And then as fate would have it, upon my first day in Vernazza…WHAM. I met Gianluca. The widower.
See?
What tragic luck.
…
The next morning, I lazed in bed, thinking over the story of Allie. It should have made it easy to subdue my silly crush on Gianluca. Normal women would run for the hills, but it only intrigued me more. I’d never had a man love me like that. In some grim way, the depth of his despair over losing another woman became an advertisement for the quality of his love. I felt guilty for thinking that, but not guilty enough to stop.
Oh god, I needed to get out of my head and definitely stop thinking about Gianluca. After all, the bloke thought I was named Gigi! Ha. I’d file the papers to change my name before correcting him.
I pushed off my covers and decided on a whim that I’d head to Monterosso al Mare for the day. The sun was already high in the sky, warming everything it touched. I strung on a red bikini and tossed my beach supplies into a straw bag: sun cream, my floppy hat, and my worn paperback. I tugged on a loose cover-up and slipped into sandals before locking up my room and flying down the stairs.
Chiara wasn’t manning the desk, so I headed out to the station. I hadn’t been back on a train since the first day I arrived. Monterosso al Mare was the northernmost village in Cinque Terre and only one stop over, so fortunately, the five-minute journey didn’t cause my small breakfast to make an encore appearance.
I stepped off the platform and followed the string of tourists heading toward the sea. Unlike Vernazza, Monterosso had a proper beach that stretched on for a few miles. It was early, but the beach was starting to fill fast. I paid to reserve an umbrella and chair in the first row and plopped myself there, lathering on sun cream as I watched a group of children run into the surf, squealing as waves crashed against their legs and running back onto the pebbled beach as fast as possible.
I let my cream soak in and then I stood and slipped off my sandals, walking with careful steps toward the water. The soft sand turned to pebbles once I approached the water’s edge, and though none of them were sharp enough to cut me, it hurt to put too much pressure on them at once. I eased into the surf, hissing as the cold water lapped up over my legs and thighs. With a final resolute breath, I pinched my nose and dove under the water.
My brother had taught me proper swimming technique when I was young, and I thanked him for it as I kicked farther from shore. The Ligurian sea was pure bliss: cold turquoise water beneath sunny skies. I flipped onto my back, closed my eyes, and let the waves drift me where they wished. After a few minutes, I’d flop back over and swim closer to the buoys, repeating the process until my fingers were pruned and my cheeks were warm from the sun.
When I swam back to shore, my things were right where I’d left them beneath the umbrella. I sprayed a bit of after-sun on my hair, lathered up more cream, and set off toward Monterosso for a snack. It wasn’t quite lunchtime, but my small breakfast had burned quickly in my swim. Like Vernazza, Monterosso had a few small shops wedged between restaurants and hotels. I begrudgingly walked past the gelateria and instead went into a small grocer.
“Le fragole sono succose,” said the girl behind the counter, pointing to the small basket of strawberries I’d nabbed as soon as I’d walked in. “Juicy.”
She hadn’t been kidding. I carried the strawberries back to my beach chair and ate them leaning over the sand. I’d never tasted fruit so fresh in my life. It wasn’t like the produce I could pick up in the shops around London. The strawberries were soft and tender, so full of flavor I couldn’t help but moan with pleasure every time I bit into one. Had anyone been sitting near me, they’d have assumed I had a bit of a berry fetish, and well, maybe I did. I didn’t stop until I’d eaten every last one, and then, full of sugary sweetness, I waded back into the sea, using the cold water to wash the juice off my chin and fingers.
By the time I rode the train back to Vernazza, I was sated. Even with the sun cream on, I had a nice tan going on my arms and legs. My hair was wavy and wild, and my skin was still sticky from the sea and sand and strawberries. (I’d caved and gone back for a second basket.)
I took my time strolling down the main road, popping into one of the fancier shops to pick up some olive oil to send home to my mum and Freddie. I picked up some lemon candies for Andie and wrote a note to slip into the post—something that would put my brother’s mind at ease about my stay in Italy.
Dear Freddie,
I know you think I’m silly running off like I did, but I swear I know what I’m doing. Mum had gone completely mental with the matchmaking and I needed to put some boundaries between us—rather large boundaries, it seems, like the Alps and the English Channel.
I’m sure she’s furious, and knowing her, she’s probably reading this over your shoulder—HELLO MOTHER. I’ll have you know that Italy is fantastic, and the men here are just as gorgeous as I’d hoped they would be! I know you’ll worry less if you think I’m in the company of a good man, so I’ll have you know that I’ve gone on a date with a lovely man called Gianluca and of course, I will send word as soon as he commits to spending his life with me. Please prepare my dowry. Ha. (Fred, that joke was for you. I’m sure Mum is glowering at this point…)
Anyway, give those little nieces and nephew a massive kiss for me.
All my love,
Georgie
With a smile at my white lie there at the end, I sealed up the package and slipped it in with the outgoing post back at the hotel. I took the stairs slowly, exhausted after hours of swimming. I had plans to take a long, steamy shower and then read by the window as the sun set, but just as I rounded the top of the stairs, I spotted a little yellow note pasted to my hotel room door.