The Photographer (Ignazio Boschetto Fanfiction)

Chapter 42

Chapter 42

          As we landed in WashingtonD.C., I quietly clung to Ignazio’s hand as we left the plane and gathered our things. Ignazio called a cab and asked to be driven to a specific hotel. As we were being brought to the hotel, I looked up curiously at him.

          “Soon?” I asked.

          “Almost,” he replied, and I nodded and jiggled my feet nervously as we sped down the cold roads to the hotel. After Ignazio had claimed our apparently pre-made reservations for adjacent suites, we went up together and put our things down. After I had set down my bags beside the sofa in my suite, I went to the window and pulled back the dark blue curtains to peer out at the city. A light snow had just fallen, and everything was cold and icy and bare. Everyone was used to the snow, and no one was outside playing in it. The freezing weather was too routine and expected here. I touched the glass and shivered. I hated the cold, and I let the curtains fall again when I heard the door behind me open.

          Ignazio smiled sadly at me and closed it behind him, and then came forward and stood in the middle of the room. I watched him quietly for a moment, and then slowly moved away from the window to stand a few feet in front of him. We looked quietly at each other for a moment, and then I decided it was time to ask.

“Where are we?” I asked.

          “WashingtonD.C.”

          “I know that. I mean specifically.”

          “The home of the National Geographic Headquarters.”

          His gentle voice could not stop the blow the realization delivered me, that my muffled suspicion had been right.

          “I knew it,” I said softly, and he nodded, his eyes sad and lonely. “That’s why you didn’t want me to know where we were going. You thought I’d resist.”

          He nodded sadly. “The closer you were to getting on that plane, the harder it’d be for you not to get on the flight with me.”

          I fell quiet, watching him sadly.

“You’re sending me away?”

          “No! Oh, no, Tamzin!” he exclaimed, coming hurriedly to me and taking me by the arms. “I’m letting you go.”

          “But how can you do that? What about the contract?”

          “I talked to Michele, and he agreed to break it.”

          My breath was fast and unsteady, and I stared up at him in stunned silence.

          “I sent them your pictures when we were in Marsala,” he explained, “The day you couldn’t find the flash drives. I told them you were available to try working with them, and they snatched up the offer right away. They want you, Tamzin. You’re an amazing landscape photographer, and they want you. You’re going to work for them instead of us. They’ll give you an entry assignment, and they’ll see how you fare on that and decide where to put you next.”

          My heart leaped in excitement, but then in a wave of fearful sorrow I pulled away from him and shook my head.

          “You can’t do this. I can’t stay here!”

          “Yes, you can! Don’t you want to!?”

          I stared longingly into his face, reluctant to admit it.