He pauses as the waiter gives us our wine and then he takes a big gulp of it. I’m too busy hanging on to his every word to even touch mine. He licks his lips and continues. “I realized if I died, if I was seriously hurt, I could not take care of Alfonso and Annabella. They would be true orphans, with no family at all. We have an aunt who lives in Florida but the twins have never met her. They would be ruined. They would have lost too much. So as I lay there and the medics rushed toward me, I realized I had to make a choice. I could no longer be irresponsible, I could no longer think or live just for myself anymore. I had to quit.” He pauses with a heavy sigh. “After that, Daniella did not want to be with me anymore. She had only been attracted to my status to begin with. It’s very obvious to me now; maybe it was obvious then. But I was in love and I was young and a stupid fool. The thrills, the danger, the celebrity—that’s all that she wanted. Not me. Never me. Now I had guardianship over the twins and she did not want any part of it. She left me and moved on to someone else, a rival of mine in the racing world, of course. Isn’t that always the way?”
He exhales slowly. “After that, because of the accident, because she left me . . . it stirred up bad memories. Of the night they died. Aside from the police, I had never really told anyone what happened. To relive it was too much for me. But I was reliving it somewhere deep inside after that. The thought of stepping onto a boat was paralyzing. Terrifying. I could not do it. And so I could not leave the island, no matter how badly I wanted to. I was stuck here, in this life, forever. In some ways I still am.”
I put my hand on his knee and squeeze it. He glances at me, his eyes watering and his face contorted with anguish. It breaks my heart to pieces. “You know,” he says, his voice choked, “I resented them. The twins. Because I did not ask for this. And then I resented myself, for being so selfish, for feeling that way toward them, my own flesh and blood. We had all lost so much and yet I felt that I had lost the most. I lost more than my parents—I lost the life I had, the love I had. I lost everything.” He closes his eyes and sinks back into the chair, taking slow, heavy breaths.
“You have not lost everything,” I whisper to him, putting my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arm around his waist. “You have them. You have me.”
“Do I?” he whispers.
I tilt my head up to him, perplexed.
“Do I have you?” he repeats, staring down at me with dark, searching eyes. “Deeply?”
I swallow and nod, squeezing him to me. “Deeply.”
He doesn’t look all that convinced. “You know, sometimes I feel so trapped. So lost and alone. And then I look at you and I feel found. Does that make sense?”
I almost want to cry. “That makes perfect sense. More than you realize.”
He gives me a small smile. “Come. Finish your wine and let us find each other again.”
When we go to pay for our drinks, though, the waiter informs us that Signor Vincetti has already taken care of it.
The look of quiet comfort in Derio’s eyes at the old friend’s gesture warms me to my soul.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
That night, we go out for a proper dinner, just the two of us, at a small, homey restaurant off the edge of the Piazzetta. I have spaghetti e ceci and he has grilled fish. When we get back to the house, we make up for lost time by making love in the kitchen, the living room, underneath the lemon trees. The last one leaves me sticky with grass and lemon pulp but it’s worth it to have such a man take me in such a way—fast and reckless and delirious.
Later, we sleep together in his bed, the whole night through, without fear of being caught. I assume that I’ll get to sleep in as well, since there is nowhere for us to be—the twins aren’t finished until noon.
But Derio shakes me awake before the sky has a chance to lighten from ink to gray.
“What is it?” I mumble into the pillow.
“Get dressed, quickly,” he says.
“Why?” I’m starting to feel more awake now and slightly panicked. I roll over and look at him but he’s smiling. Also completely naked, which in turn makes me smile. He pats my legs then walks over to the couch where I threw my clothes last night. Though I’m half asleep, the sight of his tight, toned ass in the dim light has my full attention. God, I’m lucky.
He tosses a strapless dress at me. “Put this on, grab your bikini, and meet me downstairs in two minutes,” he says, then grabs a pair of shorts out of his dresser and leaves the room.
What the fuck? But I get out of bed and do as he says, going off of the sparkling look in his eyes and his voice, which promises danger.
Minutes later, I’m on the back of his bike and we are riding through the silent pre-dawn streets. Everything is washed in watercolor blue, like God smudged ink all over the world. A few birds sing from the flowering bushes and the air is soft and cool. The smell of a new day, all the blooms and herbs and the waking sea, is utterly intoxicating. I want to make a point to start waking up before dawn and experience Capri before the day ravages it, but who am I kidding, I cling to sleep like it’s a sinking ship.
I don’t ask any questions as we ascend toward Anacapri; I’m content to just hold on and watch the world go past. Even the heights of the zigzag road don’t scare me like they used to. As long as I have Derio, I feel safe.
Eventually, we zoom through the center of Anacapri, the occasional chicken darting across the road, and head down a road I’ve never been on before.