Chapter 16 #2
‘Come, I have special table prepared, just like you asked,’ Matteo stage-whispered to Luca loudly enough that the whole restaurant probably heard, prompting two pink spots to bloom on Luca’s cheeks.
Matteo gestured for us to follow him through the restaurant, Andrea placing his tiny hand in mine and leading me through a maze of red checked tablecloths and mismatched wooden chairs.
We went through a swing door at the back of the restaurant that led to the kitchen, past a wood-fired oven and a rosy-cheeked, white-haired woman stirring a pot of delicious-smelling tomato sauce.
Matteo introduced her as his wife, Magda, who planted a kiss on both my cheeks and then another on Luca’s, holding his face tenderly in both her hands and speaking very fast Italian.
She beckoned for us to follow her to the back door.
‘Oh.’
I stopped dead, poor Andrea jolting backwards from the sudden change of pace.
It was as if stepping through their creaky stable door had transported me all the way across Europe, to a little slice of Italy hidden away down the backstreets of Hove.
The garden was wild, all cracked terracotta pots and mismatched paving slabs, with vines crawling up the brick walls that flanked it on all sides, but there was a beauty to the untamed landscape.
The olive trees, uneven and natural, swayed in the warm breeze, which smelt of lemon balm and oregano, herbs spilling over the tops of their pots in carefree abundance.
A small wrought-iron table and two matching chairs had been set up in the middle of the garden, the single red rose and about a hundred tealights flickering in old jam jars on the paving slabs speaking of a woman’s touch.
‘It is OK?’
I turned to see all four of them staring at me, their eyes wide and unblinking in anticipation.
A warmth bloomed deep in my chest at the thought of Luca arranging all of this.
Of Matteo and Andrea carefully selecting the perfect rose.
Of Magda lighting each candle in turn, positioning them just so. The sentiment. The care. The thought.
‘It’s perfect.’ I smiled, weaving the silk tie of my dress back and forth through my fingers, until I realised that one wrong tug could result in my dress unravelling and quickly stopped.
I pressed my lips tightly together, fighting back a giggle when Andrea grabbed onto the other side of the chair with Luca, the two of them pulling it out for me.
Andrea snatched the menu from Magda’s hands and passed it to me with a shy smile before Matteo shooed him back up the flagstone path.
‘Think I’ve got some competition,’ Luca remarked with a raise of his eyebrow. I laughed, feeling my shoulders relax.
‘Pfft, we don’t need menu,’ Matteo announced dismissively, swiping the faux-leather folder out of my hands before I could even open it. ‘I can make anything you like, your wish is Matteo’s command.’
‘Oh, umm – I’ll have a ham and pineapple pizza then, please.’ I smiled, remembering the giant pizza oven we’d passed in the kitchen.
Matteo’s mouth fell open in horror.
‘Pineapple? On the pizza?!’ he cried, looking horrified and a tiny bit nauseated by the suggestion.
He looked at Luca. I looked at Luca. But Luca just leaned back in his chair, teeth glinting in a way that told me he was enjoying every single second of my torture.
‘And I’ll have my usual, please, Matteo!
’ he said with a grin. Before I could rectify my mistake and order literally anything else, Matteo was already retreating up the garden path, the fingers of his right hand pursed together as his wrist waved back and forth in disbelief.
‘I think that’s the most offensive thing anyone’s ever said to any Italian. Like, ever.’ Luca chuckled, his eyes sparking playfully in the candlelight as he poured red wine into two glasses.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
‘Seriously though, pineapple on pizza?’
‘What? It’s delicious.’
‘It’s criminal,’ Luca countered, his face deadly serious.
I giggled, a tiny snort escaping before I could stop it.
‘Joe used to say the exact same thing!’ My laughter died a quick death, hanging awkwardly over us like an unwelcome rain cloud on a summer’s day. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered, fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. ‘I don’t know why I said that.’
But when I looked up Luca’s smile was still in place, his head cocked to one side as though trying to work something out. ‘It’s fine. I’d actually like to know more about him.’
‘Who, Joe?’ I frowned, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
‘Yes.’ Luca smiled encouragingly, before adding, ‘That is, only if you want to talk about him. I totally understand if you don’t—’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I assured him, surprising myself by actually meaning it. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘How did you two meet?’
‘At school. He saved me from a public humiliation that, as a 13-year-old girl, would have been the end of my life as I knew it.’
‘And you were together for all that time?’
‘Sixteen years, four months and nine days.’ For some reason I felt my cheeks reddening at this admission, or perhaps the speed at which I’d volunteered the information.
Luca’s eyes widened as he tipped his chair backwards, quite literally blown away by that revelation. ‘That’s pretty special. To find your person and have them stick it out with you for that long. Someone that chooses you each and every day.’
‘Pretty special,’ I repeated with a small smile.
Luca reached for his wine, swirling the liquid up the sides of the glass.
The muscle in his jaw tightened as his eyes met mine across the table, a sad sort of smile tugging at his lips.
I watched his hard exterior, the one I’d mistaken for standoffishness when we first met, crack to reveal a soft, gooey centre.
Suddenly, it all made sense. The deflection, the abruptness, the couldn’t-be-further-from-the-truth Casanova image that he let people believe because it was an easy way to avoid getting too close.
Because whenever he had gotten close to someone, they’d left.
His dad. His ex. Even his Dadaji. They’d all chosen someone else, or something else, over him.
And somewhere along the way, he’d determined that he was the common denominator.
Some sort of problem that couldn’t be fixed.
It made my heart ache. Luca leaned forward, the single tealight fluttering between us bringing out the flecks of gold in his eyes.
‘Do you still believe in love? Even after everything?’ he asked.
The candle flickered with a passing gust of wind, threatening to be snuffed out completely before it stilled, burning even brighter than before. I considered Luca’s question for a long time, his unblinking gaze causing a pleasant warmth to wash over me from head to toe.
‘I think not believing in something doesn’t stop you from wanting it,’ I said carefully, my teeth catching my bottom lip. ‘You?’
Luca’s lips parted a fraction, shifting in his seat so that his leg fell against my knee. Casual. Heavy. He didn’t move it away. ‘I’m a songwriter, Thompson, believing in love is kind of a requirement.’
‘Really? Was that part of the job description when you applied?’
The corner of his mouth twitched, an intensity in his eyes that made my insides melt. Thankfully, my phone chirped before I completely liquified into a puddle on the floor.
‘Sorry,’ I mouthed apologetically, digging in my bag until I found it. Jacob’s name flashed up on the screen. My get-out-of-date-free card was calling bang on time.
‘You need to get that?’ Luca asked.
‘No.’ I turned my phone off, slipping it back into my bag just as Matteo came bustling down the garden path, a black tray held aloft on one shoulder. It contained a single blue and white plate which he placed in the middle of the table, a spoon balanced on either side.
‘Buon appetito!’ He smiled, clasping both hands together in delight before scurrying back towards the restaurant.
Magda’s head appeared around the door, craning at what looked like a very uncomfortable angle, before Matteo shooed her back inside, saying something that required a lot of hand gestures.
I stifled a giggle as Luca poured us both some more wine.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, frowning at the generous square of tiramisu sat in the centre of the hand-painted plate, cream oozing out from all sides.
‘Dessert,’ Luca said with deliberate slowness, as if I were an alien from another planet.
I laughed. ‘No. I mean, I thought we were having pizza?’
‘Dessert first. Pizza after.’
‘You can’t have dessert first!’ I scoffed, throwing my head back.
His eyes danced as they watched me. He dipped a finger into the cocoa-dusted whipped cream and raised it to his lips.
‘Says who?’ His tongue swirled around the tip of his finger as he licked the cream off. It was slow. Intentional. But his tongue might as well have been in between my thighs the effect it was having on me.
‘Says the world,’ I maintained, my voice hoarse.
‘No, seriously, what idiot came up with that rule? Some miserable sod who thought it was a good idea to make people wait for the very thing they’re looking forward to the most?
Life’s too short for waiting, Thompson; sometimes you’ve got to write your own rules.
’ His eyes didn’t leave mine as the spoon disappeared inside his mouth, the low moan of satisfaction rumbling at the back of his throat making me wonder what else might draw that noise out of him.
‘Screw it.’
I grabbed the other spoon, filling it with a mound of coffee-soaked sponge and cream.
My eyes closed with pleasure as I savoured the sweet, creamy flavours, a sigh of desire escaping audibly from somewhere deep inside me.
But when I opened my eyes and saw Luca watching me across the table, my pulse beat hot and fast beneath my skin, and I realised I was far from satisfied.
‘You’ve got a little something—’ Luca leaned towards me as if in slow motion.
I had to fight the urge to grab his face in my hands and taste the bitter tang of coffee on his lips as the tip of his thumb glided briefly across my own.
When it retreated, a smear of white cream was just visible.
Luca inspected it for a moment, twisting it this way and that before slowly raising it to his mouth, lips parted, and sucking it clean.
Fuck. Who knew tiramisu could be such a turn-on?
I reached for my wine glass, the deep, velvety Barolo doing very little to cool the raging fire burning in the pit of my stomach.
A slow smile grew on Luca’s mouth, as if he knew the effect he was having on me.
Never one to give up without a fight, I crossed my legs, letting my right shoe fall to the floor, the bare skin of my foot gliding brazenly up Luca’s trouser leg beneath the table, higher, higher—
His spoon clattered noisily against the side of the plate, one hand clenching a fistful of tablecloth whilst the other shot into the air, palm splayed as he tried to get Matteo’s attention.
‘Can we get the bill?’
My back hit Luca’s front door, which used to be my front door, at the very same moment our lips touched.
You could hardly call it a kiss. His lips brushed mine so gently it was barely more than a whisper even though every inch of my body was practically screaming with desire, my heart beating so loudly I swear the whole building must have heard it.
His hands found my hips, certain in what they wanted as he pulled me tightly against him, his mouth trailing a path of impossibly soft kisses down the length of my neck.
‘Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?’ he murmured against my skin, catching my earlobe between his teeth.
‘Not that I can recall,’ I gasped breathlessly, tipping my head back with a moan as his mouth moved down my neck, grazing my shoulder, along my collarbone.
My hips bucked impatiently beneath him and I felt Luca smile against my skin, but he took his time making his way further down, pulling the neckline of my dress down to expose my breast, teasing my nipple with his tongue, sucking, biting.
‘Well, you do. And this dress,’ he mused throatily, his fingers finding the bow that secured it at my hipbone.
‘Yes?’ I panted, wanting him, willing him to undo me.
He took half a step back, his eyes pure fire as he kept hold of the tie, the bow slowly unravelling until the two halves of my dress hung open like a robe.
I dropped my shoulders, the smallest of movements enough to send the silky material pooling around my feet.
‘Somehow it looks even better on the floor,’ Luca breathed, eyes roaming over my nearly naked body as though committing it to memory.
I reached for him then, my hands frantic as they scrabbled at the bottom of his shirt, yanking it out of his jeans and over his head in my haste, my need, to feel his skin against mine.
And then my mouth was on his again, but this kiss was different.
It was urgent, decisive, our teeth clashing against each other as we backed into the flat, my dress and his shirt forgotten about on the front door mat.
We didn’t make it to the bedroom. Luca’s hips pinned me against the living room wall and my entire body responded, melting into him as his arms snaked tightly around me, pulling me ever closer until my left leg was somehow hitched around his waist. His pinky finger teased the elastic of my underwear, pinging it once against the flesh of my hip as a low whimper escaped from my mouth.
‘So, I take it you’re now a fan of having your dessert first?’ came Luca’s voice in the dark, his hands everywhere all at once. I felt like my body was going to burst into flames at any moment.
‘Consider me converted.’ I smiled, pulling him towards me once more.