“It’s a great view, baby. You want to get your camera out?”
I opened my eyes and pulled off my helmet. He was right – it was stunning. And, with my blood pressure returning to normal, I felt able to capture the astonishing landscape in the lens. I snapped a few of Sebastian, too, looking all bad-boy next to his motorcycle.
I climbed a little higher to get some more views of the sea; when I slithered back down the mountainside, I was surprised to see that Sebastian was digging around for something in one of the bike’s saddlebags.
“Don’t you want to ride on a bit further?” I said, puzzled.
“Nope: we’re staying here. Picnic,” he grinned at me, holding a miniature bottle of champagne in one hand, and two crystal flutes in the other. “Borrowed from Signora Carello,” he said, answering my unspoken question.
“I think the signora has a soft spot for you, Sebastian.”
“Must be my animal magnetism, baby.”
I rolled my eyes at him.
“Hey, don’t knock it: it works on you.”
“That is true, Chief.”
He led us to a patch of dry, springy grass and opened the champagne, where the cork flew off like a rocket, making us both duck.
“Huh, guess it got shook up on the road.”
Yeah, and it wasn’t the only thing that got shook up, I thought, uncharitably.
He poured the champagne, half-filling the glasses with froth and bubbles.
“Here’s to us, Caro,” he said, softly and seriously. “Today, tomorrow, forever. Promise?”
“Yes, tesoro. Forever, I promise.”
We sat, high above the Mediterranean, as if at the top of the world, sipping our champagne and speaking quietly, promises and words of love. Then we lay in each other’s arms, feeling the warm sun on our faces.
“I love my surprise, Sebastian,” I said contentedly.
He chuckled quietly. “This is only part of it, Caro. There’s more.”
“More?”
“Much more.”
“Such as?”
“You’ll see.”
Feeling a little lightheaded from both the ride and the champagne, I mounted the motorcycle once more, and we headed back down towards the sea. This time, I screwed up my courage and managed to open one eye as Sebastian raced down the hill, taking the curves with what, to me, seemed like reckless speed.
We arrived in the village Conca dei Marini without incident and, to my surprise, Sebastian pulled up in the forecourt of Il Saraceno, a hotel so grand, I was sure it must be frequented by the great and good, the wealthy and the beautiful. Sebastian fit right in – especially on that last one. I looked dusty and travel-stained, as if I’d just crossed the Sahara on the back of a smelly camel.
Il Saraceno clung to the cliffs, a series of fortress-like arches that mimicked the ancient Moorish architecture of Spanish Grenada. The views down to the sea were in danger of bringing on an attack of vertigo.
“Here?” I asked uncertainly, aware that my hair resembled a squashed bird’s nest.
“Here,” he said, with a smile.
I was surprised when he unpacked the bike’s saddlebags, and handed the keys of his machine to a man at the reception desk. I couldn’t imagine him letting anyone else park it; I supposed the valet would simply wheel it around to the parking area.
The receptionist smiled, and handed an envelope to Sebastian, along with a room key.
“We’re staying here? But we left all our things at Signora Carello’s?”
“Actually, we haven’t. I asked the signora to pack us up while we were out this morning. She was cool about it: besides this is kind of her idea. Well, she helped me pick out somewhere special.”
“But a place like this must cost a small fortune, Sebastian!”
“I can afford it, baby. This is my first night as an engaged man – and I want to enjoy it. Hey, don’t worry: the only thing I’ve spent my pay on in the last ten years is booze and bikes: I’m good for it.”