Chapter 21 #2
Digging my fingertips into the mattress beneath me, I startle when his knuckles brush my cheek.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice careful.
“Yes. I’m clean too. My tests are up to date.”
He leans in and kisses me, washing away the last of the tension.
“Shower with me?”
I nod without thinking.
He gets up and reaches for me, lacing his fingers through mine. With a gentle pull, he brings me against him, his arms closing around me as he guides me into the bathroom.
Sliding the last pancake onto the platter, I turn off the stove. I’m stretching up on my toes to reach two plates from the shelf when his arms circle my waist from behind.
I set the plates on the counter and lean back into his strong chest, my eyes closing as his thumb traces absentminded circles over my stomach.
“Here,” he murmurs.
When I open my eyes, he’s holding his phone out in front of me. “Take it.”
I accept the device and realize it’s an email. A medical report, first in Italian, then in English beneath it. I skim the words and it doesn’t take long to understand what I’m seeing: a full lab panel. Negative, across the board.
“Scroll,” he insists. “The standard physical is there too.”
But I’m not looking at the numbers. I’m staring at the date.
Those previous tests were taken in December last year. The recent ones, only weeks before I ever arrived in Italy.
It takes a second to fully process, and when I do, something melts inside me. It says everything about the depth of his care and his intentions, that he was already preparing for me long before I set foot here.
I set the phone down on the counter and turn in his arms. Rising on my toes, I slide my fingers into his hair and draw his mouth down to mine. We kiss until we’re both breathless.
When we pull apart, he rests his forehead on mine.
“I can show you mine too.”
He gives a small shake of his head, but I ignore the refusal. I slip my phone out of my back pocket and open my email. When I find the message I’m looking for, I turn the screen toward him.
“I took these tests almost a year ago,” I tell him. “But I haven’t been with anyone else since. No one.”
His hands tighten at my waist. I look up to find the line of his jaw hardened.
As if he hears the question I don’t ask, he says, his voice rough. “I don’t like thinking of you with anyone else.”
His confession mirrors exactly what I felt about him less than an hour ago, that same biting, irrational jealousy that caught me completely off guard.
With my heart kicking in my chest, I slide my hands up his arms, squeezing his biceps, and kiss him, wanting to erase whatever image seems to torment him.
When we pull apart again, his lips brush the curve beneath my ear before he draws back to meet my gaze.
“I know you were supposed to fly home from Rome. But I was thinking... why don’t we make Rome part of the trip before Milan? From there, I’ll take you to the Amalfi Coast. Then we’ll come back here. I want you to leave from Pisa.”
Happier than I can put into words, I smile at him.
“Perfect,” I whisper. “It’s the perfect plan.”
I turn my back to the sea, watching him with a grin as he shrugs out of his shirt and lets it fall onto the lounge chair.
“I think you’re just stalling so you don’t have to get into the freezing water,” I say, teasing.
Alexander laughs. “You’re the one who always tests the temperature with a toe first, and somehow I’m the one scared of cold water?”
When he starts walking toward me with that look—the one that makes my pulse kick and every instinct in me scream run—I retreat toward the sand.
But Alexander is faster. In the next second, I’m off my feet, being carried in his arms like I weigh nothing at all.
“Alexander, put me down!” I laugh, kicking uselessly as he heads straight to the water.
“Your wish is my command,” he says, just as his feet meet the surf and he takes me with him.
When we resurface, I cling to his shoulders, laughing, half in protest. “Oh my God, you’re the worst.”
“No, I’m not,” he says, trying to hide his grin.
I slip my arms around his neck and float against him.
“No,” I agree, smiling up at him. “You’re not.”
The past few days have felt... more than perfect.
We spent two days in Rome, where I discovered not only the postcards that have always lived inside my dreams—the Colosseum as magnificent as ever in the late afternoon sun, the bustling crowds swirling around the Trevi Fountain—but also a lightness I thought I had misplaced somewhere along the way.
Alexander insisted I try a pastry everyone has to try while in Rome. A maritozzo. He laughed under his breath when I smeared a dollop of fresh cream at the corner of my mouth, before brushing it away with a chaste kiss that made my knees waver in the middle of a crowded street.
Rome was exactly as I had always imagined.
In Milan, we stayed only a single day, most of it spent inside Santoro Marmo’s headquarters. A day I’ll never forget.
As soon as he parks in the company’s underground garage, Alexander breaks the silence.
“Many of the employees have been here for years. They’re practically family,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Some of them will greet me with hugs or kisses. Men and women alike. But nothing inappropriate. I respect the people who work for me, and they respect me.”
I nod, listening.
“I’ve never been involved with anyone who worked for me. And I never would be. Everything has always been strictly professional. The ones who, over time, became friends... are only that. Friends.”
I study him, absorbing exactly what he’s trying to tell me. “Thank you.”
We both know exactly why he felt the need to reassure me. And I don’t think he will ever fully understand how deeply grateful I am, not just for what he said, but for being exactly who he is.
I lean across the console and kiss him deeply. Alexander steps out, walks around to open my door, and we head for the elevator hand in hand.
We start at reception, where he introduces me to everyone. As we move through the building, floor by floor, that same feeling from New York returns. He treats every employee the same way: with natural authority, genuine attention, and, most importantly, with respect, no matter the role they play.
And just as he warned me, many of them greet him with open affection. But the entire time, he makes a point of keeping me close, introducing me and making space for me in every room we step into.
He introduces me as his friend. And as the woman who is going to write ‘the best article Santoro Marmo’s internal magazine has seen since the company was founded’.
The pride in his voice nearly makes me blush.
I catch the curiosity in people’s eyes as we pass. And I feel it again when his hand rests at the small of my back.
When we reach his office—almost identical to the one in New York, just as he promised—I go straight to the floor-to-ceiling window. Milan is even more beautiful from up here.
I’m taking it all in when I feel him step up behind me. Before he can say a word, I turn and draw him closer, kissing him the way I didn’t when we stood in the other version of this office months ago.
I’m not rewriting history. I’m just... no longer hiding from what I want.
I run my hands down his bare back.
“It feels so good to be here, just like this, with you,” I say, looking into his amber eyes beneath the Positano sun.
From Milan, we made our way to Amalfi. The last four days have been a blur of coastal stops, and with each one, I’ve fallen a little harder for the view.
Yesterday, Alexander chartered a boat and took me to Capri for the day. We returned to Arienzo just as the sun was setting. And today, our last day here, we did nothing at all. We intend to just enjoy the beach and be together.
I look around, noting that only a few sun loungers are occupied. Since it’s nearly the end of October, we can enjoy the sights without the crowds, something that would have been impossible in the height of summer.
Alexander nuzzles my ear. “I wish this could last forever,” he whispers, his voice raspy.
My chest tightens, and I turn in his arms, capturing his lips with mine.
The kiss deepens, and he cups my bottom, lifting me high enough that I can lock my ankles behind his back. We break apart breathlessly, and he punishes my ass with a firm squeeze, groaning into my neck.
“Lucky for us the beach is practically empty,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Even so... I’m going to have to wait a while before I can get out of this water.”
I start to laugh as I feel him pressing hard against me. He’ll have to wait much longer than ‘a while’ if he doesn’t want to put on a show.
He slaps my ass, hard, and I lean right back in, biting his bottom lip. “Not even in cold water, Alexander?” I tease.
He scoffs, looking at me like I’m crazy to even ask. “What is cold water compared to having you in my arms?”
Every day, I tell myself that eventually something will change. That this reckless hunger will finally fade. But it doesn’t. I want him more with each passing day, and every time he touches me, there’s this unshakable sense that I’m exactly where I belong.
Sliding off his lap to make it easier, I’m barely two steps away when his hand catches me again, drawing me back for one last kiss. When he pulls away, his voice is playful. “Want to swim out further?”
I smile, slipping from his arms. And then I dive beneath the surface, letting the water carry me forward as I lead the way.
Alexander
Setting the charcuterie board on the table, I adjust the lantern, shielding the flame from the evening breeze.
Cecilia is still finishing her shower. Since we had a late lunch, dinner will be simple: a few bruschette and a board made of the best this region offers.
Paper-thin prosciutto di Parma, black Gaeta olives, thick wedges of pecorino, and mozzarella di bufala so fresh it was delivered this morning, finished with figs and honey.