Chapter 33
“So let me get this straight,”Jade says, and I brace myself. It’s the day after Santo’s proposal, and I’ve just gotten home from classes, and we’re video chatting. Tessa puts a hand over her mouth to preemptively stop a giggle, and Sara coughs. “The man who gave you the best orgasm of your life wants to take you away for a weekend so he can bang your brains out because it’s too risky to bang here in the city?”
“Um, yes, well, I don’t know if that was the best orgasm of my life?—”
“That’s what you want to argue about?”
Tessa snickers. She’s in Paris visiting Luc this week, and I’m very glad that she has her earbuds in because they are living with Luc’s elderly grandmother.
“Don’t you think there’s some recency bias here? Like surely back when Bruce?—”
“No, no. I remember many nights where you were, frankly, agog at my bedroom shenanigans. Believe me when I tell you that there’s no recency bias going on.”
“Recency bias?” Sara asks.
“Fresh memories are more important than old ones in your brain, so you focus on them,” Jade explains. “And also, he has a house somewhere?”
“Yes, in Castel Gandolfo. He texted me the address so I could send it to y’all. And since it’ll be the end of the term, I miraculously don’t have any homework.”
“Right, because homework is a good reason not to have a weekend bang-fest.”
“I have to keep my grades up! And I have to decide my concentration soon and then think about internships and?—”
“You can do all of that while still having a weekend of amazing sex, I promise you.”
“I know,” I say, exasperated with Jade. “That’s why I’m going to go.”
“Hey, y’all?” Sara’s voice interrupts us. “Has anyone Googled Santo?”
“No, why?” Jade’s voice is sharp and concerned. “Are there, like, articles about how he’s a serial killer who is so good he’s left no evidence behind, and no one can get him convicted?”
“How would they know he’s a serial killer if there’s no evidence?” Tessa points out.
“There’s circumstantial evidence, but not concrete evidence,” Jade says. She loves true crime podcasts and has a weird fascination with unsolved murders. I know she’s teasing, and I can hear the clacking of her keyboard as she Googles in her home office. I’m cooking dinner, so I let them do the searching for me. “Just enough for the Italian FBI to know it’s him but not enough proof to put him away for life.”
“You’re imaginative,” Sara says with fondness.
There’s a moment of quiet, and when I look back at my phone, Sara’s on the screen, her eyes scanning the area right below the camera. She’s in her house in Austin, daylight filtering in through the window next to her. Her daughter is back in school, and Sara and Chris have spent their time in the US to be close to Zoe.
The view switches to Jade. “What do you know about Santo outside of class, Emma?”
I think for a minute. “There’s a bio on the school’s website, which I’ve read. He’s divorced twice. He used to be in the tech industry.”
“What about his dad?” Jade prompts.
I bite my lip. Santo told me about his dad in confidence, and I don’t think I should tell them about the affair. It’s too private and unrelated—it was his father who had the affair, not Santo.
“Not much,” I admit.
“Emma, pick up your phone and google Franco Offredi.”
I do, swiping up to relegate Jade’s face to a tiny portion of the screen. The search results show me a variety of pictures through time of a man that has the same nose as Santo, same sharp gaze and coloring. Santo’s father is broader, and when I see pictures of the two of them together I can see that their build is quite different.
My friends and I are quiet as we read for a few minutes. There’s a helpful article about the height of Franco’s company, Offredi Importazioni Globali, or OIG. There was the Italian economic miracle in the late sixties, where post-war Italy experienced an economic boom—and OIG, which imported everything from televisions to railroad supplies, rode the wave, eventually diversifying and expanding to become one of the largest companies in Italy, and Franco one of the richest men.
When I read his estimated net worth, I can’t help the “oh shit,” that falls from my mouth.
“Oh, shit is right,” Jade remarks. “Santo is rich.”
“Just because his dad was rich doesn’t mean he is,” Tessa points out. “While generational wealth is a big thing, this article says upon his death, most of his wealth was in the business. And Santo’s CV on the school’s website doesn’t mention the company at all.”
We keep reading and digging, going down a rabbit hole, until I smell something burning.
“Oh shit,” I say again. I rush to the stovetop, where my dinner is smoking. Flipping the burner off, I peer into the pan. I forgot to set a timer, and now my quinoa and chicken are burned. Damn it. The smoke detector hasn’t gone off yet, thank god, so I rush to the window to fling it open and let in the nippy January air.
This is the problem with one-dish meals. If you screw it up, then you are back to square one.
“You okay there, Emma?” Tessa asks, sounding amused. She’s a skilled cook and I’d bet she’s never burnt a meal in her life.
“Fine,” I grumble, inspecting the pan. I poke at it with my spatula. The bottom is burned, but it was supposed to be tonight’s dinner and leftovers. I think the top is salvageable, so I might get one plate out of it.
“Castel Gandolfo looks beautiful,” Sara says wistfully.
That perks me up. “I know, I Googled it.” It’s a cute town on a lake surrounded by rolling hills. January isn’t the best time to visit, but it’s where many city folks—including, back in the day, the pope—spent their summers to get away from the stifling heat in the city. It’s only an hour or so away.
“It’ll be your own eat, pray, love journey,” Tessa quips. “Without the praying.”
Jade moans and pulls a When-Harry-Met-Sally-in-the-diner moment, her voice breathy and teasing. “Oh, god.”
We laugh. “Okay, blasphemer. How about eat, sleep, love?”
I rub my forehead. “Not going to lie, sleep sounds so good right now.”
After the conversation with Santo last night, I had a hard time focusing on my classwork. All last week, I gave myself more orgasms than I ever had in my life. I even pulled out my toy as soon as I got home today, but it only made me sad because I didn’t even know if Santo was around and Oliver wasn’t home to bark at me, either.
“I say go for it,” Jade announces.
“Color me surprised,” Tessa deadpans.
“What about his job? Her reputation at school?” Normally, I’m the one who’s the pessimist, but Sara’s always willing to take up the mantle for me.
They bicker back and forth for a bit—guess who says, “but sneaking around is so hot”?—until I interrupt them. “There is one other concern that I have.”
“Aside from the secrecy and the risks?”
“Yeah.” I fidget with the fringe on the throw blanket on the couch. “So, he’s definitely given me my best orgasm ever. I doubt I can return the favor. What if when we have sex, it’s not that great?”
“Babe,” Jade begins. “You’re my best friend. We just lived together for a month. I know you better than I know anyone else in my life—sorry, ladies.”
Tessa smirks, and Sara waves it off.
Jade leans into the camera, pressing her palms together in supplication. “Do you think that I would release you unprepared into the world of fucking? Knowledge is power, and I’ve spent our whole friendship arming you with the biggest weapons in my arsenal: feel good about yourself, don’t forget to laugh, ask for what you want, be open to experimenting, don’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with, tight and wet are compliments of the patriarchy, always get your orgasm first?—”
“Okay, okay,” I say, laughing and holding my hands up in defeat. “You’re right. The sex will probably be the best I’ve ever had, too, and hopefully, it’ll be good for him. I just wish you had, like, a secret weapon for me.”
Jade peers off and to the right side of the camera, tapping her chin. “Well, there is one thing you could do that would probably blow his mind. If he’s up for it.”
“What?” I lean in, curiosity getting the better of me. I know the things Jade likes—light bondage, hair pulling, spanking—but I don’t really know what she has in mind.
Sara and Tessa don’t seem to know either, and they’ve both leaned in further.
“It requires a bit of prep work, and the guy has to be pretty open-minded about it, but…”
“Oh, my god.”I said it about a million times on our drive to the countryside, and I’m saying it again from the terrace of Santo’s villa. He’s still calling it a house, but it’s a villa—terra cotta tiles, earthy tones inside and outside, and a gorgeous view of the surrounding vineyards. Since we left right after class, it’s dusk, and while the sun might still be above the horizon, it’s sunk behind the hills that shadow the valleys of the landscape.
I should help—the car door slams shut from the other side of the house, and I know Santo is getting my bag for me, but I can’t peel my eyes from the Cyprus trees and rolling plains. He’s also getting Zola situated since we brought her for the weekend, so she doesn’t have to be alone.
I take some pictures. I want to send them to my kids, but I don’t know how to explain that I’m out of town on a romantic weekend with anyone, let alone my professor. If one of them was doing this with a professor, I would fly home to open a giant can of angry momma bear ass on them.
Hypocritical, maybe. But despite Santo’s position at the school, I can’t see what we’re doing as wrong, at least not when I’m around him. My kids are still developing; they’re still young enough to be learning hard lessons and making mistakes. I’m older and wiser (I like to think), and so is Santo. He’s so responsible—for that matter, I usually am too—and a naive part of me thinks that this isn’t a big deal.
Currently, that part in my head sounds like Jade, which is ironic because she’s the least naive person I know.
I send the pictures to our group chat instead. Tessa immediately responds with a heart-eyes emoji. Sara’s probably teaching back in Austin, but a few minutes later, Jade texts back.
Jade
Eat, sleep, BANG.
Are you ready to blow his mind?
I bite my lip. I haven’t asked Santo about my plans yet, though I came prepared. And I’ve read about a dozen articles Jade sent me.
But we’re not starting with that; at least, I hope not. If Santo is totally grossed out by the idea when I ask him on Sunday, then we can call it quits early and head back to the city.
And that will be that.
A throat clears behind me, and I turn to see Santo stepping out onto the terrace. He’s got two glasses of sparkling wine, and he holds one out to me. “Prosecco,” he tells me.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the glass from him. “For this and for bringing me here. It’s so beautiful.”
He shrugs modestly. “It’s better in the summer. More lush and vibrant, though I enjoy the quiet of the winter here.” He holds his flute up to me. “Saluti.”
“Saluti,” I echo and gently touch my glass to his.
The wine is bubbly and crisp, tickling my nose as I sip. “How long have you owned this place?”
“Oh, let me see…eighteen—no, nineteen years now. My father suggested I buy a place away from the city, and I liked the idea. I didn’t use it much until I started teaching. Just the summer holiday, usually, but I always brought work with me.”
The summer holiday, I’ve learned, is when many Europeans take the month of August off. When I was in Madrid with Jade, we spent a week in Majorca, though it was crowded and hot, and Jade often had to speak with her American counterparts back in the States who did not have the month of August off.
“Well, no work this weekend, right?”
“No, all fun.” Santo snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him. “All…pleasure.” He whispered the last word against my cheek.
I wrap my free arm around his neck as his mouth softens and travels down the side of my face to my neck. A gasp escapes my lips as he plants an open-mouth kiss on my pulse point.
There’s a scrape of teeth, and then he sucks, and I feel it all the way down to my toes, which curl in my flats. I squeeze my thighs together, and the seam of my jeans is my new favorite thing.
Santo pulls back, keeping his arm around my waist. All I can do is pant.
Fuck recency bias. I’m pretty confident I’ve never felt like this before.
Santo’s eyes are dark, pupils dilated, and the brown of his irises is lost in the dimming light. The sky is deepening to shades of blue, shadows emerging in the harsh light that shines on us from inside.
Santo doesn’t take his eyes off me as he lifts the wine to his lips and swallows the rest of it. He places the empty glass on an old barrel that doubles as a table.
“Emma,” he rasps. “Do you want your wine?”
I blink and stare at my wine glass like I’ve never seen it before. Liquid courage, but I don’t know that I need it. “No,” I tell him.
Santo sets the wine glass down next to his and tangles his hand with mine, tugging me toward the indoors.