The path was easy enough to find and the hike up the hill, though steep, was beautiful. It took almost three hours but Kurt finally reached the top and looked out over the valley and town.

It was truly breathtaking. It had rained during the night and with the late morning sun, the trees seemed to glisten. Kurt could see a vineyard on the other side of town and what appeared to be an olive grove not far from it. His camera at the ready, he snapped a few shots of the valley. There was a large boulder near the edge and he gingerly climbed on top of it to rest and take some more photos. He zoomed in on the steeple of the church before taking another shot of it. He rested his camera in his lap and stared out into the valley.

It happened so suddenly Kurt wasn’t prepared for it. The bells of the church struck eleven o’clock and he felt a tear slide down his cheek. He wiped the tear away with the back of his hand, begging himself not to cry here, but to wait until he was in the privacy of his hotel room. It didn’t work.

An image of them flashed in his mind and a sob escaped his throat. His body shook uncontrollably, as he finally allowed himself to release his grief. All the promises they made were nothing now. Kurt had believed everything he had said to him. It hurt. He hadn’t been enough for him. He needed... him. Or he wanted him. Kurt could barely remember the last time they had made love and he had no idea the last time they were actually happy. He thought they were. But he was obviously wrong.

He tugged on the necklace around his neck from under his shirt and stared at the ring looped through it. It was a wide gold band with a string diamonds the entire way around it with square cut emerald topping it off. It was not Kurt’s taste at all. But he had worn it with pride. Because he was going to be someone’s husband and they were in love. He removed the chain from his neck and unhook its clasp. The ring slid into his palm and he considered its weight.

Carefully rising to his feet, Kurt surveyed the valley below, tears still coming from his eyes. He put the chain in his jean pocket, his other hand squeezing the ring. With a deep breath, he wound his arm up and chucked the ring towards the valley below.

He stood there for a little while long, watching a flock of birds dart through the air. He picked up his bag and camera, hopped down from the boulder and headed back to town. He wiped his face with his sleeve, praying he didn’t look as bad as he was sure he did. However, Kurt felt better than he had in over a week. Maybe he could now start over with out that weight around his neck.

The journey down the hill went faster than the climb. Kurt made his way to the cafe in the piazza taking a narrow winding streets rather than the main ones he was more familiar with. He quickly rounded a corner and walked into a bunch of balloons.

Flustered, Kurt extracted himself from the large bundle of balloons. He stepped back and saw the the balloons were looped on a hook on a stucco wall surrounding a narrow house. A man came rushing from the gate towards him.

“Mi scusi, signore! Mi dispiace per i palloncini, non c'� altro posto per me per legarli.” He was appeared to be in his late thirties and was dressed in a simple black suit and tie.

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t speak Italian,” Kurt replied and started to walk away.

“Oh, American? Here visiting family, perhaps?” the man asked. Kurt stopped and turned back to him.

“No, just in town for a few days. I’m exploring.” He shrugged, hoping the man would lose interest in him.

The man clapped his hands. “You must see this house, it is one of the oldest in Montelunato and we are having a--open door today.”

Kurt looked over the man’s shoulder through the open gate. He was going to say no but then he saw the chipped turquoise pain on the front door.

“Can I take a few photos?” he asked, taking his camera out.

“Of course! I will give you a tour!” He ushered Kurt through the gate and into the overgrown garden.

The house was the same yellowed stucco as the wall surrounding it but the shudders were a deep red, contrasting with the door. It was three stories tall with a red tiled roof. He took a few pictures of the garden and the exterior of the house before the door commanded his attention. He took several photos of it, the ornate doorknob and hinges, and the tiny grate at eye level.

“Can we--” Kurt touched the doorknob and turned it. As the door opened, Kurt gasped at the beauty before him.