Chapter 100: Somewhere Nobody Knows Him

Florence offended Dominic within the first hour.

There were too many people.

That was his initial complaint.

Victoria ignored it.

They had barely checked into the hotel when Dominic looked from the balcony toward the maze of old roofs and streets below.

"I thought this was supposed to be relaxing."

"The countryside is relaxing."

"And this?"

"This is culture."

"Culture has tourists."

"Apparently."

Dominic looked at her.

"You’re terrible at selling this."

"You’re already here."

That, unfortunately, was true.

Their first afternoon was deliberately light.

No museum.

No formal tour.

Just walking.

Florence felt different from the cities Dominic knew best.

Older.

Denser.

Buildings seemed almost pressed against one another along narrow streets before the space suddenly opened into squares dominated by stone, statues, church facades, and enough architectural detail to make him stop looking at his phone.

Florence’s historic center is famously dense with Renaissance art and architecture, with landmarks, museums, old workshops, and the Arno threading through the city. That makes it an especially believable place for Dominic’s dormant interest in painting to reawaken.

He wore sunglasses anyway.

And a cap.

Victoria wore sunglasses too.

Dominic looked over.

"You don’t have hair loss."

"I’m protecting my eyes."

"Indoors too?"

"We’re outside."

"Yesterday?"

"Different issue."

He gave up.

Something strange happened as they walked.

Nobody cared.

People brushed past them.

A tourist nearly stepped on Dominic’s shoe without apology.

A couple argued over directions beside him.

Someone asked Victoria to move because she was blocking a photograph.

Dominic stared after the man.

"Did he just tell you to move?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who you are?"

Victoria looked amused.

"Apparently he doesn’t."

Dominic waited for the irritation.

Instead, he laughed.

It felt strangely good.

At home, recognition had become a threat.

Every glance potentially meant a photograph.

Every camera potentially meant a headline.

Here, he was just another overdressed tourist wearing sunglasses.

He hadn’t realized how exhausting being known had become until he spent several hours feeling completely unimportant.

The following morning, Victoria took him to the Uffizi.

Dominic objected to the early reservation.

Then stopped objecting once they were inside.

Not immediately.

He tried.

He made two sarcastic comments about crowds.

He complained that his coffee was too small.

Asked how much longer they were staying.

Then he reached a room where paintings occupied entire walls.

And became quiet.

Victoria noticed.

She didn’t say anything.

That was perhaps the smartest thing she’d done all week.

Dominic had painted when he was younger.

Nothing extraordinary.

Landscapes.

Portrait studies.

Hands.

Buildings.

He’d spent hours trying to understand how light changed skin tones or why a shadow wasn’t actually black just because the object blocking the light was.

Then business school arrived.

Sebastian Group.

The arranged future everyone assumed he would have.

Art became childish.

Something he would return to eventually.

Eventually never came.

Until now.

Dominic moved closer to one painting.

Then another.

He found himself studying brushwork.

Color.

Composition.

How fabric looked soft despite being nothing more than pigment sitting on a flat surface.

Victoria eventually came beside him.

"You remember?"

He didn’t pretend to understand.

"A little."

"You were good."

"I was adequate."

"You won competitions."

"There it is."

"What?"

"Winning."

Victoria frowned.

Dominic looked toward the painting.

"You always remember whether I won."

"Shouldn’t I?"

"I don’t know."

He thought about it.

"Maybe that’s the problem."

Victoria went quiet.

Dominic continued before he could lose the thought.

"I liked painting before I started wondering whether I was good at it."

That landed somewhere uncomfortable between them.

Victoria didn’t defend herself.

"I probably helped with that."

Dominic glanced over.

That was more admission than he’d expected.

"You did."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not softening it."

He smiled faintly.

"Therapy."

"Expensive habit."

"You’re paying."

"Unfortunately."

They spent the afternoon crossing the Arno and wandering farther from the crowds.

Dominic eventually removed his sunglasses.

Then, much later, the cap.

Victoria noticed that too.

Again, she said nothing.

At lunch, they sat outside.

No one photographed him.

At least, nobody appeared to.

Dominic ordered pasta.

Victoria ordered something she insisted looked healthier.

Then ate part of his.

"Order your own."

"I wanted to taste it."

"That’s theft."

"I’m your mother."

"Still theft."

She took another bite.

Dominic moved the plate farther away.

At times, the trip felt almost embarrassingly normal.

That might have been the point.

On their third day, Dominic bought a sketchbook.

Victoria didn’t suggest it.

That mattered.

They passed a small art-supply shop when Dominic slowed.

He walked past.

Then stopped.

Victoria continued for several steps before realizing he was no longer beside her.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She followed his gaze.

Then, wisely:

"I’m going for coffee."

He looked at her.

"You’re leaving me?"

"For fifteen minutes."

"Why?"

"Because if I come inside, you’ll think I’m making you buy something."

That was unfortunately accurate.

Dominic narrowed his eyes.

"I hate when therapy makes you self-aware."

"So do I."

She left.

Dominic entered alone.

He bought a sketchbook.

Pencils.

Nothing more.

That evening, he sat near the hotel window and drew the rooftops.

The first attempt was awful.

He tore it out.

Then stopped.

The old Dominic would’ve thrown it away.

Instead, he looked at it.

Folded the page once.

Put it back inside.

Then tried again.

The second was still bad.

The third was better.

By the time Victoria returned from dinner reservations, she found him still drawing.

She paused in the doorway.

Dominic looked up.

"If you say anything sentimental, I’m closing this."

Victoria raised both hands.

"I was going to ask whether you’re hungry."

"Good."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Then get dressed."

He looked down.

"I am dressed."

"Better dressed."

Dominic laughed.

On their final night in Florence, they crossed a bridge over the Arno after dinner.

The city lights reflected across the water.

Dominic leaned against the stone railing.

Victoria joined him.

"Better than home?" she asked.

"No."

She looked surprised.

He continued.

"Different."

"That’s probably healthier."

"Don’t ruin it."

She smiled.

For several minutes, they watched the river.

Then Dominic asked, "What happens tomorrow?"

"Car picks us up."

"Then?"

"Tuscany."

"We’re already in Tuscany."

Victoria looked offended.

"I know that now."

He laughed.

"The countryside," she corrected.

"Villa?"

"Yes."

"Painting supplies?"

"Unfortunately."

Dominic looked toward her.

"You already bought them."

"I told you."

"Can they be returned?"

"No."

"Convenient."

"Very."

For once, Dominic didn’t object.

Florence had reminded him that he once enjoyed making things before everything in his life became a competition.

The countryside would give him something harder.

Time to find out whether he still did.