flabbergasted by his nonchalance and sat up straight. "What? That's not nothing!"

He mustered a weak chuckle.

"What's the problem? This is great, isn't it?" I unsurely asked, confused by his lack of enthusiasm.

"She lives in Italy."

Oh.

Oh.

My heart involuntarily hammered. "W-Well, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Moving in with her?"

I held my breath in anticipation of his response, though all he did was frown at me.

"Well I can't, can I?"

"Of course you can," I insisted, though it didn't sound as encouraging as I wanted it to be.

"The woman is practically a stranger to me," Antonio got up to pace. My eyes followed his tall figure back and forth. "I don't even know her first name."

"But she's not just a stranger. She's your mom!" I couldn't help but exclaim. "And, her name is Sofia."

He cast me a dry look that caused me to smile, even through the intensity of the conversation.

"Even though she is my mother, I can't possibly forgive her so quickly. She left me with him, knowing he had been abusive to her—knowing he could be abusive to me too. She took that chance, and she left me for money."

He was right, without a doubt. For the millionth time, anger flared within me when I thought about the pain Antonio had endured for years. It wasn't fair.

And yet, a tiny part of me couldn't help but sympathize with Sofia. Yes, she'd done a horrible thing, but was it right for me to judge her for a decision she'd made almost twenty years ago? Was it right for me to criticize her, knowing that she was being abused and threatened? I had never been in her shoes before—I had no idea what she'd been through, or how clouded her judgement was.

She came back, didn't she? She apologized, even offered for Antonio to live with her. And so, was it possible for Antonio to forgive Sofia? Was it possible for their bond to be mended? Perhaps not now, perhaps not for a while, but maybe one day.

Regardless of what I thought, the decision lied wholeheartedly in Antonio. And so I didn't dare say a word of this, not until I realized that he had stopped pacing in front of the fireplace, to come to a stop in front of me.

"Now what are you thinking?" he asked knowingly.

"Nothing," I lied at first.

"Nothing my ass," Antonio argued. "You're biting your lip. You do that when you're lying."

I froze and slowly released my lower lip from the sharp edges of my teeth. A sheepish smile graced my lips, to which Antonio only smirked before shaking his head.

"Tell me the truth, Flower," he softly pleaded. "You're the only one who does."

My hazel eyes softened. "Okay," I said. And so I told him every one of my thoughts, raw and honest, because that's how it always was between the two of us. Minutes later after I finished speaking, he groaned and flopped down next to me, tilting his head backwards.

"Back in the hospital when Sofia had asked me if I would move in with her, I told her no. I was so sure of my decision, that I didn't even have to think about it. But now..." he trailed off with a sigh. "Curse you and your intelligence, Flower."

I rolled my eyes with a lazy giggle. "Well, you can't exactly live alone. You won't be eighteen for another year, and only then will you inherit your father's money, right?"

He looked almost annoyed by my logic. As if there had to be some way around this, a way around leaving. "I can't just up and leave, Flower."

"Why not?"

He froze and squinted at me. "What do you mean, why not? School, friends, my belongings–"

"All things you can have in Italy–"

"–you." He gave me an intense look. "None of it's worth it if you're not there, Flower."

"I'm sure there are a lot of flowers in Italy," I gently smiled. He cast me a sour look at my poor joke. "I know it's a tough decision. But you have to think about it."

"Think about what?" Antonio snapped. "There's nothing to think about. Everyone I've ever cared about is right here. It's like you want me to leave."

It wasn't true. I wanted him to stay more than anything, but it didn't matter what I wanted. This wasn't about me. And so I didn't deny Antonio's words, no matter how wrong they were.

At my silence, he scoffed and stood up, heading for the front door.

"Stop," I shook my head and followed after him. "I don't want you to move to Italy," I confessed.

He stopped in front of the door, and I almost thought he was going to walk away, but then he turned around. I flinched at the obvious pain on his face.

"Then why are you fighting this?" He asked, searching my face.

"Just because I want you to stay, doesn't mean you should. Sometimes," my voice involuntarily cracked, "you love someone so much, that you let them go."

Antonio took three long strides towards me. I hadn't even realized that I was crying until his rough thumbs wiped away my tears.

"There has to be some other way," he closed his eyes and whispered, while his hands were still around my face.

"You're only gonna get this opportunity once," I softly spoke. "Haven't you always wondered what your mother is like? Maybe now you can finally find out."

This could be good for him.

"So, what now?" Antonio asked desperately. "Is this it?"

I didn't have to answer, because we both knew the answer. I closed my eyes. "Kiss me."

He obliged, swooping down and planted his rough lips onto mine. My arms were on his chest and his were around my face. However much my knees wobbled and my lips tingled and my heart fluttered, I could still sense it. The kiss was different. Rough and hasty, as though we knew we were running out of time.

• • •