The boat comes in, the gondolier pulling it along by the chain and singing, his voice booming off the walls. A couple suddenly pops up at the back of the low boat after lying back to get through the low entrance. We watch as the gondolier rows the boat into the depths and the boat’s passengers, now dark figures against the glowing blue, start snapping pics and oohing and aahing.
“Let’s go,” Derio whispers to me and we quickly swim out through the entrance before another boat comes in.
Once outside, the sky and sun are blinding and we can see a few small rowboats towed just offshore by a larger powerboat. That must be how they get here for the day. We swim for the platform and I gasp when I see a young couple come down the steps. I’m not worried about getting caught by them—they seem to be tourists here to catch the first boats before the crowds set in—but I am concerned that Derio is stark naked.
Of course, he sees them, too, and shoots me a grin over his shoulder. He couldn’t care at all. And why should he. We just fucking had sex in the Blue Grotto. And at that thought, I realize that I don’t care either.
We reach the edge of the platform and he’s the first to go up. He does so like an athlete, using the pure power of his upper body, and I make a silent thank-you for the exercise room in the house. Then he bends over to help me up, absolutely mooning the couple down the stairs and probably giving them a good show of his balls as well.
I try not to laugh as he pulls me up but when I hear the girl giggling in the background, I can’t help it. I scramble onto the cement, slip my dress on while he pulls on his shorts, and the two of us trot up the stairs past the couple, snickering as we go.
“Buongiorno!” Derio cries out to them merrily with a big smile on his face. Their faces go beet red as they try not to stare.
We climb onto the bike in the parking lot and laugh all the way back to the house.
* * *
That day we prepare a big lunch for the kids upon their return, even though we know they’ll probably be full from a night of overeating. While Derio goes to pick them up, I get everything ready and create a bruschetta bar of sorts, grilling bread and preparing an assortment of amazing toppings. The two of us decided earlier that we would have a talk with the twins about our status. After all, Derio introduced me yesterday as his girlfriend, and that sort of news apparently travels fast around here.
And does it ever. As it turns out, we don’t have to bring it up at all. After Derio arrives with the twins, we sit down to eat outside under the pergola, which is blooming beautifully thanks to my long-dormant green thumb. Nero the cat, who has started coming back now that Annabella occasionally puts out milk for him, watches us from the patio ledge, his tail flicking. As the kids tell us about their fun times, Alfonso abruptly breaks the ice.
He looks at me and Derio before taking a bite of his bread, which he has piled obscenely high with toppings. Apparently they didn’t overeat enough (Annabella said it was because most of the food Alfonso made wasn’t very good).
“Are you two boyfriend and girlfriend?” he asks.
Derio and I exchange a look across the table. I raise my brow. He raises his.
“What makes you ask that?” asks Derio.
“Allora,” Alfonso says, pausing to take a bite of his bread. Red oil from sundried tomatoes runs down his chin and half the toppings slide off onto the plate. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Signora Bagglia said you were. So I believed her.”
“Is it true?” Annabella asks, looking between the two of us. “Are you in loooooove?”
If it’s possible for Derio and me to both blush at the same time, well, I think we just did. The boyfriend-girlfriend question is a lot easier to deal with than the love one. We’re both aware we haven’t said those words to each other yet.
I clear my throat. “We were planning to tell you. We just decided last night that you are old enough and responsible enough to know,” I tell them, my voice extra serious. “So yes, we are boyfriend and girlfriend and we like each other very, very much.”
“I knew it,” Alfonso says, scooping up the tomatoes and slices of porchetta and stuffing them directly into his mouth. “I saw you kissing once.”
“You did not,” I admonish him. We’ve been so careful!
“You were kissing each other with your eyes,” he says and then makes overly suggestive looks at the two of us.
I can’t help laughing. “We were not. Now finish your food.”
He shrugs and somehow manages to put more food in his mouth.
“Is it okay?” Derio asks, looking at the two of them. “That Amber and I are together? We really care about each other and we really care about you.”
“It’s okay,” Alfonso admits cheerily.
“I like it,” says Annabella. “It is like a fairy tale.”
“Which fairy tale?” I ask.
“Il Principe Ranocchio,” she says.
“The Frog Prince?” Derio translates, letting out a small laugh. “Am I the frog?”
Annabella nods, smiling cheekily at the two of us. “And she is the pretty princess.”
Derio makes an overly disgruntled face. “I don’t think that is very fair.” He waits for a beat, then croaks, “Ribbit.”
We all burst out laughing.
Later that night, Derio and I say goodnight to the twins before going to his room, where I am to sleep, permanently, from now on. As we are leaving Annabella’s room, she calls out after us.