He smirked at me, but didn’t reply.
The bedroom window had old-fashioned slatted shutters instead of curtains. Sebastian leaned over to open the window, and the sounds of revelry drifted up on the night air.
“Listen to that,” he said, dreamily. “Sounds like being in Italy.”
I stood and listened for a moment, a smile on my face. “Yes, it sounds… happy.”
He turned and looked at me. “Are you happy, Caro?”
I nodded slowly. “Getting there.”
“Good,” he said, quietly.
I collected my toiletry bag and headed for the shower. As I glanced over my shoulder, he was still staring out of the window.
When I returned, he was leaning out as far as he could, soaking up the mild, night air. He looked relaxed and had a serene expression on his face. I didn’t often see him like that: it reminded me of how he’d been when I’d known him in San Diego.
“Back in a minute, baby,” he said, smiling at me.
While he was gone, I pulled on a baggy T-shirt that I used for sleeping in, and pulled out my laptop to catch up with emails.
My editor was fuming, still unable to expedite my travel documents. With a frisson of guilt, I realized that I hadn’t even told him I was on the move. I tapped out a hasty email of explanation, and offered him a light travel article as a bonus.
Jenna and Alice had sent long and chatty emails about a new gallery they’d been to see in Manhattan, with a particular mention of how the cheap wine had been undrinkable. I wrote to tell them I was traveling through Italy with an old friend, and that I’d finally seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa for myself. It made me feel comfortable to be connected and to have news from home.
True to his word, Sebastian returned quickly from the shower. He seemed relieved when he walked back through the door. Perhaps he thought I’d run away while he was gone.
“You doing your writing?” he said, nodding at the laptop.
“No, just catching up with my girlfriends.”
“Did you tell them about me?”
“I told them I was traveling through Italy with an old friend.”
He looked disappointed, but didn’t question me further.
“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” he said. “Look at more old buildings?”
I was amused by his tone: obviously he was trying to please me, but the look on his face screamed no more old buildings or I’ll want to stab my eyeballs with a fork!
“Whatever. This is all a bonus anyway. Where would you like to go?”
“There’re a couple of surf spots I’d like to check out, if you don’t mind,” he said, looking hopeful.
“I don’t mind, Sebastian. I could use some beach time: sleeping in the sun sounds perfect about now.”
“Okay, cool!” he said, clearly relieved. “The surf isn’t great in the Med, but there are a few breaks that look like they might be rideable.”
He peeled off his T-shirt while he was talking, and I couldn’t help my eyes drifting over his chest. Damn, he was in good shape.
I dropped my eyes back to my laptop before he caught me staring.
I heard, rather than saw, the rustle of fabric as he tugged off his jeans. I couldn’t help glancing up, and noticed that he’d kept his briefs on. That was thoughtful. I knew I wanted him in my bed again, but not yet. This time last night, he’d been yelling at me, calling me an untrustworthy liar. Memories like that took some swallowing.
He jumped into his bed and lay back with his arms behind his head, smiling across at me.
“Are you going to tuck me in?”
I laughed. “I think you’re old enough and ugly enough to do that yourself.”
“Ugly?”
“Hideous. I can hardly bear to look at you.”
“You could close your eyes.”
“I could, Sebastian, but I might get the urge to peek.
He thought about it for a moment. “Well, can I get a goodnight kiss?”
“Sure. I’ll ask Signora Battelli if she’s available.”
He pulled a face. “I’ve never kissed a woman with a mustache.”