He shakes his head ever so slightly, his forehead damp against mine. “No,” he murmurs. “I felt everything.”
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door and we both jump, breaking apart.
“Derio?” Alfonso calls out from the outside. “Dove si trova Amber?”
We exchange a look. Derio is flushed and has a rather obvious erection straining against his jeans. I know I look properly messed up.
“I’m in here,” I yell through the door. “Be there in a second.”
I look back at Derio but he’s walking slowly over to the windows, running a hand through his hair.
“I’ll go see what he needs,” I tell him, going for the door.
“Yes,” he says thickly. He clears his throat. “I will see you tomorrow.”
All right, then. So I guess that’s the end of that.
I’m too overwhelmed to even get riled up over it. I take in a deep breath and smooth down my hair before leaving the office.
Alfonso is standing in his pajamas in the hall and the sight of him looking so small and vulnerable brings reality crashing down around me. I have to take care of these kids. Kissing their older brother isn’t part of the job.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“I had a bad dream. I can’t sleep,” he mumbles.
“Bad dreams are just your mind trying to tell you bad stories. They can’t hurt you.” I take his hand and lead him up the stairs to his bed, where I read to him for half an hour—but no Harry Potter this time since he confessed that his bad dream included Professor Snape. Instead, I read to him from an Italian children’s book, and though he giggles at my pronunciation through most of it, soon he’s fast asleep.
I leave his room and as I head to my own, I catch a glimpse through the windows of Derio standing on the patio, watching the black sea, smoking his cigarette. Alone.
I don’t have any bad dreams that night. In fact, I barely sleep at all. I keep reliving that kiss over and over again until it’s more than just a memory.
Drunk or not, Derio kissed me. He felt something. I felt something.
And I have no idea what any of this means.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Saturday mornings usually mean you get to sleep in, but not in this household. I’m up at the crack of dawn and running around the house trying to get ready for the day. I tackle the kitchen first, cleaning and scrubbing it from top to bottom, then prepare an American-style feast for the kids with what I have on hand. They don’t have bacon in the house so I fry up the cold cuts and slices of pork instead, then fry eggs with some salsa type of sauce. Sliced-up sweet potatoes go in the oven in place of hash browns.
The twins seem especially excited about this when they wake up—I think it makes them feel all exotic and grown-up to experience something different. The truth is I’m taking on the extra work because I want to keep busy. I haven’t seen Derio yet and I’m afraid of what will happen when I do. What if he tells me it was all a mistake, that he shouldn’t be doing this with me, that he shouldn’t be romantically or physically involved with a woman on his payroll? What if it doesn’t mean anything to him in the stark light of day?
As it turns out, I don’t see Derio at all that morning. I ask the kids what they want to do and they tell me it’s too hot to play outside—it’s well into the high eighties—so I tell them to do what they like around the house, and if they’re bored and dying by the end of the day, I’ll take them to the free beach by Marina Grande. It’s days like these that I wish they had some good friends they could go play with, but both of them seem to be quiet loners. I know a lot of twins are like that but I think Annabella and Alfonso are even more closed off because of the accident. I make a mental note to hang around after I drop them off at school sometime and get to know the other parents. Perhaps if they knew what was going on¸ they would encourage their own kids to be more inclusive.
I laugh a little at those thoughts. I’m starting to sound an awful lot like a parent. I have to remind myself that I’m not the kids’ real nanny. Any day now we’ll find one and then I’ll be off the hook. I can go back to having a little bit of a life again, although the longer I’m a nanny, the faster I can earn the money to get home.
If I even want to go home anymore.
I sigh and then finish cleaning up the kitchen after the kids scatter throughout the house. I make myself a latte from the espresso machine and take it and an English mystery novel I found in town out onto the patio. I’m only out there for a few minutes before I start to roast and sweat pours down the back of my strapless sundress. I stare longingly at the indigo sea and the boats that ply through the intensely gorgeous waters. Every day there are more boats and less sea visible from the patio. I have to wonder how many tourists Capri can handle; it’s starting to feel at capacity. I can understand now why Derio prefers the winters here. I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance to experience it myself.
Finally, I’ve had enough of the heat. I take the remains of my latte and book and go to the shady side patio outside of Derio’s office. It’s cooler here and I make myself comfortable at the small iron table next to the disused fountain. It would be beautiful if it were repainted and turned on; the charming antique, with its intricate carvings, looks too valuable to go to waste. I wonder if I can turn that into a side project of sorts.
Then I notice that the French door leading into Derio’s office is open a touch. I sit there, wondering if he’s inside—it’s hard to tell from this angle and I can only see a reflection of myself in the glass.