“Can you zip me up, honey?” I whispered through the curtain, still enjoying my performance.
I gazed over my shoulder at Sebastian, trying to play seductive. His presence alone made me feel sexy. His expression immediately heated and suddenly the confines of the changing room seemed unbearably hot. He pulled up the zipper with aching slowness, brushing a soft kiss over my bare shoulder.
“You look beautiful, baby,” he said quietly.
Suddenly we weren’t playing anymore. The assistant coughed, embarrassed.
“How’s the size, ma’am?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“It’s perfect,” said Sebastian in a low tone.
I wandered out of the shop in a daze. Sebastian insisted on carrying the bag and wrapped his free hand around my limp fingers.
“You want to get some lunch?”
“Sebastian, it’s only 11.15 AM!”
“Yeah, well I’m hungry.”
“You never stop eating. You’re going to be enormous when you get older.”
“Nah. I’ll have you to keep me fit.”
Dear God: I hoped I was up to the challenge. A few hours with Sebastian was yoga, Pilates and aerobics all rolled into one, delicious work-out.
“Donna said I should get Mitch to teach me to surf,” I commented slyly.
Sebastian wasn’t pleased.
“I can teach you! You don’t need him.”
“Are you pouting at me?” I laughed. “You are! You’re pouting.”
I brought our twined hands up to my mouth and kissed his fingers.
“I’m just teasing you.”
He still looked hurt and I rather regretted trying to make him jealous. I suppose it was a childish tit-for-tat: that sales assistant had upset me more than I was willing to admit. But it wasn’t fair to take it out on Sebastian. It wasn’t his fault girls were throwing themselves at him.
“Come on: I’ll buy you coffee and a Danish.”
He settled on pastrami, lettuce and tomato on ciabatta bread; a regular black coffee with two sugars; and a Danish pastry, as promised. I had a large espresso and watched him wolf down the food. Our grocery bill in New York was going to be huge.
“Where else in Europe would you like to go?”
He swallowed his mouthful and drank some coffee while he thought.
“Well, everywhere, but I’d really like to go to Southern Spain – see all the Moorish stuff. I saw a picture of the Alhambra palace once – it looked, I don’t know, like ‘One Thousand and One Nights’.”
I was surprised and I realized how little I knew of him, his hopes and dreams. The more I learned, the more fascinated I became.
“You’ve read ‘Arabian Nights’?”
He cocked his head to look at me. “You don’t remember, do you?”
I was confused. “Remember what?”
“You gave me the book to read – when I was a kid. I must have read it a hundred times. I used to think you were Scheherazade.”
Scheherazade: the princess who told a different story every night to keep the king from beheading her. I wasn’t very keen on the comparison. Except then he fell in love with her and married her.
“Just because you were such an amazing storyteller,” Sebastian said, intuiting my reaction. “I guess I’m not surprised you became a writer.”
I smiled gamely. “I’m trying to become a writer.”
“You will,” he said, certainty coloring his voice. “You are.”
I struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to betray me. His encouragement, his certainty that I had the ability to achieve my dream; it meant more to me than I could ever express.
“What about you?” I said, trying to speak naturally. “After our road trip…”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Mom and dad always expected me to go the military route.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
I managed to suppress a shudder at the thought of being pulled back towards living on military bases.
“No, I don’t think so. I mean, parts of it would be great – but I’d like to travel.”
“Traveling isn’t a job,” I laughed. “Unless you want to work on a cruise ship.”
“Maybe,” he said smiling. “You could be a travel writer and I’ll… carry your bags.”