Chapter 21 #2
Was it the delicious risk of being caught? The toing and froing that had built the tension to a fever pitch between them? Had it simply been too long for both of them? She didn’t know. But she threw caution to the wind and slipped her hand into his underwear.
Alessio’s length filled her grip, and she stifled a moan into his naked chest. She held him for a moment, enjoying the warmth and strength her fingers had found, before gently beginning to rock her grip back and forth.
She could feel his heartbeat through his chest, and his breathing grew shallower.
‘We can’t do this . . . not here.’ He stumbled over his words. ‘Let’s go home. Please. You’re killing me. It won’t end well.’
And just as she pulled her hand from his shorts, a distant voice called her name. ‘Francesca! Sei tu?’
Simona and Carlo were crossing the sand, waving in tandem at the pair, completely unaware of the situation they had walked into.
‘Buonasera!’ Simona trilled. ‘It’s cool now, no?’ she commented, noting how Alessio’s shirt formed a cape of sorts across Francesca’s shoulders. ‘You’re very sweet, Alessio.’ She shot Francesca a covert, You’re still keeping up this charade? look.
They all exchanged cheek kisses and made small talk, in English for Alessio’s benefit, about the food and the atmosphere, before landing on discussion about the upcoming first tappa of the competition. And that was the point of no return.
‘Erm . . . actually, Alessio and I have something to tell you about that.’ Francesca coaxed them further down the beach, away from curious ears. ‘Carlo, you should know that Alessio and I are not cousins.’
Carlo looked between them. ‘You’re not? I thought it was strange that you hadn’t mention—’
‘Sì, scusami. It’s just been a very difficult year. And I panicked in the piazza that day. Alessio, who is a guest of ours for the summer, had only just arrived. I didn’t mean to, but I . . .’
Carlo dropped his head to the side and bobbed down a little to catch Francesca in his arms. He gave her a reassuring hug. ‘You’re not related?’
‘We’re not,’ Alessio chimed in.
‘So, you are lovers?’
‘Carlo!’ Simona snipped. ‘If they have sex, they have sex . . .’
Carlo released Francesca and laughed. ‘It’s convenient, no?’
Alessio couldn’t restrain his smirk, prompting a playful elbow to the ribs from Francesca. ‘Might keep that between us, mate.’
‘But you are a chef?’ Carlo prodded.
‘I am.’
‘A good one?’
‘A truly brilliant one!’ Francesca beamed.
‘Cazzo. Another year that I won’t make it to the second tappa. Vabbè.’
‘Are you ok with this?’ Alessio’s squinted eyes conveyed his guilt.
Carlo shrugged pensively. ‘There is nothing I can do, no? I never win. It’s fine with me. I won’t say nothing.’
Francesca pounced on him with a series of cheek kisses. ‘Grazie di cuore, Carlo!’
‘Just promise me one thing, Alessio. Make sure the other two don’t win, eh!’
‘I’ll try my best!’
As the guys reached forward and exchanged a hearty man hug, Carlo’s phone rang. He stepped quickly aside to take the call, returning moments later with a proposition for Alessio. ‘It is now your turn to use your raincheck.’
‘For what?’
‘The guys need another man for the volleyball game. Come. Play.’
Simona inflated with enthusiasm. ‘Sì! Then you are truly one of us!’
Alessio looked to Francesca. ‘What do you think?’
‘Do it. But I’m keeping the shirt.’ She snuggled into the warm linen and laughed.
Alessio turned and nodded at Carlo. ‘Ok, andiamo!’ They headed up the beach, but not before Alessio whispered to Francesca, ‘I could use the distraction.’
Following a tense defeat at the hands of Elio and Sebastiano’s team, Simona, Carlo, Alessio and Francesca made their way back up to the piazza. After at least three rounds of good-night cheek kisses because they couldn’t stop chatting, they finally parted ways.
As they arrived at Trattoria dei Fiori’s front door, Francesca placed a hand on Alessio’s as he reached to unlock it.
‘Wait, please,’ Francesca said, her voice heavy.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I need to apologise for before. What I did at the beach. In the kitchen. And the other day, at the cove.’
His hand dropped by his side. ‘Why?’
‘Because I took things too far. It was inappropriate and I risked all this.’ Her right hand gestured to the two feet between them. ‘I got carried away. Scusami.’
These words deflated all his hopes for something more with Francesca upstairs. That much he could read from her flat body language and spiritless voice.
He took a step, narrowing the gap between them. ‘Don’t apologise. But know that despite the interesting location and half the town for company, it felt fucking good. Feeling you play with me like that . . .’
She rolled her neck uncomfortably. ‘I . . . I’m glad it did. But I’m still sorry. It’s too risky right now. The competition starts in two weeks. And I . . . I . . .’ She was coming undone.
‘Francesca, stop. If this is what you want, then . . . then that’s what happens. Nothing.’
Her bright brown eyes looked up at him in earnest. ‘But I want things to happen. Many things. All of the things. You are making me crazy, Alessio. But . . .’
‘The timing isn’t right.’
She exhaled. ‘I’m sorry if I led you on tonight. But my attention and affection were all real. All true.’
He gave her hand a squeeze and offered a kind smile. ‘Mine too. Including what I said.’
‘Allora, for now, we can just . . .?’
‘Ok.’
He unlocked the door and let her slip past him into the dark dining room. She didn’t see the defeated hunch of his shoulders, or how his face fell.
You and I can’t just be friends. Of that I am now certain . . .
Francesca tiptoed her way through the apartment, noting that she couldn’t hear Maria’s usual melodic snoring. She stopped in the doorway of Maria’s bedroom, and on cue, the bedside lamp turned on.
‘How did tonight go?’ Maria asked, curled on her side, hand still on the lamp switch.
‘Like every year.’ But Francesca suspected the slight tremor in her voice gave her away.
‘And the shirt?’ Maria’s eyes narrowed in on the shirt around Francesca’s shoulders. ‘Cold, was it?’
‘By the end.’ She pulled the collar to her nose and breathed in Alessio’s scent. ‘He’s just so amazing, Nonna.’
‘You should be together.’
‘How? When I’m not cooking downstairs, we are already always together. But most of that time is spent out there! In public.’ She gestured towards the piazza. ‘How can we just be?’
‘Just be in here. Or in your apartment! And deal with the details and problems later.’
‘But I told him tonight that things need to wait . . .’
Maria scowled. ‘For what? Behind closed doors, anything goes.’
Fatigue drained away any desire Francesca had to argue the point, so instead she blew Maria a kiss. ‘Buonanotte, Nonna.’
‘Think about it.’ Then Maria plunged them into darkness.