Chapter 6 Constantine
Constantine
I texted her and told her to meet me at the fountain in Piazza Duomo.
It was a circular fountain with four small horses as guardians.
Only one of the horses worked as a fountain of fresh water.
The rest had lost their ability through the ages.
It was directly across from Duomo di Taormina, an ancient church that was still in use today.
I sat on the steps of the fountain in jeans, a short-sleeved shirt, and with sunglasses on the bridge of my nose. It was late May, a quiet time before the tourists flooded the area for summer, and the weather was already warm.
I noticed her when she entered the square, wearing a long sundress with platform sandals and a sun hat—perfectly dressed for a holiday.
She had dark hair the color of cocoa, natural full lips that I was always a sucker for, and green eyes that were bright rather than hazel.
I’d noticed them the first time I saw her outside my family’s restaurant.
I rose to my feet and smiled as she walked toward me, a tall woman who was still petite in comparison to my height. I’d never been picky when it came to women, but I did appreciate a woman with legs for days, who was tall and elegant, someone I could kiss without having to break my neck.
She smiled back as she drew close, her hand moving to the shoulder where the strap of her bag hung.
“Hey.” She came to a stop before me, aviator sunglasses covering her eyes from my sight.
She was awkward again, like she didn’t know how to act around me, even though she’d already fucked my brains out.
I stepped closer to her, watching her reaction change behind the glasses, and slid my arm around the small of her back before I eased her into me and kissed her. A PG embrace suitable for the families nearby.
And I felt it—that same scorching heat.
Her hand automatically went to my forearm, and her posture changed. It softened, leaning into me like she was pulled by my presence. She sank into my lips a little bit, like she wanted to stay there.
I pulled away. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour.”
“Of Taormina?” she asked in surprise.
“Only the good spots.”
She hesitated again, growing distant like she didn’t belong there. “That’s awfully nice of you.”
“It’s small, so don’t sweat it.”
“Still, you don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, I’m not doing this for free.”
“You aren’t?” she asked.
I grinned, watching the understanding enter her gaze once she comprehended my meaning.
“You’ll pay up later.” I nodded toward the main street, Corso Umberto, only accessible by pedestrians.
“Come on.” The road passed all the souvenir shops and gelaterias and led farther into town and all the pathways that branched off it. “Our first stop—Bam Bar.”
“The granita place?” she asked excitedly.
“The very one.”
“Good. I’m starving.”
We walked together down the main street, and I pointed out all the spots I recommended—and the others that were considered tourist traps. Cannoli made without love because they assumed passersby wouldn’t know the difference. Souvenirs made in China instead of handcrafted items from the locals.
We strolled down a couple of streets, made our way slightly uphill toward the Greek theatre, and then emerged at the entrance to Bam Bar, a line of people already outside waiting for a table.
“Oh my god, it’s so cute,” she said. “I love the tables.”
With a sun in the center and Bam Bar written in yellow, the tables were custom made by a local dealer. All the restaurants and cafés had the same furniture, just with different designs and colors.
Instead of heading to the line, I walked up to a waiter who had just bussed a vacated table. “Emilio.”
He turned at the sound of my voice, and his tanned face immediately erupted in a smile. “Con, you’re back in town.” He returned the tray to the table he’d just cleaned and embraced me with a hand grab and a pat on the back. “How long you here for?”
“A week. Just visiting the fam. How’s your dad?”
“He’s good. On holiday in Egypt right now.”
“Holiday?” I asked. “I don’t remember him ever taking a vacation.”
“Well, he had a heart scare a couple months ago and had to put a stent in. Has a new appreciation for life.”
“I had no idea,” I said. “Glad he’s doing well.”
“If you’ve got time, hit me up.” He fist-bumped me. “We’ll hit the beach.”
I fist-bumped him back. “Sounds like a plan, man.”
He nodded to the table. “Take this one.” He winked and walked away.
I moved to the other side of the table and took a seat.
Aurelia joined me, hanging her bag over the top of the chair. We were covered by the awning, so we would be out of the sun and comfortable in the shade. She examined the table and touched the stone underneath her fingertips before she grabbed the menu. “Whoa, they have a lot of flavors.”
“They don’t offer those every day.” I turned in my chair and peered inside the restaurant, seeing the sign they posted with what they offered for the day. I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo before I set it next to her to see. “This is what they’ve got.”
“Oh.” She held my phone and read the selections. “The lemon and the yogurt sound good.”
I shook my head. “Those don’t go well together.
I recommend the coffee and the almond. But if you’re looking for fruit flavors, strawberry and lemon pair well.
” I’d eaten a lot of granita growing up, and the locals always mocked the tourists when they made poor selections.
I was just saving her judgment from Emilio and the others.
“Since you’re the expert . . .” She closed the menu and set it aside. “I’ll take your advice.”
I smiled before I lifted my sunglasses onto my head, exposing my face now that we were in the shade. “Good choice, sweetheart.”
She copied me, slipping her sunglasses into her bag.
She had a small indentation where the spacers on the glasses had dug into her skin, but the rest of her face was perfection.
She looked as she had in the bar, her beauty enhanced with subtle makeup rather than masked by it.
She had full lashes, typical for an Italian woman, along with a sharp jawline and an elegant neck that I liked.
Thick, long hair was around her shoulders underneath the hat, slightly wavy with gentle curls.
And her eyes . . . they just did something to me.
Emilio came back to the table and stopped my mind from drifting to the other night. The little tablet was in hand so he could type in the order for the kitchen.
“Two almonds and coffee,” I said. “Cream on both with the brioche. And a bottle of water.”
“You got it, Con.” He left the table and helped the other customers.
She watched people pass on the street in front of us, sitting with her legs crossed, a golden necklace around her throat. “Did you go to school with Emilio?”
“Yeah. I’ve known him since I was a kid. Pretty much everyone I went to school with works in town.”
“So you’re the anomaly.”
I’d taken a very different direction in life. A lot of people saw Taormina as a beautiful, peaceful town, and for the most part, it was. But Sicily had a long history that most people didn’t know about. “I suppose.”
She turned to look at me. “I can tell you love it here.”
I’d walked these streets hundreds of times.
Swam in the Ionian Sea, jumped from cliffs with the boys, explored caves that nearly got us killed.
Had family dinners by candlelight next to the stone buildings.
I had a lot of good memories here. “It’ll always be home.
” Always hold a place in my heart of joy .
. . and despair. “Where’s home for you?”
“Rome.”
“Same.”
“Only an hour flight. Not sure why I didn’t make this trip sooner.
” She turned to watch the people walk down the stone pathway again.
There was a sandwich shop farther down, a local spot that tourists never visited because it was somewhat tucked out of sight.
“I explored a bit the other day and took a lot of photos. A photographer’s playground. ”
“Too bad your friend didn’t get to enjoy it.”
Her eyes came back to me, accompanied by a distinct flash of confusion.
I knew she’d lied before, but I gave her some grace and let it slide.
When she understood what I meant, she tried to brush it off. “Yeah, her loss.” Her eyes immediately went back to the street to watch the couples pass, holding hands. Potted flowers were outside every door, flowers overflowing from the balconies of the buildings above.
I was a remarkable judge of character, could spot the most skilled liar with a devil’s tongue within a few seconds, so when she’d hesitated and became visibly uncomfortable when she mentioned her friend who’d had to leave their holiday early . . . I knew.
I didn’t respect liars, and anyone who chose to obscure the truth was someone I could do without, but she was so painfully bad at it that I knew it was one of the first lies she’d ever told. It wasn’t her character. Wasn’t who she was.
Now, I wanted to know why she lied.
When I’d felt her stare outside Rosticceria Da Cristina, I’d met her look. I’d expected a quick lock of the eyes and then an immediate dismissal. She was beautiful, obviously, but that wasn’t why my stare lingered.
It lingered because of the grief.
I could spot it on anyone anywhere, even in the middle of uproarious laughter over a dinner party. I could feel the cold from the ice shards in their heart. Hers was just so raw and deep that it made me forget everything around me for a second.