26
A strand of sunlight peeks through a crack in the blackout drapes, blasting me in the face. I wake with a jolt, covering myself with the sheets, hiding from the light like a vampire. Instinctively, I stretch my arm out, feeling for the solid mass of Teller’s body. But his side of the bed is empty.
And that’s when last night comes back to me. Dancing at the restaurant under the soft glow of the lanterns. Laughing so hard our stomachs hurt. The quickening of his warm breath against my neck. The feeling of his soft lips melding with mine. The coldness of the marble under my thighs when he hoisted me on the counter. And the weight of him over me, joining us together.
Teller and I had sex. Twice.
Incredible sex, if I may add.
By the time I succumb to reality and pull myself out of bed, there’s still no sign of him. Not in the bathroom, not in the hallway. Could he have left? This early in the morning? It feels out of character, given his tendency to sleep in.
Flashes of my vision snap through my mind at rapid speed. No. He couldn’t have. Frantic, I open the closet door, double-checking that his belongings are still there. They are, thank god. He wouldn’t have left without them.
He must have gone to breakfast. Or maybe a morning walk? Run? Then again, Teller isn’t huge on breakfast, or physical activity, before noon. The only other scenario I can come up with is that he’s been kidnapped by the Italian Mob.
Before I alert the authorities, I realize I haven’t checked the balcony.
I spot his loafer, stretched against the guardrail.
Bingo.
He’s been sitting outside the whole time. He lifts his eyes, but only for a fraction of a second, like my dogs when they get caught eating something they shouldn’t. My suspicion is confirmed. He’s avoiding me. Things are officially weird.
“Morning! I’m shocked to see you up before me.” My tone is chipper, maybe a little too loud.
He pretends to suddenly see me, ears turning a deep shade of pink. “Oh, hey. Yeah, I got hungry. Didn’t eat much yesterday. I grabbed breakfast for you at the buffet. The yogurt is lactose free,” he mumbles, nodding toward the tray on the table.
“Thank you,” I say, tepidly pulling up a chair. After last night, I’m famished. “You feeling okay this morning?”
He tips his head. “Yeah. Oh, by the way, it’s gonna be hot out today. I got some waters from downstairs. Left one on your bedside table.”
Are we really talking weather like retired Floridians? “Thanks,” I say, feeling antsy and nervous. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I slide my phone out too.
We sit there for a few minutes, scrolling on our phones. Truth be told, I’m scrolling mindlessly, not taking anything in. I’m too busy battling invasive thoughts, like did we make a terrible mistake? Did I throw myself at him and now he’s feeling uncomfortable? Did he really want to hook up, or was he just too nice to say no?
No. There’s no way I could have misinterpreted last night. He wanted it as much as I did.
Or maybe it’s worse than that. Maybe he wanted it but ended up hating it. Maybe I’m a terrible kisser, or just generally terrible in bed. It occurs to me that I might have made a massive mistake. In an effort to keep him close, I did the exact opposite. Maybe this is what marks the beginning of the end for us.
Before I spiral and start saying all of that aloud, I fire off a quick SOS to Bianca.
Bianca: It’s 2:30am. What’s up?
Lo: I Slept With Teller
I’m never one to beat around the bush.
Bianca: ????
Bianca:
She follows up the question marks with five GIFs of varying surprised reactions ranging from bug eyes to public fainting.
Sometimes, I like to leave her in suspense, so I take a beat, set my phone down, and eye Teller. “Who are you texting?” I ask casually, trying to ignore my flaming-hot ears.
He hesitates, working down a swallow. “Um ... Sophie.” He says it so nonchalantly, as though they haven’t broken up, as though we didn’t just spend an intimate night together, as though texting her is just part of his morning routine. Did I slip into an alternate dimension or something?
Either way, his response hits me straight in the gut. I can’t help but imagine the texts. Is he telling her we hooked up? Profusely apologizing? Telling her it was a huge mistake? Likely. I’m tempted to ask him straight up, but that would make me seem overly invested. He’d think I have feelings for him. So instead, I scarf down my breakfast in silence, trying my best to act as normal as possible. It’s cowardly, but I can’t look at him without blushing. I can’t look at his lips without remembering about how they felt against my skin.
Thankfully, a FaceTime from Bianca gives me an excuse to go back inside.
She’s in the dark, blankets pulled to her neck, eyes wide, hand over her mouth. By the way the camera jolts around, I’m fairly certain she’s kicking her feet.
I try to warn her not to move her broken foot too much, but she’s got a one-track mind.
“You slept together?” she shouts.
“Yes,” I mouth, locking myself in the bathroom.
“How was it?” she asks.
“Um ... good.” Understatement of the century.
She blinks, silently calling me out. “I need details.”
So I break down and tell her everything.
She giggles and screeches through the whole thing. “Hell yes. You deserve this. But wait. What about Caleb?”
My eyes widen. “Shit. You’re right. I didn’t even think about Caleb at all. Is that horrible of me? I’m a terrible person, aren’t I?”
It’s strange how something can feel so right in the moment. While we were dancing and kissing, it was like we were in our own world. Nothing else mattered. Last night, I didn’t have feelings for Caleb. Last night, Caleb wasn’t the person I was supposed to be with. And, dare I even think, last night Caleb wasn’t my soulmate.
She shakes her head. “No! You’re not technically together, even if he is your soulmate. And let’s not forget, he’s the one who ditched you in Florence.”
Before we hang up, Bianca tells me all about the time she slept with another guy while on a “break” from her then boyfriend and how it was justified. “Similar situation,” she assures me, letting me off the hook.
She’s right. Logically, I know I didn’t cheat or anything. Caleb is technically out of the picture right now. But it still feels wrong. Like I’ve both betrayed my destiny and messed up my most valued friendship in the process.
I’m grateful when we meet up with Loraine, Nettie, and a couple other guests for today’s activity—truffle hunting. Having other people around takes the pressure off. On the bus, we choose seats opposite each other on the aisle. It’s a subtle shift, as we’ve always sat next to each other.
We stop at a rustic farmhouse and are greeted by a burly farmer named Antonio. He’s gracious and welcoming, but speaks so softly, we can barely hear him. As it turns out, truffle hunting isn’t as glamorous as it sounds. In reality, it’s just digging around in the dirt with a basket and a rusty spade. The only consolation is the cool shade of the forest.
I spend most of my time petting Antonio’s loyal truffle-hunting dog, Mimi, a Lagotto Romagnolo. Eventually, Antonio politely requests that I refrain from petting her. I’m distracting her from her job.
I catch Teller digging around in the dirt under the shade of a huge tree. We haven’t said more than two words to each other since this morning, and it’s starting to wear on me. I have to fix this. Now.
“We’re okay, right?” I ask, unable to stand the silence any longer.
His gaze meets mine. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we be?” he says after a long pause.
“Well, we did have sex.”
His eyes widen. “We did?”
I back up a step. How could he not remember? We were both entirely sober—at least I was. “Wait, you don’t remem—”
Before I can finish, his face breaks into a wide, goofy smile. “I’m just kidding, Lo. I remember it. Trust me.” Trust me.
There are so many ways I could interpret that statement. But at this point, I don’t really trust myself to interpret anything about Teller.
“This doesn’t change things between us, does it? Like, we can just forget it ever happened, right? Go back to being totally normal? Just us?” I’m technically asking him, but really, I’m asking myself. Can I forget when the night is emblazoned in my mind? Unlikely.
A beat. Two beats. “Yeah. I mean, if that’s what you want, we can agree to never speak of it from here on out. It’s just casual vacation sex, remember?”
“Right. Casual vacation sex.” I try to say it confidently, even though it feels like anything but.
Thankfully, the best distraction comes at dinner.
At least we’re back on speaking terms. It’s taken a while to get there, but I force it through a series of inappropriate jokes and unnatural conversation, and things are much improved from this morning. Hopefully, by the time we go to Amalfi tomorrow, things will be back to normal.
Neither of us wants to return to our room, the scene of the crime. So we stay on the communal patio long after our dinner plates are empty. The conversation flows: about the food, the beauty of the villa, memories from the trip. But there’s a weird energy hanging between us. Normally, Teller is one of the only people I can tolerate long stretches of silence with. But tonight, it’s like he’s desperate to fill any lull.
“Hey, did I show you Doris’s Halloween costume from last year?” he asks, pulling his phone out to find a picture.
I smile politely, leaning in to look again. “You showed me that one a few weeks ago. The ladybug one your mom made?”
A flash of disappointment flits across his face, and I can tell he’s racking his brain for something else to talk about.
“What do you think Doris is up to right now?” I ask.
“She’s most likely holding court on my dad’s lap.”
I laugh, though I’m desperate, internally combing through various potential topics. When I come up short, I start tearing my napkin into shreds. This is it. This is the end of us. In my panic, I blurt, “Have you finally figured out how to express Doris’s anal glands?” I am clearly not okay. Send the police.
Teller’s eyes go round. He’s horrified. Before he can respond, the villa owner’s daughter approaches, as though she knew we needed saving. I assume she’s checking if we want the bill, but instead, she leans into my ear and whispers, “There’s someone at the front desk for you.”
I look at Teller. “What?”
Based on his expression, he has no clue who it is either.
I think about all of our hostel friends. Only one person could possibly know we were staying here, since up until a few days ago, he was supposed to join us.
Caleb.
Teller must have told him about the surprise booking. I set my napkin on the table and follow her. He came back for me. Holy shit.
I pause before heading into the entryway, trying to collect my thoughts. I’m cautiously ecstatic, because this means Caleb has come back. I didn’t entirely scare him off. But after last night, the timing couldn’t be worse.
I round the corner, bracing myself to see Caleb’s sun-kissed curls, his surfer charm on full display. Instead, there’s a man in an all-khaki outfit, complete with a safari hat, towering over a dark-haired woman in a hot-pink tunic with matching hot-pink wedges.
Dad and Aunt Mei. What are they doing here?