"I will. Goodnight. Thank you for the juice." I gave his hand a squeeze and turned toward home.
I had been a bit rude, I knew. But the throbbing in my head and the plummeting of my mood were overwhelming. Did I feel so badly now because of the confrontation? I couldn't be sure. For once I was thankful that I didn't understand Italian.
I felt Dante's eyes on my back until I turned the corner.
Seventeen
It was the middle of another sleepless night when I finally gave in to the anxious energy building up in my body. If I didn’t do something expel it, it was going to drive me mad.
In irritation, I rolled out of bed. I pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top. After tucking my house key and phone into my back pocket, I slipped out into the dark streets of residential Venice.
I was grateful that the Besaggio's lived in a relatively quiet area of the city. The air was heavy and humid, and faint laughter could be heard coming from a nearby courtyard. I jogged toward a park that had a small beach. The water promised cool relief.
Jogging seemed to unleash more energy. I began to sprint, my legs and arms pumping like pistons. The cuts on my left palm and my right knee stung as blood pounded through my body. I ignored the pain. I'd never been athletic, but in this moment, I knew what it felt like to be an athlete. Power surged through me. I felt like I was flying. Villas, shops, and courtyards sped by. I bounced off walls, planted a foot, and ricocheted around corners. My ankles felt as strong as they'd ever been. My hair flew back, my scalp cooled by the breeze.
As I approached the water, I slowed enough to kick off my running shoes and drop my phone and my key inside one shoe. I ran to the water and dove in, moaning at the delicious feeling as it cooled my feverish skin.
I surfaced and took a deep breath, then sank to my chin. My wet hair floated like seaweed around me. It should have been peaceful, but that sense of unspent energy still plagued me.
Following my instincts, I called the fire to life and watched as it became visible through my shirt. Stones, sand and seaweed lit up around me, and fish darted away. The pain was there too, as always, but I was getting used to it.
I began to experiment. I drew the fire up toward my chest and heart. The sensation of intense heat accompanied the glow wherever it went. I sent the fire down my right arm and into my hand and fingertips, still underwater. Shadows thrown by the stones on the ocean floor moved along with the light.
I shoved my hand out in front of me, palm facing out into the ocean. The white and red glow shot out my palm, and a ball of light separated itself from me.
Did I just shoot a fireball?
I half-laughed, half-sobbed. A fireball. I shot fire out of my hand.
I watched in awe, as the water above my hand bubbled furiously for a second and then died. My arm and hand throbbed with heat, a sort of pleasure-pain. I released the glow in my right hand and it felt like it travelled back into my torso of its own volition.
Did the fire work both ways? Would it come out of my injured hand? I held my left hand up in front of my face. The sodden bandage dripped. Dark blood stained the bandage in a crescent moon shape. I wiggled my fingers, and the cut stung as salt water penetrated it. Taking a deep breath, I drew the fire into my left palm.
The bandage steamed, dried up and curled at the edges. I hissed as the cut on my hand stung and burned more intensely, but some instinct inside told me not to quit. I gave it a little more heat.
The bandage burst into flames. I stared in wonder as bits of ash dropped into the water and the bandage burned away. The pain from the wound stopped instantly.
I let the glow go back to my torso while I inspected my left hand. The gash across the outer edge of my hand was completely sealed. The white crescent moon scar looked four years old instead of four days. Smooth pink skin lined either side of the scar, as though the skin had melted.
My mouth dropped open as I realized what this meant—I could heal cuts by cauterizing them from the inside. I focused on the cut on my knee. I sent the glow down my leg. I repeated the exercise, concentrating the heat around my knee. It hurt, but I didn’t stop, and I noticed the exact moment when the pain of the cut disappeared.
Calling the fire to one of my hands, I lifted my leg up and used the fire as a light to look at my knee. A white scar crossed my kneecap.
My ears perked when I heard my phone vibrate from the beach. Who would be texting me at this hour? The light from the fire disappeared and the ocean around me fell into darkness. I left the water and picked up my phone to see a message from Dante.
If you don't let me see you soon I'll go crazy. You're torturing me.
My stomach gave a little flutter of pleasure that had nothing to do with the fire.
Me: What are you doing up?
Dante: I'm dying for want of you.
Me: Very funny.
Dante: You're up late. Miss me?
Me: Maybe.
Dante: You're awake, and I'm awake. Let’s be awake together. What are you doing?
Me: Swimming.
Dante: ?
Me: Seriously. You know the little beach at the gardens on the west end?
Dante: Of course I know it, this is my town. You're there? Now?
Me: nods
Dante: Don't. Move.
I put my phone into my shoe and went back into the water. I floated on my back, admired the stars, and waited for my company.
Eighteen
Dante's silhouette picked its way through the trees and across the grass. My feet found the stones beneath me and I stood. I began to make my way to the beach but stopped when Dante kicked off his shoes, dropped the bag he'd been carrying, and walked into the water in his clothes.
I smiled as he waded to me. He kissed both my cheeks, his hands on my waist. Smelling the bittersweet scent of aperol on his breath, I wondered how many spritzes he'd had.
"Hello," he said, his voice low. He swept me up like I was a little kid. My arms slipped around his neck. He walked deeper into the water until we were both neck deep and nose to nose. "Are you feeling better yet?"
"I am, thanks." My heart hammered inside my ribcage.
"You don't sound better," he said. "You sound like you've been smoking cigars your whole life. But don't worry, I like it. It's sexy."
"Oh good," I rasped. My mouth twisted in a sarcastic smile. "That's all I had in mind when I got sick. That Dante should find me sexy."
"Good, then we're going to get along just fine." He smiled, then dropped a bomb. "Why haven't you kissed me yet?"
I blinked at his directness. "Why haven't you kissed me?" I knew full well that we’d had more than one opportunity and I'd always been the one to turn away.
"Because, I," he began, his eyes dropping to my mouth, "am a gentleman." He moved his lips to a bare inch from mine, and waited there.
My stomach fluttered. I moved my face forward just a fraction.
He jerked his head back. "Wait, are you contagious? Not that I wouldn't mind having a voice like yours."
I rasped a laugh. "No, I'm not contagious."
"Good." He brought his lips close again and waited for me to close the distance between us. I did, anticipating a sweet, soft first kiss. But the moment I put my lips to his, his tongue slipped into my mouth and he completely overtook me. The intimacy of the kiss startled me deeply. My joints flushed with pleasure and weakness. My thinking fuzzed out. I became fully acquainted with the term 'stealing' a kiss. I had been kissed before. A few times. But none had so completely taken my breath away. His hand found the back of my head and held my face to his. We finally broke and I opened my eyes, dazed.
"That... " I began, taking a deep breath, "was not very gentlemanly."
A wicked smile crossed his face. "You're right. Let me try again."
His lips touched mine once more. This time it was the soft, delicate kiss that I had been expecting the first time. It was sweet, demure, even pious. He pulled away, watching me through half-closed eyes.
A beat passed.