Chapter 25
25
I’m absolutely stuffed after that insanely good three-course meal. It’s here, now, in this moment, that I understand why some people say you shouldn’t swim after you eat because, if I got in the sea right now, I would sink straight to the bottom, like a necklace off the Titanic (although I would probably go down more like the back end of the boat).
Back at home, my meals usually consist of just one course – or one and a dessert, if we’re being honest – but I’m really starting to get onboard with the multiple courses that seem to be the norm here. Well, why have just one thing for dinner when you can have several? That said, I’m low-key in pain, I think they’re like growing pains, as my body updates its capacity for food, but it could also be from just how much we’ve all laughed tonight.
Andrea must be exhausted from being the translator all evening because the conversation and the laughter have been nonstop. It isn’t just Rick who seems to adore Andrea, it seems like Beppe is having some kind of bromance with him too. Andrea has everyone well and truly charmed – even me, I must admit.
He looks beyond dreamy in his smart outfit tonight. He’s wearing a crisp white button-down shirt that perfectly complements his olive skin, with the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. Paired with tailored trousers and loafers, he looks like he should be on the cover of Vogue or something. I’ve done my best to match his style, in a chic little black dress (one of the few things I packed that I already owned), and while I might not look as effortless, I do feel good about what I’m wearing. I looked at my new outfits – the ones that were supposed to impress Rick – as a sort of armour but, with Andrea watching my back, I’m not so sure I need anything else.
Despite the warm evening, Andrea manages to look cool and composed – as always. There’s this relaxed confidence about him – something I wish I could manifest – and his posture is always impeccable, and his smile infectious – oh, boy. Sorry, I’ve had quite a bit to drink, and I think it’s making me all starry-eyed. My point is that… What is my point? I guess just that Andrea is handsome, cool, a snappy dresser – and all in a way that just seems so effortless. He isn’t trying to be anything, this is just him. And what a him he is. Yep, pretty sure that’s what I mean.
Beppe chats with the waiter and then, soon enough, another round of limoncello appears on the table.
Oh, boy, I’m already feeling tipsy, the last thing I need is another super-strong shot, but this is practically work, and if everyone else is drinking then it’s going to make me look bad if I’m the only one who doesn’t drink.
‘ Salute! ’ Beppe declares, raising his glass in a toast.
‘ Cin cin ,’ Andrea adds.
‘Is this a cheers?’ Rick asks, slurring his words. ‘Cheers.’
I raise my glass before knocking back my shot.
Limoncello is a funny one. It’s nice, it’s just so strong, and I keep going into it expecting it to taste, well, more like lemons.
I make a funny noise, and an even funnier face, stretching out my mouth – the shot equivalent of ‘walking it off’.
‘Beppe says he’s going to meet his driver,’ Andrea translates. ‘He says good night.’
‘How do you say good night in Italian?’ Rick asks him.
‘ Buonanotte ,’ Andrea replies.
Whatever it is that Rick says to Beppe, it isn’t that.
Beppe walks off, laughing to himself as he goes. You can just tell that he’s had a great night, and surely being a part of it can only help my chances – that’s if he’s not so drunk he won’t remember it tomorrow.
Rick, looking equally inebriated, just about manages to get on his feet.
‘I’m heading to bed,’ he announces, swaying on the spot a little. ‘Thank goodness none of us have far to go, huh?’
I nod in agreement, but it only shakes up my boozy brain.
‘ Buonanotte ,’ Andrea says to Rick.
‘Yeah, yeah, good night, Mambo Italiano,’ Rick replies – then he falls about laughing. ‘Hey, we should call you Rambo Italiano, because of all those muscles.’
My eyebrows shoot up. Andrea just laughs it off.
We watch Rick practically stumble off before making a move ourselves.
‘Shall we walk along the beach?’ Andrea suggests. ‘Get some fresh air.’
‘Sure,’ I reply. ‘I think I could do with it. Also, now I have “Mambo Italiano” stuck in my head. Do you like that song, or is that a bit like asking Scottish people if they like The Proclaimers?’
‘I don’t know what most of that means,’ Andrea replies with a bemused laugh. ‘But I love the song – of course.’
I try to sing a little but, as I’m finding out in real time, I don’t know any of the words beyond the ones in the title, so much of my singing is simply going: ‘Da-da-da da-da-da-da-da-da-da.’
The moon casts a soft, silvery glow over the tranquil beach as we walk along it, making the gentle waves sparkle as they lap against the shore. The sky is so clear – I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars at once.
The ambient natural lighting, combined with the relaxing sound of lapping water, might just make this the most romantic situation I’ve ever been in.
‘Liz said something to me earlier,’ Andrea tells me.
Yep, that will kill the mood.
‘Oh?’ I reply simply. ‘What did she say?’
‘She took me to one side, alone, and said that she doesn’t like to judge, but that she thinks there is something going on between you and James, and that she doesn’t want to see me hurt,’ he recounts.
Oh, that is just so like Liz, to say that she doesn’t like to judge before instantly judging – and probably loving it.
‘That is classic Liz, trying to mess things up for me,’ I reply, laughing to myself (because I know how pathetic it really is), and I shake my head. ‘Liz and I are rivals – whether I want to be or not – in all kinds of ways, and one of those ways is fighting for James’s attention. Back home, for as long as I’ve known him, James hasn’t really given me the time of day, not workwise or personally. I even asked him out, a few times, and he would just dismiss me, wouldn’t even entertain me – and you know the old thing of “treat them mean, keep them keen”? It’s definitely a thing, sadly. But here, now, he’s like a different man. He’s so jealous of you, to the point where it’s making him pay attention to me like he never has before – and that’s a double win because not only does he finally see me, but Liz can see him seeing me, and it’s making her so annoyed. Plus, Liz and James are working together on their pitch, and James seems way too distracted to do a good job, so it’s just win win win win to me, you know?’
Understanding English as a second language must be tricky enough but, when it’s the drunken ramblings of a crazy girl, it must be even more difficult.
I glance at Andrea, catching his cheeky smile, and I can’t help but return it.
‘I understand,’ he tells me. ‘James is crazy to have dismissed you like that. Robin, you are amazing. And if making James jealous is helping you then, great, I will do more of that.’
‘You’re just an absolute dreamboat, aren’t you?’ I blurt.
‘ Grazie ,’ he says simply. ‘If you’re still interested in learning Italian, you would reply: “ prego ”.’
‘Erm, I think it will be a while before I give Italian another go, thank you,’ I quickly insist.
As we near the apartment, Andrea yawns dramatically.
‘I am so tired,’ he announces. ‘I’ll go into the hotel, to see if they can call me a taxi. I’ve definitely had too much to drink to drive this evening.’
‘You can stay with me,’ I am quick to offer – too quick, maybe.
I sound super keen but, come on, with everything he’s doing for me…
‘It’s the least I can do,’ I tell him. ‘Plus, come on, we’re technically engaged. It’s not a big deal, for the two of us to share a bed.’
‘You make a good point,’ Andrea replies. ‘Okay, grazie . I suppose I would be coming straight back in the morning, for whatever it is that Rick has planned.’
‘I dread to think,’ I reply. ‘It sounded energetic – and not like something you would want to do with a hangover.’
As we walk through the garden, towards the villa, Andrea suddenly stops in his tracks and turns to face me. His gaze locks onto mine, and I can feel my heart rate quicken because I have no idea what he’s going to do, or what I want him to do. My imagination isn’t just running away with me, it’s trying to unfasten my bra.
All at once, Andrea steps towards me, scoops me up in his arms, and pulls me close to him. I instinctively (and, let’s be real, optimistically) wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He pushes me back, against a tree, and then presses his body on mine. His lips find their way to my neck but, instead of kissing me, he puts them right up against my ear.
‘Don’t say anything, or do anything, or look,’ he says firmly. ‘But James is on his balcony, looking down, watching us, so I thought I would give him a show – or what he thinks is a show, anyway.’
Oh, that’s… that’s… sort of a let-down. Oh my God, why am I thinking that? I think it’s just because he’s gorgeous, and he has moves, and he is (and this is the crucial word of the statement) acting like an absolute dream of a fiancé. I’m just under his spell. It isn’t a let-down, it’s good, this is good. He’s playing the game. James will be furious.
‘Ruin his night,’ I whisper to Andrea.
Of course, nothing is actually happening between us, just some simulated heavy petting in the bushes, but, weirdly, it doesn’t not feel real either. I bury my head into his chest as we – how do I describe this – just get a bit armsy with each other. Andrea uses his hips to hold me in place, pressing me against the tree. God, why does he smell so good? And feel so good! His muscular frame, his soft hair, his hard – whoa, okay, what am I doing? I’m getting way too into this. This whole thing is supposed to be a game but, right now, I don’t feel like I’m playing. I look up to the balcony, where James was (the supposed only reason we’re doing this) and see that he’s gone.
‘He’s not there,’ I tell Andrea, noticing how breathy my voice is.
He steps back, looking a little flustered too. I suppose, probably thanks to all the drinks we have had this evening, at some point while we were pretending to get it on, human nature just kicked in, and we got carried away.
‘I guess it worked,’ Andrea says, semi-victoriously – perhaps semi isn’t the word I should be using right now.
‘Erm, yeah, we showed him,’ I reply. ‘Come on, let’s go inside.’
Inside, to my apartment, where we are now supposed to share a bed.
Oh, boy.