He finished his breakfast, threw some Euros on the table and stood up to go. He held his hand out to me and, a little awkwardly, I took it.
His hand was warm and dry, the skin across the top, soft, while the palms were slightly rough, as if he’d done some manual labor recently. I hadn’t noticed that before. I wondered why I did now.
When we got to the bike, he fiddled with the zipper on his jacket.
“I really want to kiss you,” he said, gazing at me, a mixture of anxiety and need etched on his face.
I hesitated, and it was just long enough to see his expression change to hurt.
“Okay,” I said, quietly.
He rested his hands lightly on my waist and I raised my face to his. He touched his lips to mine and I felt the familiar tug of desire. I pulled back quickly.
“Caro…”
“Just hold me, Sebastian. Just hold me.”
I laid both my hands on his chest and leaned my cheek against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry,” and I felt him kiss my hair several times.
Eventually, he let me go and I gave him a brief smile.
“We’ll get there,” I said, quietly.
Whether I was reassuring Sebastian or myself, I didn’t know.
Chapter 7
If I hadn’t known that Pisa was a university town before, I knew it as soon as we drove along the main thoroughfare. The streets were packed with twenty-somethings, all casual-chic in that way foreign students do so well. By comparison, I felt scruffy, dusty and well-traveled. Being dog-tired didn’t help either. I was looking forward to finding accommodation where I could have a long, hot shower and sleep in a quiet, comfortable bed – alone.
It was clear that we’d arrived during some sort of festival, because music blared from every café and ristorante, competing with the street entertainers and musicians who seemed to be performing on every street corner.
Sebastian carefully steered his bike into the corner of an overwhelmed municipal parking lot, surrounded by battered Fiats and old Renaults. I was a little nervous about leaving my laptop, but at least I had all my notes stored on a flash drive in my wallet, if worst came to worst.
“Are you taking your camera?” Sebastian asked me.
“Might as well. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to sell a travelogue of biking through Italy.”
Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “It’s got to beat reporting from shitty military camps in fucked up countries.”
I shrugged, not feeling in the mood to explain my obsession. Sebastian caught the hint and wisely let the subject drop.
The famous leaning tower was only one of a number of architectural marvels. The central plaza, the Piazza del Duomo, was also home to the beautiful Romanesque cathedral and the 900 year old Battistero or Baptistry.
It was a strange feeling, wandering among such antiquity while surrounded by irreverent youth, one of whom kept trying to hold my hand. I was glad that I had my camera as a chaperone. I didn’t feel ready for the level of intimacy Sebastian clearly felt was needed. It was hard to explain to myself: I’d said I’d try, but I felt on edge being near him, as if I was waiting for him to explode again. Our earlier, relaxed mood was going to take some effort to achieve. Instead, I felt tense and ill at ease.