10. Georgia
10
GEORGIA
Then
W hen you lived in the countryside, you had to get creative when you got old enough to want to party on the weekend. The local hot spot for parties in Castel Amaro was just a little too far out of town to comfortably walk to. Down by a hollow near the river, where we’d played as kids on a tire swing, now, as teens, we lit a fire and drank.
I didn’t get to go out much. I went to school, of course, but my father made sure to fill up all my free time with tutors. English, mathematics, economics… all sorts of subjects I had no interest in. My passion was design and dressmaking, but my father thought that was beneath the Bellisario name. I had no idea who he wanted me to be when I was older, but I was certain it wasn’t the real me.
He had no idea who that was.
Only my English tutor got my full attention. I needed to be able to speak English to go to Parsons, after all. Also, my mother had been an American. She had passed when I was too young to have a single memory of her. All I had was my American inspired name, for the state she’d been from. For her, I wanted to speak English, and one day, live in her country.
I brought my beer bottle to my lips and sipped, then winced. Tepid beer wasn’t a great taste, but it was all that was left around the bonfire. My classmates had gotten increasingly wasted and disappeared in pairs off into the bushes.
Even Tommaso had abandoned me.
I swigged my beer and wished Elio Santori was here.
Right, and why would he be interested in what a bunch of little country mice were up to? I frowned at the dark, moving water of the river just beyond the hollow.
It had been a month of the Neapolitan bad boy sleeping in the barn, just outside my bedroom, and absolutely nothing had happened.
Clearly, he didn’t want to know.
Despite my knowing that, a monstrous crush had developed on my part. I was obsessed. I watched him out the window whenever I had a moment. I contrived meetings whenever I could, but it was tough to catch him. I’d even started to enjoy church, since I usually saw him there. He had to know, right? He had to.
I rested my back against a wide tree trunk and scrubbed a hand over my face, wrinkling my nose at the feeling of my heavy mascara. The fact that was becoming impossible to deny was that he knew, but he wasn’t interested.
A rustling in the bushes sent me sitting up straight. Tommaso crashed through the undergrowth and fell to his butt beside me.
“What’s going on? Where have you been?” I scanned the bushes behind me for a sign of who he had been getting busy with.
He raised a swaying finger to his mouth and drew an imaginary zipper along his lips.
“That’s for me to know, and you to never find out.”
He grinned at me, and his smile was so infectious, I found myself smiling back. It was rare to see my best friend so happy and uninhibited.
“Well, that’s exciting.” I elbowed him in the side. “I’m glad one of us is having fun.”
Tommaso clapped his hands together and cackled. “Oh, honey, I’m not going to be the only one having fun! You’re welcome. I’m going to leave with my secret paramour.”
“Hey! You’re my ride,” I reminded him quickly.
He patted me on the shoulder. “Not anymore. You’re welcome.”
With that, he stood and staggered back toward the bushes.
“Toma? Come on,” I called, pushing myself to my feet. Damn it. I glanced around to see if there was anyone else left at the party who might be heading back to town. I didn’t fancy walking alone. Walking the long, winding road to town alone in the dark didn’t sound enticing.
Damn Tommaso. I swore at him furiously in my head when I leaned down to grab my bag, and the world swayed. Whoa. I’d drunk more than I’d thought.
No, you’re just a lightweight.
Yeah, that was right. With my dad around, there weren’t many opportunities for drinking at home.
I draped the strap of my bag over my shoulder, slinging it across my body. I could do this. I wasn’t some damsel in distress.
I walked gingerly out of the dark hollow, tripping and swearing. The ground was littered with bottles and fallen branches. We’d need to come back tomorrow to clean up.
I climbed out of the thin copse of woods that lined the riverbank and made it to the road, only to stumble immediately. Out of all the places to put my foot, I’d managed to aim right for a sizable pothole. My knees buckled, and I was going down, until a strong hand wrapped around my shoulders and jerked me firmly upward.
All the air forcibly left me as I was hauled against a warm, hard body. A familiar smell wove its way into my lungs. Straw and spice, leather and musk.
I looked up into Elio Santori’s eyes and felt like my heart might break through the fragile cage of my ribs, and right out of my chest.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted and stared at him.
“Coming to get you home, what else? Since your boyfriend couldn’t be bothered not to drink and drive. He messaged one of the other stable hands, who then told me. The fucker wasn’t even going to check you got home.” A dark frown passed over Elio’s face.
His scowl was formidable, but I was too drunk and relieved to see him to be scared.
“My boyfriend?” I repeated. “What boyfriend?”
“Conti — Tommaso, the one who is always holed up in your room with you, who else?” Elio muttered, a muscle clenching in his square jaw.
“You think Toma is my boyfriend?” I asked and then burst into laughter. He thought I had a boyfriend? All this time, while I’d been pining after him, nursing a killer crush… he’d thought I had a boyfriend?
“How much have you had to drink?” Elio demanded.
I swayed in his hold, unable to stop laughing.
“Enough,” I finally gasped out, swallowing my laughter down. “I’ve had just enough…”
“Just enough for what?” he asked.
I put my hands on his chest, and he stilled completely. A sudden absence of movement that felt nearly unnatural. I slid my hands upward. He only had a T-shirt on, even though the nights were getting cooler lately. I placed a hand over his heart, all my mirth chased away. I felt reckless and free.
He didn’t move. I pressed my hand on that sacred place and counted his heartbeats.
“Just enough — to do this,” I murmured and pushed myself up on my tiptoes, and before I lost my courage, fused my lips to his.
He jerked with surprise. I ran my tongue along the seam of his sealed lips. I had no kissing experience. That was probably pretty obvious. But in movies, they just kissed, and it all seemed to work out.
This was not that.
He didn’t open his lips or move them at all to match mine. He was as still as the grave.
Nerves crowded in, my panic clearing my brain fog and all remnants of the beers I’d had earlier.
I tore my mouth from his and staggered back. He caught me, and I shoved his hands away.
“If you don’t want to kiss me, just tell me so, you don’t need to embarrass me.” My voice was full of hurt and rejection. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me.
“I don’t recall being asked, topolina . If you had, I’d have told you I don’t kiss drunk girls.”
I turned to him. He had his fingers on his lips. Wiping away my touch?
“I’m not drunk,” I protested.
He shrugged. “You look drunk to me.”
“I’m not!” I barely resisted stamping my foot like a toddler.
He chuckled, the bastard, and reached out to take my arm. “If you wake up without a headache tomorrow, then you come and tell me I was wrong,” he said firmly and tugged me toward the road with him.
“Oh, right, and you’ll do what?” I grumbled.
We were at the edge of the road, and Elio pulled me to a stop. He stared down at me and brought a hand to my mouth. I paused, my heart suddenly lurching into a frantic beat. He rubbed his thumb along my bottom lip and then slid his hand into the hair behind my ear, gripping it in a way that tilted my head right back, making my face his tribute.
“I’ll kiss you like you’re meant to be kissed. I’ll kiss you like I’ve wanted to since the moment we first met.”
I stared into his pale eyes. No one had eyes like his. Pale green in the daylight, and at night, they caught the light of the moon and glowed.
I wet my lips, my mouth suddenly drier than a desert. The tug from my scalp where he held my head was delicious. I wanted more.
I lost track of how long we stood like that, lost in each other’s gazes. The only thing that yanked me from that magic was a loud, inelegant snort I was sure hadn’t come from either of us.
I blinked, the spell broken, and twisted my head to the side. Right there, tied to a low branch, was a horse.
I laughed. “You’re right. I must be drunk. I see a horse.”
Elio eased back and stepped toward the animal. “You’re not imagining it. It’s a horse. It’s your ride home.”
“What?” I demanded.
“I couldn’t find any car keys to steal… so horse it was.”
I stared at him. “You came to pick me up… with a horse?”
He grinned at me. “Just call me your knight in shining armor. Now, get up here. You’re in charge. I can’t ride for shit.”
Elio
The village gathered to celebrate every single saint’s day, and in Southern Italy, that was a whole lot of gatherings. Huge pots of pasta sat on the doorsteps, waiting for the kids to carry to the picnic tables in the village square. Wine was unearthed from basement stores and decanted into glasses, sparking lively debate about grapes and vintages. Meats were roasted and salads tossed. The smell of spicy extra virgin olive oil and garlic frying filled the air as children ran amok and the church bells rang.
That year, I didn’t see any of it. I’d left the feast preparation to sit in the olive grove above town. I had my notebook and pencil. Even though I was destined to live a life of petty crime or manual labor, I had dreams of being a writer. No, not just a writer. A poet.
These were silly imaginings and destined never to come true, but it didn’t stop me from jotting down lines here and there. In Castel Amaro, there was often nothing to do but dream. I had to find a proper job so I could see my sister, but that project was on the back burner until I paid off my debt to the prosecutor’s satisfaction.
It was the day after the party at the river, and Georgia’s drunken kiss. I needed to tell someone about it, even if it was just the pages of my tattered notebook.
I’d just sharpened my pencil with my pocketknife when I heard her voice.
“What are you writing?”
Anticipation drove a fist into my gut. I’d spent half the night remembering her touch, stroking my cock and picturing her hand on it. I’d tortured myself with all the things I would have done to her, if only I didn’t inherit my mother’s morals. She was drunk. She probably regrets it. Maybe she doesn’t even remember. It was always my father’s voice in my head when the darkest, most hateful thoughts slithered through my mind.
I sat up, straddling the branch, and peered down.
Georgia stood on the hill below, arms crossed as she gazed up at me. Her white dress had lemons on it. It showed her smooth, nut-brown arms and legs. Her long brown hair brushed her waist as she tilted her head back to watch me.
I gripped the branch above me and slowly lowered myself down to the ground, dropping the last few inches. I’d gotten taller in the last year, passing six feet, and although Georgia wasn’t short, she had to look right up to meet my eyes.
“Nothing. Aren’t you going to the feast?” I hoped she’d say no and stay here with me. Getting the prosecutor’s daughter alone was a rare thing.
“Aren’t you?” she shot back, a grin playing around her red lips. “Someone told me to come and find them when I wasn’t drunk… though for the record, I was perfectly coherent last night.”
A bumblebee flew near Georgia’s face, and she recoiled. I reached out, my hand as quick as a whip, and closed my fist loosely around the bee.
Georgia gasped. “You’ll get stung!”
I twisted away from her and gently opened my fist. The bee had landed on my palm, and had indeed stung me. We both watched its fuzzy black-and-yellow body fly off lazily.
“It didn’t die so it didn’t sting you,” she said and picked my hand up. “Right?”
“That’s just honeybees that die,” I told her. “Bumblebees don’t. So, aren’t you going to the feast?”
“Not if you’re not. Did you get stung? Your hand is red,” Georgia said, holding my palm open and frowning at it.
“It’s fine.”
“Why’d you touch it?”
“You were scared,” I pointed out.
She narrowed her eyes at me. What was she thinking behind those doe-like brown eyes?
“You didn’t kill it,” she observed.
“Why would I? It’s just doing what it needs to survive. I can’t blame it for that. It’s what we all do,” I said quietly. I wished my heart would stop racing. I made to tug my hand from her grip. Maybe that would help my body calm down. The blood was rushing everywhere but my head right now.
She held my hand firmly and refused to let go.
I raised an eyebrow at her questioningly.
“Thank you. You’re not like the other boys in the village,” she said slowly and raised my hand toward her face.
I watched her with rapt attention. She held my open palm to her mouth and pressed a sweet kiss to the bee sting.
That simple gesture lost me the battle to stay in control of my body. I stepped forward and slid a hand around the back of her head, sinking it into her hair and gripping tightly.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice low and urgent.
“Thanking you,” she said softly. Alarm had lit her features, but now, they melted into excitement. “For the bee, and last night.”
A pulse jumped in her throat, beating madly. I brought my other hand to linger there, against that thrumming place. Savoring the evidence that she was just as affected as I was in this moment.
“If you want to thank me, shouldn’t you ask what I want?” My voice was a low scratch in my throat.
She tilted her head closer, leaning into my chest. “What do you want, Elio?” she asked, her tone unbearably throaty.
“You know exactly what I want,” I whispered and stepped back, taking her with me.
The olive tree met her back, and then I was pressing her against it. Her soft breasts pushed into my chest.
“Since that moment in the bathroom… since our first touch, you’ve known, and don’t pretend that you haven’t. There’s no space for pretending between you and me, topolina ,” I murmured.
Her pulse leapt again, and she swallowed, the movement brushing my palm.
“Well… then take it, cittaiolo ,” she teased. “If you dare?—”
I captured her lips in a searing kiss and cut off her words. Her lips were as soft as they’d always looked, and her mouth tasted like vanilla. Her tongue slid out and stroked my lips boldly, and I jerked back, surprised. It felt wrong, somehow, that a girl as perfect and protected as Georgia would be so forward. Was she after something? Was she trying to steal something, or was she going to accuse me of kissing her and then get me fired? Surely, she couldn’t be kissing me like that because she wanted me? Surely not. Things like that didn’t happen to men like me.
She appeared rumpled and debauched, her breath coming in quick pants. Her lipstick was smeared. I couldn’t stop staring at her mouth.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you want me?” she asked in a whisper. Her teasing was long gone. Something real lived in the depth of her hot, vulnerable gaze.
“Why?” I tried to calm my racing thoughts and the desire to pull her up into my arms and push up her short dress. I wanted to tumble her to the soft earth of the grove and settle between her thighs and claim her as my own before God and nature. I wanted to plant my seed deep inside her and ensure she’d be mine forevermore. My wife. My lover. The mother of my children. It was hard to think straight around that overwhelming need.
“Why what? Why do I want to kiss you?” She wet her lips, leaving them shiny. “I’m nearly twenty. I think I’m due a first kiss. I don’t believe that sinners will go to Hell or any of that other bullshit my father and his friends talk about… and I don’t think they believe it either. God, the Devil… they’re just monsters under the bed to scare kids into being good.”
I blinked at her. No one spoke like Georgia Bellisario did. She was irreverent and opinionated and fucking fearless.
The first man to touch her was me. I wanted to be her first everything. I wanted to leave my fucking fingerprints on her soul so no one could doubt that she was mine.
“Why me?” I clarified and waited for the answer that would change my life or break my hopeful heart.
She sighed and let her head fall back on the trunk of the tree.
“Why? You don’t want to kiss me?” she asked, but there was evasion in her tone.
I brought my hands up to the tree trunk and caged her in.
Excitement leapt back to her dark gaze.
“I said… why me? You could have anyone… Why. Me?”
Her gaze glided over my face. I wondered what she saw there.
“Because, cittaiolo , you’re not like the rest of them in this godforsaken place. You’ll get out of here one day… and I want you to take me with you.”
Her attention fell to my lips and bounced back up. Her tanned cheeks warmed with pink roses. Georgia didn’t blush often. She wasn’t the type. She was too confident for that. But not now. Now, with everything else stripped away, she let me see her.
All of her.
“I guess I want you to save me, Santori. I want you—” She took a halting breath. “I just want you.”
“That feeling, Miss Bellisario, is entirely mutual,” I murmured.
Her hot breath hit my lips when I leaned back in and kissed her hard. Her arms twined around my neck, and she pressed her body to mine.
And nothing would ever be the same.