Chapter Twenty
Two hours later, we arrive in sunny Naples.
The coach drops us off right outside the modern, glass-fronted train station, smack dab in the city centre.
It’s absolutely heaving with passengers, from rushing commuters in smart suits, to interrailing students, their massive backpacks hitched high on their shoulders.
I can sense Gus’s tension, and he does his best to keep his head down.
There’s a familiar waft of fast food that, in my exhausted state, is more tempting than I’m willing to admit. I wet my lips as I glance around, looking for any sign of a ticket office. I spot it towards the front of the station.
“Come on, Popstar, this way.”
As we reach the long queue, Gus carefully takes me by the elbow and spins me to face him. I have no idea what it is about the gesture, but something swoops in my belly. I stare at him bemused. “Can I help you?”
He looks like he’s trying to word his question carefully, gnawing on his bottom lip.
“I know we’re tired after last night but, now we’re here, I’m really keen to wander Naples for a few hours. We could book onto a later train. I have plenty of charge in my camera.” He pauses, raising his brows. “What do you say?”
I blow out a breath. “Well, we are missing out on Taormina. And we have two whole nights before the cruise docks in Rome. I guess I’m intrigued… I don’t see why not.”
And so, on impulse, we spend the following two hours prowling the bustling streets of Napoli. Gus finds a small phone shop in a market that sells portable chargers and I plug my phone in and slide it back in my bag. Ideal.
Gus seems to have a plan and that plan involves a ton of walking, and then some more walking, only pausing intermittently when his artistic eye catches something that he wants to capture on camera.
But I don’t mind following him around the city, taking in the sights and stopping whenever I see a food stand that speaks to me.
Who knew Sfogliatella, a shell-shaped pastry with a sweet creamy filling, could change a woman’s life in a single, delicious bite?
As he told me before, Gus seems to be drawn to the life of a place.
The hectic backstreets with balconies positioned at seemingly random levels, bougainvillea and other climbing plants searching the shadows for a whisper of light, wires webbing between buildings.
It’s as if he’s mesmerised by the chaos, the realness of the place.
I wonder if that’s because he felt so isolated from the normal world most of his adult life.
At one point, a small tabby cat sticks its head out of an overflowing bin behind a restaurant and Gus makes it his muse, the tabby trotting towards me and curling around my shins, its fur a soft scrape against my skin. Gus gets down on his stomach and points the camera at her height.
I stand still, waiting impatiently for him to finish.
As if he clues on, he takes his time, lips curving below the camera lens.
Warmth rushes up my neck and all I can do is tut in response, patting the tabby on the head and striding away so that he has to clamber after me.
Thankfully, my ankle seems to be holding up. Probably due to to the new trainers which are only rubbing slightly against my big toe. It’s the sort of pain I can ignore and nurse later in Rome, wherever we end up staying.
“You know, we should go to Pompeii,” I say suddenly, spinning to face him, surprised by my own impulsiveness.
Because we could. And it’s been on my bucket list for years.
There weren’t any cruises, that I fancied, stopping in Naples so I’d written Pompeii off as an option, but I’ve long been fascinated with the ancient, ruined city and I’d even gone as far as to research how long it would take to travel there from Rome, knowing that was a planned long dock stay for the cruise.
Gus eyes me with surprise. “Right now?”
“Yes! It’s only a half hour train away, right?”
“If you say so…” he says, shrugging. “I’m not going to say no to an adventure.”
*
The ancient city is just like all the online blogs said it was, frozen in time. We were too late to join up with a tour, so we wander on our own, weaving through former streets, glimpsing pieces of beautiful mosaics and tiles. We clamber over the uneven cobbled path, Gus and I both in equal awe.
The sun is punching down on us as we stroll along streets, past crumbling buildings that were once homes and shops and bakeries.
Most of the buildings are without ceilings, jagged pillars, which used to hold up roofs over the markets, stand without purpose.
The dark mountains behind create a vivid backdrop, a frequent reminder of what happened here.
So much life was behind these walls, so much destruction in so little time.
It’s hard to fathom the fear they must’ve felt.
When I stroll into the more intact buildings, with fascinating, ancient artwork decorating the walls, I feel as if I’m intruding, like I’m strolling through somebody’s house uninvited.
Some of the art is so graphic I’m almost blushing as I pass, listening to Gus’s soft breathing behind me.
He doesn’t take photos inside and I wonder if it’s because he feels the same as me, as if the spirits of those who lived here never really left.
Once we’re back outside, I pause at one doorway, peeking into a cramped space.
Click.
I spin on Gus. “Can’t you see I’m having a moment?” I ask, unable to hold back a smile.
He nods, grinning, looking at his camera screen that he shields from the sun to see properly.
When he hears a group of young women laughing, his curls fall over his sunglasses as he tenses, checking the nearby area.
His shoulders relax when they move on. I wonder if it’s always been like this for him, the fear of being seen, being followed.
I wonder if he even knows he reacts that way.
He swallows and takes a steadying breath as he turns back to me.
“You’re so photogenic,” he says. “I think you might be my new favourite subject.”
I feel his compliment rush through me like the first sip of an ice-cold drink. Obviously, I like it, but that’s the problem. It’s all becoming a bit too flirty and there’s absolutely no way a world-famous popstar is a suitable rebound. I need to shut it down.
“Right.” I step towards him with my hand out. “Give me that.”
He frowns. “Why?”
“Because you’ve got hardly any pictures of you.”
“Trust me, plenty exist.”
“Not of you in Pompeii. Having a moment.”
He concedes, pulling the camera strap over his head and passing it to me. “Do you know…”
“Shut up,” I interrupt. “I did A-level photography.” I only did it for a month before switching to economics because I changed my plans for university, but I don’t tell him that.
“Yeah, that’s what all photographers say.”
Gus steps up towards the building where he just photographed me and instantly moves as if he’s some kind of male model posing for Men’s Health. He looks good but it’s not real. It’s not the man I’ve come to know these past few days. “You really know how to work your angles, huh?”
He runs a hand down his face, repositioning. “Unfortunately.”
“You should shake it up. No, even better. Just walk around. I’ll shoot you candidly.”
“Don’t shoot me,” he says, turning back and pointing. “My team will be livid.”
“Shut up and walk.”
He throws his head back with laughter.
I spend the next hour or so hiding behind walls and jumping out at him, or waiting for him to actually let his guard down before taking his photo.
My favourite one, as I click back through, is of Gus giving me that disbelieving, daring smile, his hat on the ground because I’d jumped forwards and flipped it off, his hand out to snatch the camera back.
I finally give it back to him once we’re on the busy train back to Napoli, crammed into a standing corner.
It’s too hot and noisy for my taste but Gus ends up holding onto a bar beside me for balance, bringing us face to face.
A bead of sweat escapes his curls, running down his forehead, along his nose and onto his lips.
It’s too late when I realise I’m staring, wetting my own lips, his eyes tracing the movement of my tongue, his breathing measured.
I swallow, trying to look away but the train lurches and I’m thrust forward, crashing into him.
Gus catches my waist, the feel of his touch burns through my thin t-shirt.
Finally, our eyes lock again and for a split second, I think he’s going to kiss me, his breath fanning my cheeks but instead he swallows, releases my waist and uses the same hand to brush my ponytail behind my shoulder, throwing me a knowing grin.
Hell, I’m in trouble.
Back in the city centre, we try some of the touristy areas, soaking in the culture and history of the city. We grab pizzas from a bustling pizzeria and sit in a small piazza watching the world roar around us as the sun goes down.
“This place is so chaotic,” I say after we watch two men on mopeds yelling Italian curse words at each other, throwing their hands in the air.
Gus nods, his mouth full. “It is busy here.”
“We should think about heading to Rome soon.”
“I have an idea,” he says. He finishes chewing. “But you can say no, of course.”
A bit of stringy mozzarella escapes my pizza and ends up on my chin.
I squeal. Gus laughs and before I know what’s happening, he’s using his thumb to wipe the sauce off my chin then licks it clean.
I don’t know what to say. He doesn’t acknowledge it.
Something in my core is doing somersaults. I swallow it down, eyes wide.
“What do you think?” he asks.
Has he been talking?
I blink. “About what?” My cheeks are hot.
When he glances at me again, he gives me a bemused smile. “Is that pizza so good your ears stopped working?”
“Mmhmm. Yes. That’s what happened.”
“I asked if you’d be open to staying at a friend’s house. Grace has just pinged his number through and warned him I might message.”
I shrug. “What like… for free?”
Gus nods. “I know that means you can’t make as much interest off me,” he teases.
“I don’t want your interest!” But something about that statement doesn’t ring true, so I change it. “I’m not taking any interest from you. Financially speaking.”
I didn’t need to clarify.
His lips quirk then flatten. Gosh. Damn. I’m acting like a tit and he’s so onto me. “Devaney owes me. The least he can do is put us up for the night.”
“But me too? I mean, I can stay in a hotel. It might have to be a hostel as my funds are running low.”
Gus tilts his head at me. “Really?”
“What?”
“We’re in this together now. Look at us. Still alive. In a city we weren’t even meant to be in, having the time of our lives.”
He’s not wrong, because I do not regret visiting Pompeii.
I’ve seen more of Italy in a day than I probably would’ve on the whole cruise.
But… I’d prefer him not to know this. His ego is showing.
“I don’t know if eating pizza right next to a bin whilst we watch angry Italians throw hands at each other is the time of my life. ”
“Sara, are you coming with me or not?”
“Ok, yes. But I really hope your friend isn’t weird.”
“Only if he drinks tequila.”
“Oh. We have that in common.”