14. Taormina, Sicily
14
TAORMINA, SICILY
Now
“D oes this look okay?” Sophie asked Bee, turning slightly on the aft deck to show off the floral maxi dress she’d picked up in town that afternoon. The sun was beginning to slip behind the cliffs of Taormina, casting the surrounding water in shimmering gold.
“You asked me at the store,” Bee responded, looking up from her phone. “I liked it then, and I like it now.”
Sophie sat herself down on the tufted built-in bench, grabbing a flute of champagne from a crew member’s tray. “It wasn’t styled in the store.”
“You need to calm down,” Bee instructed, sounding more like a mother than she had the whole trip. “You look great, and Gabriel is going to love the dress.”
Alex smiled, sipping her spritz. It was sort of charming to see Sophie nervous about anything , let alone a man. And they had all heard plenty about Gabriel, the handsome and wealthy Frenchman she had been seeing in Paris. He was a consultant whose family owned a boutique hotel, and he looked like a J. Crew model, with wavy blond hair and blue eyes. Basically, he ticked all the boxes required for Sophie to stress over what she was wearing for the first time since they’d set sail.
“You really do look great,” Alex affirmed, grabbing an olive from the spread in front of them.
“Thanks,” Sophie said, looking down at her dress. “And don’t make fun.” She turned to Bee. “I really like this guy, okay?”
“We know you do,” Bee deadpanned. “When does he get here?”
“He should be here any minute,” Sophie answered, looking surreptitiously down at the dock for the fifth time in ten minutes.
“And what about you?” Bee asked, unexpectedly turning to Alex.
“Me? What about me?”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
It was surprising how Bee still made Alex a little nervous, even after all these years. It probably had something to do with the height of her cheekbones.
“No, not really.” Instinctually, Alex crossed her legs and brought her arms in close, a change in physicality Bee noticed immediately. She paused, looking her up and down before speaking again.
“I see those Cancer defense mechanisms are still hard at work.” She smiled, taking a sip of her drink.
“What do you mean?” It took Alex a moment to register that she was referencing her astrological sign.
“The answer, the body language. Cancers are self-protective—they anticipate getting hurt, so they retreat into their shell when they feel vulnerable.”
Alex leaned forward with the slightly narcissistic curiosity of someone hearing astrological truths about themselves.
“Please don’t get her started.” Sophie sighed, toothpicking an olive.
“I’ve read that your sun sign is just one piece of the puzzle, though—isn’t it?” Alex asked, encouraging the discourse.
“That’s true but, if I recall, you have—” Bee paused to tap on her phone, scrolling until she found what she was looking for and making a small ahh sound. “You have four planets in Cancer. That’s a lot of your puzzle.”
“You still have my birth chart?” Alex laughed, genuinely taken aback.
“I have every birth chart I’ve ever read,” she answered, perfectly serious.
Alex suppressed the powerful desire to ask about Danial’s.
“That’s cool,” she demurred. “What does it mean, then? That I have so much Cancer in my chart.”
At this, Sophie let out an impatient groan. “It means you probably have mommy issues,” she said.
Alex tried to hide her shock, looking to Bee for an explanation. “What? Why did she—”
“Cancer represents the mother archetype, among other things,” Bee explained, exuding her own motherly patience. “I’d have to spend more time with your chart to get specific, but in general it means the role of ‘mother’ is a dominant theme in your life.”
“Isn’t that everyone?” Alex asked, feeling Sophie’s eyes on her. It occurred to her that she hadn’t heard anyone so much as mention their mother since they’d boarded the boat—anyone aside from her and Danial.
“Yes and no,” Bee replied with a knowing smile. “Some more than others.”
“Okay,” Paul called from the sliding glass doors, “it’s ready!”
“Are you sure you don’t want to make us wait out here for another forty-five minutes?” Bee asked, looking over the rims of her sunglasses.
“Bitch, you should be so lucky. I had to lug this shit all the way from Spain.”
“We both know you had someone else carry it.” Alex laughed, standing up and smoothing her outfit with her free hand. She’d opted for a cropped white bustier with cap sleeves and a matching skirt: an outfit she had somewhat shamefully purchased on Instagram after seeing it advertised as “guaranteed to drive men crazy.”
The three women walked across the deck and into the salon, where it looked like a Party City had thrown up. There were streamers, confetti, a layer of balloons so thick it covered the entire ceiling ( Where did they get helium? ), board games and cards and a three-tiered cake covered in rainbow sprinkles.
“Happy birthday!” everyone shouted in tandem—everyone except Alex.
It took her a moment to understand: this was a party for her.
“Oh, my god.” She laughed, walking over to Paul’s outstretched arms. “What is this?”
“It’s a birthday party, babe.” He smiled, bringing her in for a hug. “I know you know what that is.”
“But my birthday… my birthday was almost three weeks ago.”
“And we weren’t all together three weeks ago,” he answered, walking her over to the island where a waterfall of gifts was arranged behind her cake. “And I want to celebrate.”
“I love you.” She smiled, hugging him tighter. From over his shoulder, she saw Danial raising his glass to her, giving her a subtle wink.
“Happy birthday, bud,” Dev said, giving her a friendly punch on the arm. Overt displays of even platonic affection were never his thing, but she was warmed by the acknowledgement.
“Am I late to the party?” A strikingly handsome man with a heavy French accent asked from across the room. He was holding a beautiful glass bottle in one hand and a wrapped gift in the other.
“Gabriel!” Sophie called, walking over to him in a surprisingly girlish way and wrapping her arms around his neck.
“You’re right on time,” Paul said, taking the bottle from his hands and examining it in the light. “Thank you for this—should I open it?”
“Oh, that is a gift,” he demurred, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll just take a club soda.”
“Club soda for Sophie’s man,” he called over to Melanie, who was standing in her usual perky way across the room, setting out more canapés. He turned back to Gabriel: “Lemon or lime?”
“Uh, lemon, please.”
“With lemon! And turn up the music!”
Alex winced at Paul’s typically insensitive way with service workers, one of her least favorite qualities of his. Across the room, she caught Danial looking in her direction. His eyes darted over to Paul before rolling, and she nodded, just barely, the corner of her mouth flicking upward. He paused for a moment, studying her before tilting his chin and raising his eyebrows as if to ask if she wanted this to be a real conversation. She smiled more openly but shook her head: no, thank you.
When his back was fully turned to introduce himself to Gabriel, her gaze lingered, settling on the nape of his neck. She immediately regretted not taking him up on his nonverbal offer to speak, and wished that she had used it as an opening to something real. She wanted a reason to continue the conversation, even if she had never been less sure of what she actually wanted to say.
It took three whole hours for Paul to insist that they play Truth or Dare, one of his all-time favorite party games. For years, it had mostly provided him an excuse to make out with Guy, but in the heady atmosphere of a bachelor trip, it was starting to feel like an excuse for everyone to cut loose. There was a little protesting up front that they were too old, that the game was silly, but Paul’s infectious insistence quickly won them over. Before they knew it, they were arranged in a haphazard circle, going back and forth with each other as the crew mostly stayed out of view.
“Truth or dare?” Bee asked Sophie, more than a little tipsy for the first time since they’d arrived.
“Truth,” Sophie answered, wanting to play it extra safe in front of her new quasi-boyfriend.
“When…” She smiled, tamping down a hiccup. “When was the last time you had anal sex?”
“ Jesus.” Dev laughed, snorting into his beer. “We’re no holds barred in here, I guess.”
“She said truth!” Bee insisted, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “She chose her fate!”
Gabriel looked at Sophie, a smile creeping across his face as he sipped his club soda. Alex wondered how all of this must seem to someone who was completely sober.
“I’d like to know, too,” he said, followed by something muttered in French.
“Well,” Sophie started, downing her champagne for courage. “If you must know, it was two weeks ago.”
“ Chic! ” Paul yelled, raising his hand to give Gabriel a somewhat uncomfortable high five. “Okay, Sophie, your turn.”
“You take my turn,” she said, standing up. “I have to run to the bathroom.”
“Again? What did I tell you about those pelvic floor exercises?” Bee pointed in her general direction, looking a little woozy. Dev quietly placed a glass of ice water in front of her.
“Are we going to discuss every part of my anatomy tonight? Do you want to see my medical history, too?” Sophie rolled her eyes, heading to the bathroom.
“I’ll take a look!” Paul called out behind her, before impishly turning his attention to Danial. “Truth or dare, babe?”
“Dare,” he answered. “But I’m not doing anything that involves the crew.”
“No problem.” Paul hesitated, looking unusually calculating as he glanced around their circle. “I dare you to take a shot of Gabriel’s mezcal.”
“Uh, sure.” Danial laughed. “I love mezcal.”
“It’s a good one,” Gabriel added, rather sweetly.
“And you have to take it off of Alex.”
“Excuse me?” Alex jumped, turning to face him across the circle. “What?”
“He has to take a shot off of you. Salt goes on your neck, lime goes in your mouth, liquor on your stomach. I know you’ve done this before. I was there.”
“Paul.” She set her drink down. “I am thirty-two years old.”
“And I am thirty-two and two months . I’m going to see you do one last body shot before I get married.”
When she didn’t respond, he continued: “Look at this party I threw for you. I carried balloons from Barcelona. ”
“You don’t have to—” Danial started, but Paul immediately cut him off.
“Otherwise, Danny has to streak around the boat. I’m talking dick flopping.”
“Paul.” Guy put a hand on his leg. “Stop it.”
“They need to call a truce, once and for all,” he countered, pouring himself more champagne. “The stakes need to be high.”
“I’m not looking at anyone’s penis.” Bee laughed, leaning on Dev. “So I suggest you take the shot.”
“You got off easy,” Dev added, smiling at Danial in an oddly conspiratorial way.
“If she’s okay with it,” he replied, looking across the circle at Alex.
She met his eyes, and without thinking, stood up and began walking across the salon, over to a far dining nook lined by an upholstered bench. She dragged the table across the floor slightly to give herself space and laid herself down, lifting her cropped top even higher and pulling down the waistband of her skirt.
“I’m ready !” she called over.
It took Danial a moment to spring into action, gathering the materials from the makeshift bar on the far side of the kitchen island. He swiped a lime wedge and the mezcal from the counter, then he dropped down to open cabinets, shuffling items around.
“There’s a salt shaker next to the espresso machine.” Guy indicated, shaking his head. “This is a dumb idea.”
“No, it’s not.” Paul smiled, eyes following Danial’s moves. “This is a geopolitical reconciliation. We’re watching The History Channel right now.”
“Please shut up,” Alex called over. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Inside, her heart was racing as Danial crossed the room toward her, but she had to maintain her cool. She had to act as if this was nothing to her, like having his mouth on her body was simply a way to thank Paul for throwing her the party. Their eyes met as he came to a full stop in front of her, a hunger in their expressions that neither could conceal.
“Get on your knees!” Bee called over. “But if you start arguing, I’m breaking out the spray bottle.”
“Shh,” Dev quieted her, laughing.
Obediently, Danial slowly dropped down and set the supplies on the table before moving closer to her. Before he began, he brought his mouth to her ear, his voice a whisper only she could hear.
“Are you sure this is okay?” he asked. His beautiful voice had a gentle, almost pleading tone. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered back, turning slightly to face him. “I promise.”
He pulled back from her, his expression almost stoic. “You have to be very still,” he instructed, starting by placing the lime wedge in her mouth. She bit down on the rind, holding it in place.
Moving down, he shook the salt three times over her neck, the tiny crystals landing right in its center. And on her stomach, he delicately poured the thinnest stream of the drink, collecting in a tiny pool over her navel. It tickled slightly, causing her body to flutter as she held in a nervous laugh.
“Shh,” he hushed her, looking up to meet her eyes. “You’ll spill it.”
Seamlessly, he moved to her neck. At the moment his tongue met her salted skin, she involuntarily gasped, biting harder onto the lime wedge. She felt the liquid slipping down the sides of her stomach with her sharp inhale. Undeterred, he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, willing her to stillness as he licked the last of the salt from the small divot in her neck. Without swallowing, he moved to her stomach, closing his eyes. His tongue began by licking along the sides where a bit of the shot had spilled, then dragged its way up to her center where the tiny pool of mezcal waited for him. He drank from her, his free hand moving to the waistband of her skirt to pull it out of the way.
Once he’d lapped up the shot, he glided back up to face her, his eyes bearing intensely into hers. She had never seen him like this, so insistent and so gentle at the same time. She felt her pulse radiate down her legs, frozen in place with the heaviness of her body. He moved his hand from her skirt to the side of her face, cradling it as he tilted her chin toward him, bringing his mouth down onto the lime wedge she was still gripping between her teeth. His lips closed around hers as he sank his teeth into the pulp of the fruit, draining the juice from it. Their eyes closed simultaneously, juice flowing between their open mouths, exhaling deeply into each other as his hand moved its way into her hair.
“ Bravo !” Paul called out, standing to applaud them from across the room.
They pulled apart in shock, Danial swiftly taking the lime from his mouth and coming to his feet. Alex sat up, disoriented, nearly shaking with the intensity of the experience.
“That mezcal is good,” Danial offered unsteadily, running a hand through his hair before turning to collect the supplies from the table. “I’ll have to buy some.”
Hands full with the bottle, the shaker, and the empty lime, he turned to face Alex, who was still pinned to the bench. His eyes met hers, somewhere between a scowl and a smile, a look of confusion and heat.
“Your turn,” Sophie added, topping up her champagne at the bar while pointing over to Danial, “and Dev hasn’t gone yet.”
“Go easy on me.” Dev laughed, his arm still wrapped around Bee.
“Uh, yeah,” Danial said, still facing Alex. “Umm actually, I’ll be right back.”
Wordlessly, he placed the bottle and shaker back on the table. He paused for a moment before heading down the stairs and toward the cabins, tossing the lime in the garbage on the way out.
For a moment, no one spoke, Alex still on the bench, stomach and neck still damp where he had been.
“What the hell?” Bee pouted. “We can’t play without everyone, that’s no fun.”
“You should bring him back.” Paul smirked at Alex. “So we can finish the game.”
“Sure,” she said, coming to stand before she realized what she was doing. “I can do that.”
Alex smoothed out her skirt as she crossed the room, feeling all eyes on her as she headed down the stairs and walked the long mahogany hallway. The nautical paintings blurred in her peripheral vision, and the slight movement of the boat left her feeling more unsteady than usual. She came to a stop in front of Danial’s cabin door, knowing that whatever waited on the other side of it would have to be acknowledged head-on, and took a deep breath before knocking.
“Danial?” she whispered, nearly pressed to the wood, “are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he answered, less quietly than her. “I’ll be right back.”
“Are you sure?” When there was no reply, she continued. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay, seriously.”
She heard him cross the room, pausing briefly before he turned the heavy brass knob and pulled the door open. His face was drawn, ashen. “Come in.”
“What’s wrong?” She asked, closing the door behind her. “Did I do something?”
“No.”
“Come on, come back upstairs. It was just a stupid dare.”
He paused, appraising her, before laughing in a quiet, almost delirious way.
“I am not doing this again,” he finally said.
“Doing what?”
“Letting you hide behind the game.” He exhaled, wiping a hand across his face with exhaustion. “Or a car ride. Or the future fucking Prime Minister of Spain.”
Her voice went weak, terrified and thrilled by the directness of his words.
“What do you mean?” she said, still testing.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Her breath was shallow, and she pressed her back to the door to steady herself. “I thought at lunch, you wanted to be—”
“Don’t you dare call me your fucking friend again.”
“You… don’t want to be my friend?”
He laughed to himself with that same light madness.
“Alex, I know how smart you are. You know I don’t want to be your friend. I can avoid you, I can try and pretend like you never existed, but no part of me wants to be your friend.”
She could feel her every defense slipping, the rigorous indifference she had spent a decade trying to build up against him crumbling in a matter of seconds, all because of a silly dare.
“And why is that?” she asked, looking directly into his eyes and challenging him to answer sincerely, “Why don’t you want to be my friend?”
There was another silence, and his eyes briefly shot behind her at laughter rising in the distance.
“You want to hear it?”
“Yes,” she answered, motionless, back still pressed to the door. “Why?”
He moved to meet her, his chest ragged with the intensity of his breathing as his hand shook slightly at his side. He stopped only a few inches from her face, bearing down on her.
“Because I don’t want to do this to my friends,” he said, wrapping a hand behind her back and pulling her tight against his body. He drew her closer, until their noses were nearly touching. “I don’t spend every waking second thinking about my friends, imagining how they taste, biting the inside of my cheek until it bleeds to stop myself from saying something.”
She felt weightless with ecstasy, never wanting it to end.
“Every minute on this godforsaken boat has been torture,” he whispered. “I get hard every morning just thinking about what you’re going to wear that day.”
“Yeah?”
“Like,” he ran a finger under the neckline of her top, “What the hell is this?”
“A blouse.” She smiled, bringing her lips dangerously close to his.
“When we fought on the deck, and you took off your dress?” His eyes rolled back in his head with the thought of it, biting his lip.
“You remember that?”
“I told you,” he said. “I remember everything. ”
His lips met hers, hands gripping her wrists and pinning them over her head against the door. His body felt exquisite against her own, strong and lean and full of repressed energy. He moaned into her, the low vibration of it moving from his lips into her own. And she felt an exquisite confidence overcome her as he gave her the affirmation she had waited over ten years for, blooming in its warmth.
He transferred her wrists to a single hand, gripping them more tightly as he skimmed her bare stomach with his free hand before grabbing the bottom of her skirt. Freeing himself momentarily from her kiss, he spoke again:
“I could have killed that man last night,” he said through gritted teeth, eyes still closed, lifting her hem and gliding his hand up the inside of her thigh. “I hate what he said about you.” He paused, lips brushing hers with every word. “I hate that he got to touch you.”
“I know,” she breathed, a smile forming as she parted her legs. “But you don’t have to worry: I never would have slept with him.”
“Why not?” he asked, begging for her to join him in his vulnerability, moving his hand infuriatingly close to the center of her. “I want to hear you say it.”
There was a pause, as she decided just how much she wanted to admit. She had calibrated every action on this trip to maintain power, and while it was okay to lose some of it, she still had to keep a few cards to her chest.
“Because he isn’t you,” she finally conceded, thrilled with the honesty of it.
He groaned with pleasure, fingers just beginning to touch her from the other side of the delicate lace fabric. It was just as good as she’d imagined it would be when the constant friction between them finally caught fire.
From just outside the door, she heard the movement of someone coming downstairs.
“Alex?” Bee’s voice called out, followed by the sound of what was almost certainly Dev, ushering her back into the salon.
As if she’d been doused with a glass of water, Alex used her hips to push him from her.
“Stop,” she whispered. “You have to stop.”
“What?” He looked stunned, more confused than angry, his hand still between her legs. “I can’t stop now.”
“You have to.” She smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t want someone walking in on us.”
“I don’t give a shit about that,” he said, pressing himself into her to prove the extent of his desire. He moved one of his hands to the doorknob, turning the key to lock them in.
“I know you don’t care,” she freed her wrists, bringing them down to remove his hand from between her legs. Without breaking eye contact, she reached for the knob and unlocked the door. “But I do. And you can come with me to the ruins tomorrow, We’ll be together all day.”
“Are… are you serious?”
He looked so distraught, so desperate, that she could only feel an overwhelming tenderness at the sight of him. She smiled, reaching behind her neck to unclasp the necklace her mother had given her for the trip.
“Here.” She took his hand and gently placed the chain in his palm before closing his fingers around it. “You keep this. Collateral, okay?”
He blinked, squeezing the necklace before nodding, slow and resigned.
“Okay,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she reached behind her, turning the knob without looking and cracking the door open. “But it’s been ten years. One more day won’t kill us.”