Chapter 24Sofia
Chapter 24
Sofia
It’s the strangest thing, but I feel like I’m on a vacation somewhere, with nowhere to be and nothing to do, other than enjoy myself and be in the moment. Which is exactly what we’ve been doing.
Marco and I wandered the festival, sampling sweet treats and delicious fruits, watching an old-fashioned puppet show, listening to the performers expertly wield their instruments, all under the warm summer sun in the most picturesque village atop a mountain.
We’ve talked about inconsequential things, and the conversation has flowed. If there’s any silence, it’s been perfectly comfortable, and as Hadley, I’ve left my usual life behind. I’m free. Relaxed.
Happy.
As for my disguise, who would have thought people wouldn’t recognize me simply because I’m not dressed in a formal suit or dress, with no string of pearls at my neck, and my hair not held up in a neat style with bobby pins.
Now, as we exit the superette with our toothbrushes and other essentials, I find myself swinging the paper bag in a carefree way as we climb through the streets on our way to the Villa Serendipity, the only hotel in town.
“You must be very excited about this,” I say as we pass Constance and Erma waving at them.
“Staying in a hotel?” Marco asks. “I might not be royalty, but I have stayed in hotels before, Principessa .”
“No, I meant the name of the hotel. Villa Serendipity, named after your favorite movie with your actress crush.”
“Ah, Kate Beckinsale.” He waggles his brows at me, and it makes me giggle like a prepubescent girl, which surprisingly, that’s the way Marco makes me feel. Giddy, I suppose is the best word to describe it. Giddy but somehow serene, if that makes any sense at all, and I suspect it doesn’t because aren’t giddiness and serenity opposites?
I don’t know. I refuse to overthink it. I’m living in the moment with Marco, and it’s wonderful.
We pass a dress shop with a pretty cornflower blue dress with V-neck, cap sleeves, and a full skirt.
I stop to admire it. “That’s so pretty,” I breathe, imagining myself in such a dress. It evokes feelings of being in a summer meadow on a picnic, enjoying the sun, a light breeze in the air, with cicadas chirping .
“Come on. Let’s go get those rooms, shall we?” Marco says, interrupting my daydream.
We continue to climb until we can see an old-fashioned oval wooden sign jutting out on a rail that’s seen better days, with the painted name “Hotel Villa Serendipity.”
Like the rest of the village, the hotel has rustic stone walls with quaint, arched windows. There are several balconies that could only be described as “cozy” overlooking the narrow cobblestone streets.
It reminds me of a scene from an E.M. Forster book I read once, A Room with a View . Of course, those scenes were in Florence, in a hotel overlooking the famous river, but this place is better. It’s tucked away in a small village in the mountains, not in the middle of a tourist-ridden city where people would recognize me.
“I wonder if we’ll each have a balcony? We could wave at one another,” I suggest as Marco pulls the door open for me to step inside.
I’m immediately struck by the busy floral wallpaper, floral carpet, and marble reception desk, all vying for my attention. Behind the desk sits a girl who can’t be more then eighteen, her head down as she concentrates on her phone.
“Excuse me,” Marco says, and she looks up at us in surprise.
“Oh, hello,” she says her eyes swivelling between the two of us. “How can I help you today?”
“We would like two rooms, please,” Marco replies.
“Two rooms?” she questions, as though we’ve asked for something quite outlandish.
This is a hotel, isn’t it?
“That’s right. One for me and one for the lady.” Marco gestures at me.
“I’m sorry, but we only have one room left and that’s only because we had a cancellation at the last minute, so you’re actually really, really lucky.”
“Only one room?” I ask, worry gripping my belly.
“That’s right,” she says with a pleasant smile, as though it’s not a problem at all.
I pull my eyebrows together. “But we need two rooms.”
“Well, you could try Castlemaine,” she offers.
Relief washes through me. The idea of having to share a room with Marco? Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing we don’t have to.
“Castlemaine sounds fantastic. How do we get there?” I ask.
“Well, you drive for about three hours north before you turn off onto a stretch of road where there’s a big old oak tree, and then you?—”
Marco raises his hand. “Thanks for that, but I don’t think we’ll be going to Castlemaine.”
“It might be faster if the roads are clear. You see there are herds of goats around here. It’s one of the main businesses of the area. Goat’s milk. Goat’s cheese. Goat soap. Goat everything really. My boyfriend says we’re goat mad around here, but that’s because he’s from Villadorata originally, but he’s lived here for a long time now, so really, he should be used to all the goats.”
I lift my lips into a smile. “Goats. Lots of them.”
“Yup. Lots of them,” she repeats.
I flick my gaze to Marco and wonder whether he’s feeling this odd mixture of emotions that seem to be swirling around me at the thought of sharing a room—sharing a bed —with a man I have feelings for, feelings that have only grown stronger as we’ve meandered through the festival together this afternoon without a care in the world.
“Is there anywhere else a little closer and less… goat-infested?” he asks .
The girl shakes her head. “Not unless you want to drive the other way.”
“The other way?” Marco asks.
“The closest village is about a couple of hours south of here, toward Villadorata.”
“Got it.” Marco places a hand under my elbow and leads me gently a few steps away. “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but we can make this work. You can take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the floor or a sofa or something.”
I swallow. The idea of being alone in a bedroom with this man, who has plagued my thoughts since the moment I laid eyes on him, is doing things to my belly, so much so it wouldn’t matter whether he was sleeping on the floor or right next to me in the bed. He would be there, in the room, sleeping beside me.
“We really don’t have any other choice if we want to be up in time to meet the professor for breakfast,” he says.
I nod rapidly, like one of those bobble heads. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure. We’ve come this far. We don’t want to miss out on having the scroll translated tomorrow. Let’s take the room.”
His lips pull into a smile, and I choose to study the intricate pattern of the wallpaper.
A short while later, we climb the creaky wooden staircase to the very top of the building, where the receptionist slides a large key into the door and pushes it open.
“You’re lucky. This is our best bedroom,” she says as I look around. The room is small but utterly picturesque, from the chiffon drapes framing the French doors that lead out to one of those small balconies, to the four-poster bed with deep burgundy bedding, to the hardwood floors, and floral wallpaper. Naturally.
“We certainly are. It’s a lovely room,” I say brightly, scanning the room for a sofa and finding none .
“This room has its own bathroom while all the other rooms have to share. It was reserved for a couple on their honeymoon, but they cancelled at the last minute, which is why it’s free. If you ask me, someone forgot to go to the church, if you know what I mean.”
“I think we do know what you mean,” Marco replies, smiling as though he hasn’t noticed the one rather large omission in this room: a sofa. Or much floor space, for that matter.
Did I mention the room is small?
“I’ll leave you to it then. You’ve got two keys, one for the front door when it’s locked from ten tonight, and the other for your room. I’ll put them here.” She places the two large keys on one of the nightstands. “Will you be going to the festival? The lanterns are lit at nine-thirty, and there’s a band playing beforehand. My boyfriend’s the drummer.”
“I’m sure we will,” Marco replies.
“Okay, enjoy your stay.” She closes the door, and then it’s just me and Marco in the tiny room—with one rather large elephant in the room with us, aka only one bed.
Marco must be thinking the exact same thing as me because before I even have the chance to say anything he says, “I’ll get some extra bedding and curl up over there by the fireplace for the night.”
The area in front of the fireplace is currently occupied by two chairs that look like they belong more in a school room than a hotel room.
“Let’s see where the bathroom is, shall we?” Marco strides across the room, which literally takes about three of his long-legged steps, where he slides a door into its pocket to reveal a bathroom about a tenth of the size of my bathroom at the palace .
“Well, that’s tiny,” he says on a laugh, turning to me. “Would you like to freshen up before we go out?”
“Out?”
“To the festival, of course. You know what they say? When in Rome.”
“And in Monteluce that means seeing our receptionist’s boyfriend play the drums in the band.”
“I don’t know about you but I’m very excited for that.”
“Wild horses could not keep me away.”
We share a smile.
“How about you freshen up, and I will give you your privacy,” he offers.
“All right. Then I’ll do the same for you.”
“It’s a deal.” Marco steps out of the room and closes the door behind him.
That's something else he's got going for him. He's respectful. He's giving me my space.
I inspect the bathroom. It’s got a toilet with one of those old fashioned systems high on the wall, from which hangs a chain. There’s a small sink, and a white plastic shower cubicle. Not exactly the palace, but it will do.
A short while later, showered and feeling fresher, I wrap my towel tightly around myself and pull the pocket door open a couple of inches to check if the room is still empty. No sign of Marco. I pad across the floor. It’s then I notice something out of the corner of my eye, something blue in a sea of burgundy. Lying on the bed is the cornflower blue dress I spotted in the window, accompanied by a folded piece of paper with the words “For Hadley” written in ink.
With my chest filling with warmth, I pick the note up and read it.
“You should be allowed to wear whatever color your heart desires. M xx”
My heart begins to hammer .
He bought me the dress? The blue dress. Not Ledonian red, but blue, and what a beautiful blue it is. I pick the dress up to feel its soft cotton. Lifting it to my face I breathe it in. It smells like newness, and instantly, I’m transported to that summer meadow, enjoying a picnic in the sun with… Marco.
I suck in a breath.
Oh, Marco Revera, you are not playing fair.
Buying me this dress when he knew I liked it and wanted to break out of my endless sea of red is beyond kind, and it makes my heart leap and bounce, like I’m on a trampoline, bouncing as high as I can to reach the clouds.
Quickly, without overthinking this—because I don’t want to overthink this—I slip the dress on and turn to my reflection. I unclip my hair and let it cascade over my shoulders and see a girl looking back at me. I barely recognize myself. My hair falls freely over my shoulders. My formal, expensive clothing is replaced by a pretty summer dress that flows with every movement. As I sway from side to side, enjoying the feel of the dress brushing against my legs, I experience an unfamiliar lightness, a mix of excitement and nervousness and pure elation. For the first time in a long, long time, I’m free to be whoever I want to be, and tonight I’m Marco’s Hadley, wearing the dress he bought for me.
I’m putting on some mascara I bought at the superette when there’s a knock on the door.
“Are you decent?” Marco calls.
“Come on in.”
He enters the room, and my heart skips a beat. By the looks of him he’s clearly been shopping for more than just toothpaste. He’s wearing a new white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the flawless skin of his taut forearms, which he’s paired with navy blue pants, and a pair of slip-on shoes on his feet.
“You went shopping,” I say, never one to point out to the obvious.
He ignores my comment and instead stands gaping at me. “You look… Wow, you in that dress.”
I smooth my hands over the skirt, flushing with self-consciousness. “I love it. Thank you.”
His eyes bore into me, more intense than I’ve ever seen them. “You deserve it. You deserve to wear whatever color you want.”
“I like that idea,” I reply.
“In that case, you should escape to the mountains whenever you feel the need.”
As long as you’re with me.
I can’t stop my head from telling me what I want as my heart beats out of my chest, my breath turning ragged. It would be so easy to step across this small room and into his big, strong arms, to show him how much this dress means to me, how much he means to me.
It’s as though somehow, through all my carefully constructed layers, he’s found the real me, and I’m laid bare, right here in front of him, and he’s looking at me as though I mean everything to him.
Everything.
Trembling, I do my best to rein my wild thoughts in. He may be the man who fills my mind, the man I feel the most like my true self with, but he’s also the man who could break my heart, just as Reynold once did, a man so much like Marco it scares me half to death.
I lift my chin and pull my lips into my princess smile. “Are you ready to go?”
“I am if you are?”
“Let’s get out there and enjoy the festival. ”
He offers me his hand and I pause for a moment before I take it, the slightest touch of his skin against mine sending heat through me.
I tell myself he’s just being friendly. Holding hands is no big deal.
Only it feels like a big deal here in Monteluce with Marco.
We make our way down the creaking stairs and out onto the street, heading back toward the festival. Walking along, hand in hand, I feel like a different person, and it’s a feeling I want to hold close and never forget.
The atmosphere is just as fun filled and electric as it was earlier in the day, only more so because now, as evening arrives, the string lights are lit overhead, and laughter and music fills the air.
“Look. That’s our receptionist, isn’t it?” Marco says and I look over to see the woman who told us all about the goats dancing to the band along with several other young women. Together, they look so lively and beautiful in their colored dresses, dancing on the cobblestones in their bare feet.
“Do you want to join them?” he asks.
“How about we eat and have a glass of wine first?”
I’ve never been one to dance. I always feel so self-conscious and clumsy while I watch others let themselves go in a way I could never imagine myself being able to do.
“Shall we have some goat cheese pie?” he asks, pointing at one of the stalls selling exactly that. “Or how about goat cheese salad with candied walnuts?”
“Actually, that sounds rather delicious.”
We make our way through the crowds and order our food, complete with crusty bread and a glass of the local wine once more. We find a table under an olive tree, where we sit and eat and watch the festivalgoers enjoying the evening as the sun sets, lighting the sky with vibrant pinks and reds and oranges.
I lean back in my seat, my belly full and the wine dulling the edges of my anxieties, and I allow myself to enjoy the moment, knowing that when I’m back in my real life I can pull the memory out whenever I like.
“Dessert time,” Marco announces, hopping to his feet and offering me his hand.
“I don’t eat dessert,” I tell him.
“The heck you don’t. Come.” He offers me his hand once more, and this time, I slip my hand easily into his, enjoying our closeness as we wander past the many stalls offering sweet treats, from panna cotta to gelato to cakes and everything that lies between. It feels the most natural thing in the world. We’re just two people, out for an evening, enjoying one another’s company.
“Do you think we ought to eat goat ice cream, considering where we are?” he asks, and I scrunch up my nose.
“That would be a hard pass then,” he says, which makes me giggle. “I think we should do a chocolate fondue. I saw a food truck selling some earlier.”
I open my mouth to tell him I’ll stick with a simple piece of fruit, my usual dessert when I have one. I need to be able to fit into my clothes, and all I have to do is say the word “dessert,” and I add a pound to my thighs.
“You go ahead,” I say.
“Don’t you like chocolate fondue?”
“Of course I do, but?—”
“Then let’s have some.” His eyes sweep over me. “Have I told you how gorgeous you look in that dress?”
I shift my weight, uncomfortable. I’ve never been one of those women who can wear whatever she likes and know she’ll look good. I’ve got curves. I’ve got thighs, a butt, and a rounded belly, all of which I keep hidden from the public eye in my princess uniform.
“You do know your figure is incredibly sexy don’t you?” Marco says.
“I—”
“Men don’t like stick figures, Principessa . They like curves. Trust me. You’re hot,” he tells me, and oh, do I swoon. “So? How about that chocolate fondue?”
Buoyed by his words, I throw my usual caution to the wind. “That sounds delicious.”
“I hoped you’d say that.” He takes me to a food truck offering a variety of desserts including chocolate fondue, which we buy and with Marco holding the tub, we dip marshmallows into the delicious dark gooeyness, savoring each bite as a sweetness explosion.
“This is incredible,” I mumble as I dip another marshmallow into the chocolate. As the sweet morsel makes my taste buds zing, I can’t believe I’ve spent my entire adult life forgoing such wonderful tasting food, all to ensure I project just the right look to the world. Not skinny, but definitely not overweight.
Right now, here with Marco, savoring the chocolatey deliciousness, I make the decision to enjoy myself more. Get more out of life. And if that involves eating chocolate fondue at village festivals with an incredibly thoughtful and completely hot man, then I’ll happily step up.
Marco grins at me. “Your mustache suits you.”
“Mustache?” My hand flies to my mouth and I give my lips a quick wipe. “Better?”
“That depends on whether you like the crossdresser look or not. Personally, I’m impartial to a man with a mustache in a dress.”
I snort laugh, only this time I don’t care about the snort because I know I can be myself around this man. I can have fun and not worry about how I look to everybody, not care about what I should and shouldn’t be doing as Princess Sofia. I’m free to make my own choices, and right now, I choose to be with Marco, enjoying this magical night, far away from my regular world.
The band begins to play a familiar tune and my eyes light up. “ The Macarena ?”
“We’re dancing to this. No discussion.” Marco throws the empty tub of chocolate fondue into one of the bins, and together we join the throngs of people lining up to perform the dance.
“But I’m a horrible dancer,” I protest.
“It’s The Macarena , Principessa . Just follow along with everyone else. Okay?”
“Okay,” I reply, feeling giddy and light.
As the infectious beat fills the air, we begin to move through the familiar motions, arms out, then up, then across. My hips sway, my feet tap, and laughter bubbles up as I turn with everyone, completing the steps of the dance. I’m totally lost in the rhythm, every beat pulsing through me with pure, unadulterated joy. Any thoughts of awkwardness or embarrassment have disappeared into the night, and I laugh as Marco messes up the moves, jumping in the wrong direction and crashing into me.
“You’re killing it!” the hotel receptionist yells over the hubbub.
“Thank you!” I call back as I make the next move.
“Isn’t my boyfriend amazing? He’s the drummer,” she says, and I agree wholeheartedly that he is amazing because he’s providing this music that’s taking me out of myself, transporting me to a very different place from the one I usually inhabit.
I know that I have Marco to thank for all of this, and not just because he brought me here to this little village, but because he is Marco, a man so very different from me. He’s a man who lives life to the fullest, grabbing it by the antlers and refusing to let go. His laughter, his humor, his pure joy to be alive has touched me in a way I never expected, and I love the person I am when I’m with him.
He swings me around to face him, his gaze intense, and every time his eyes meet mine, my heart skips a beat. His ruffled hair and rugged stubble give him a carefree, easy charm that I’m finding I no longer want to resist. There’s such a quiet strength to him, evidenced in his confident stance and the way he carries himself. The hint of a smile playing on his lips drives me wild. His presence is magnetic, and despite my best efforts, I can’t help but be drawn to him, imagining what it would be like to have him all to myself. No one else.
Just him and me.
I cannot remember the last time I had so much unbridled fun, existing in the moment with the most wonderful of men. This feels amazing, and I never want our evening to end.