I sighed. “I just thought I’d try and talk to you by yourself, but you kept avoiding me. So, I assumed you didn’t want anything to do with me. I was… hurt, but I guess I accepted it. Can we talk about something else? This is making me feel blue.”
“Sure, baby,” he said, smiling softly. “How about we plan the rest of the trip?”
I smiled back. “Yes, please.”
He reached over to his jacket, which was hanging from the back of his chair, and pulled out the map.
“Well, it’s up to you, Caro. We could keep going down the coast road to Salerno, look up your dad’s old village. Or take it slower, go see some of Tuscany. Siena is supposed to be amazing and there’s this old hilltop town, Montepulciano that looks really cool. Or go right down to the bottom – check out Sicily.”
“What do you want to do, Sebastian? I don’t mind having another day on the beach if you want to do some more surfing – it’s your vacation, too.”
“Nah, that’s okay – it’s going to be flat tomorrow – I already checked.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course. Silly me.”
“It’s about 200 miles to your dad’s village. We could be there this time tomorrow. If you want.”
I thought about it for a moment. I was probably investing too much in what would inevitably be a big disappointment.
“No, let’s take it easy. I’d like to see some more of Tuscany. I’ve heard of Montepulciano: they have good wine. And honey.”
He smiled at me, amused. “How come you know all this food stuff?”
I stared back as if, for once, he was missing the blindingly obvious. “I’m Italian, Sebastian.”
He laughed out loud, and swept my hand off the table to kiss my fingers.
The waiter arrived with our order, interrupting our moment, although he smiled apologetically.
The food, including Sebastian’s enormous Bistecca Alla Fiorentina steak with fries, was good, and we were quiet for several minutes as we ate.
I toyed with my question for some time.
“What is it?” said Sebastian, at last, laying down his knife and fork.
“What do you mean?”
“You have that look on your face – like you want to ask me something. You can ask me anything, Caro.”
I was amazed: people didn’t usually read me that well. But then again, Sebastian knew me better than anyone. How strange.
“Well, there was something… did you mean what you said about quitting the Marines?”
“Sure. I mean, I re-upped two years ago, so I’d have to do another two before I punch out…”
Disappointment flooded through me. Two more years.
“Do you think you’d have to do another tour in Afghanistan?”
He looked at me thoughtfully.
“I don’t know, Caro. Most guys wouldn’t be sent out again that quickly, but… well, they’re short of interpreters, especially non-locals, and military intelligence....”
He stopped abruptly, realizing he’d said too much.
“Sebastian, whatever you tell me, that’s between us. I would never use it in my work.”
“I know that, baby, but there are some things I can’t tell you… and some things that it’s better you don’t know.”
I wasn’t happy that there were secrets between us, but I understood.
“They’re not going to be pleased that you’re dating a journalist.”
He glanced away, briefly, then smiled at me. “Nope. Don’t think so, although they couldn’t stop me...”
“So… I guess it would be better to keep this between us, just for now?”
He nodded, then leaned back in his chair.
“Would you give it up, Caro? Working in war zones, traveling all over the world?”
I’d been waiting for him to ask me that question, but I still didn’t know how I was going to answer it. The truth was: I didn’t want to give it up. I’d worked hard to achieve the position I’d reached – and I enjoyed it. Yes, my work took me into dangerous areas, but it was rare that I was on the frontline; not like Sebastian. Oh, yes: my hypocrisy knew no bounds.