“The Certificat d’immatriculation – the papers in gray. Caro, I…”
“Just don’t speak, Sebastian,” I hissed at him. “Let me handle this.”
Silently, I handed over the document, although it was clear neither of the officers could read French.
“Are you authorized to ride this motorcycle, signora?” said the older, gentler officer.
“No, but…”
“Then we’ll arrange to have it removed,” he said, kindly.
“Please don’t arrest him!” I begged them. “He’s only on leave for two more weeks, then he’s going back to Afghanistan.”
The two men looked at each other. I was hoping that the military/police solidarity that existed back home, also held true in Europe. I pulled Sebastian’s ID card out of his wallet, the one that identified him as a US Marine, and showed it to them.
“We only have two weeks,” I repeated, not needing to fake my desperation.
“My son-in-law is serving out there,” said the older officer, shaking his head. “Very well, we will let you go, but this one time only. Obey the speed limits.”
They let Sebastian stand, and handed him back his papers.
“Thank you so much,” I said, feeling slightly tearful at our reprieve.
“Make him obey the speed limits, signora,” said the older officer, wagging his finger at me.
“I will. Thank you!”
“I will pray for you both,” he said, simply.
We watched as they wandered back to their car, chatting amiably to each other.
“You were great, Caro,” said Sebastian, grinning.
I slapped him hard on the arm. “No more speeding!”
“I don’t know… I’ve got my own Caro-shaped ‘get out of jail free’ card.”
“Yes, well, do that again, and you might be finding out what Italian jails are like.”
“You wouldn’t let that happen to me, baby.”
“Don’t bet on it, Chief! I’ve got enough gray hairs without you giving me anymore.”
He pulled me in for a hug.
“Nope, can’t see any,” he said, kissing my hair.
I pushed him away, crossly.
“Another two weeks with you and I’ll have to color my grays,” I said, grumpily.
He laughed.
“It’s not funny!”
“God, you’re beautiful, Caro!”
I climbed back on the bike, irritated to see that Sebastian was still grinning, but at least he drove to the campsite at a more moderate pace.
When we got back, Sebastian parked the bike and locked up, while I stomped off to our room, feeling very irritated with him. If he was this reckless in Italy… no, I really didn’t need to start thinking like that.
I hunted around for a corkscrew to dig out the damn cork that the waiter had managed to ram back in, but there wasn’t one to be had. I was just contemplating smashing off the neck and sieving the wine through a clean sock to remove any broken glass, believing that desperate times called for desperate measures, when Sebastian sauntered into the room.
“I can’t open the fucking wine!” I snarled at him.
He looked taken aback.
Yeah, well, he wasn’t the only one who knew how to swear.
“What’s the matter, Caro?”
“I just told you!” I yelled, “I can’t open the wine!”
Quietly, he took the bottle from my hand, produced a Swiss Army knife from his pants pocket, and proceeded to dig the cork out using a small blade.
“I think some of the cork fell in,” he said, placing the bottle on the table.
“Thank you,” I muttered, rather sullenly.
“Caro…”
“What, Sebastian? You could have got arrested back there? That was so stupid and reckless!”
He stared at me in amazement. “Nothing happened…”
“It could have!” I shouted at him. “And if you take chances like that out in…”
But I couldn’t finish the sentence. Angry and frustrated, I was furious when I felt tears spring to my eyes. I cuffed them away with my fists, while Sebastian watched me in silence.
“Hey, come here,” he said, softly. “It’s okay.”