He smiles to himself, scratching at his sideburns. “All Italian boys love their mamas, or at least that’s what they say. And it is true. But I really did love her. She sacrificed so much for me. When I said I wanted to race, she was the one who convinced my father that it was something I had to do, something I would be good at. Of course, I loved my father, too. He was a good man, very smart, and he worked very hard. But he wasn’t as open as she was. His love was harder to earn. Her love was so free.” He pauses and places his hand on top of mine, bronze against white. “You remind me of her in a way. You’re both free and looking for something. My mother was always looking for it in her books. I don’t know if she ever found it.”
He blinks and his eyes are wet. My insides feel like they’re being shredded by what he has lost. “I like to think that she did but maybe it was always out of reach,” he says. “All those days she would spend in that office, hours, living in her own world and giving so much to that. Then she would come into my world and give so much to me and my father. She never stopped giving. I don’t know how she never ran out of love. God chose to end it all before we had a chance to find out.”
I run my fingers over his cheek, feeling his permanent stubble. “I am so sorry,” I whisper.
He nods. “I know. I know you can feel it, that you are not just saying it. That is why I . . . You are good for me, Amber. You bring things to the surface but you do not run away. I have not had someone care for me the way you do in a very long time.”
I kiss him softly on his cheek and am surprised to feel a tear escape from me. He brushes it away with his fingers, smiling beautifully with those perfect teeth. “See. You feel everything. You make me feel everything.”
I do feel everything. I feel so damn much for this man that I’m not sure what my heart is going to do. It wants to hold me hostage but it also wants to be a protective shield.
“So,” he says, clasping his hands together, “I’ve decided to try to help my mother the way she would have helped me. I knew she was working on this last book but had not talked too much about it. I knew it was set on Capri and she said she hoped her publishers would want it but she was not sure. She thought it was her best work and it just flowed out of her fingers. That’s how she would describe it on good days. So I decided to read it. Then, after I couldn’t figure out the ending anymore, I decided to edit it. Such a simple thing, just making sure it was the best it could be. I know nothing about editing but she had said she never even went back once to read it. She was too much involved. I started cleaning up the misspelled words, strange sentences. It gives me a sense of purpose, and at the same time it makes me feel connected to her. I know it’s something I will have to let go of one day but . . . I cannot yet.” He gives me a shy look. “It’s one of those fears I am trying to face.”
I want to sit on the top of Mount Solaro and talk to him forever. I want him to keep opening up to me, not just for my own curiosity or to stroke my ego, but because it’s making him stronger. I want to help him. I want to talk about what happened the night they died and he survived, I want to get him on a boat, I want to find out why he quit racing when it was supposed to be something he lived for. I want to know so much more but I’m too afraid to uncover more than one rock at a time.
“We should go, it’s getting late,” he says, glancing at his phone.
“Wait,” I say, putting my hand on his arm. “Take a picture. Of us.”
He sticks his arm out—long and strong, perfect selfie material—and takes the picture. When we look at the result, I’m absolutely smitten with it. I look happy. He looks happy. And damn if we don’t look good together. Beauty and one sexy Beast.
“E-mail that to me,” I tell him.
He scoffs. “E-mail? I will print it out and frame it. We are a work of art.”
I beam at him, feeling absolutely girlish, like what he said means that we’re “official” and serious. As silly as it is, I won’t be faulted for feeling giddy over a boy. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.
We follow a dirt path that leads away from the tourists and heads down the slope past yellow-flowered broom, graceful pines, and fragrant shrubs. The sun is more potent up here but the heat is tempered by the constant breeze. We walk for a while in silence, just enjoying being outside in this beautiful place, alone as we make our descent.
“So,” he says as he finishes the cigarette he was smoking, “now you know about my parents. Time to tell me about yours. Wasn’t that the deal?”
“Was that the deal?” I ask, feigning ignorance. “It was so long ago, I don’t remember.”
“Yes it was, and you know it. Tell me about your mother.”
I sigh. This is the absolute last thing I want to talk about. “I don’t want to spoil our day.”
He takes out his phone again and shows me the timer. “I’m counting down five minutes. In five minutes we will come to the church and the Cetrella Valley and you can stop talking and I will make you smile again.”
“You promise?”
“You know I will deliver,” he says with a wink and there’s just enough suggestion in his voice that solidifies the deal.
“The CliffsNotes version is—”
“What is CliffsNotes?”
I smile. Sometimes I forget that we’re from two different worlds. “Just a shortened, condensed version of things. Basically my mother is a very nice woman but she’s everything that I don’t want to be. She married for security, not love, and she gave up her dreams of interior design to become a mother. Now she spends her days taking on part-time work, mostly for direct sales companies, even though she’s fully capable of getting a real job. When I was little, she sold Avon products but then ditched that for sex-toy parties, then she ditched that to sell freaking Tupperware, then she ditched that to sell skin cream and magazine subscriptions. Now she sells stick-on nails. If there’s any wonder why I’m trying to find myself, it’s because I don’t want to be finding myself like that when I’m older.”