Chapter 24 #2
“The sun is setting soon,” Gabriel says. “Want to watch it from a boat?”
I stare at him from bed, straight-faced.
We just got back from the longest day of my life.
We started off the day with more shopping, then somehow he convinced me to get on a Vespa with him, all so that he could take me to a couples pasta class that he secretly booked for us, and when we got back from that? More shopping.
I am disgustingly exhausted, but not Gabriel. It’s like the more we do, the more his internal battery charges, resulting in him wanting to do even more. Me? I could sleep for the next week and still be tired from everything we did today.
But I remind myself that these might be the last few moments with him if things go wrong tomorrow, and I want to make the most of it.
“Let’s do it.”
Within thirty minutes, we’re down by the waters edge, boarding a wooden motorboat that looks like it was pulled straight out of a vintage Italian film. The skipper introduces himself and helps me step down onto the cushioned deck while Gabriel’s hand stays firm at my waist until I’m steady.
“Careful,” he murmurs.
“You’re the one who wanted to put me on a floating object after twelve hours of being on my feet.”
He grins. “Don’t pretend like you don’t love being spoiled by me.”
I roll my eyes, but inside I’m bursting with excitement because I always dreamed about a private boat ride with him.
The boat's engine roars to life, and we pull away from the dock just as the sky begins changing from gold to honeyed pink.
Positano looks unreal from the water. The pastel houses stack against the cliffside like someone spilled a box of macarons down the mountain, Bougainvillea spills over balconies, and the beach shrinks behind us as the coastline curves open into endless blue.
Gabriel reaches for a chilled bottle of prosecco that sits in an ice bucket between two plush sun cushions at the bow, and pours without asking.
“Of course there’s alcohol,” I murmur.
“It’s Italy,” he says simply, handing me a flute.
The boat cuts through the water, heading toward the open sea. Out here, the air is warmer, softer even. My hair tangles in the wind, and my exhaustion fades into a calm haze instead of bone-deep fatigue.
We pass hidden coves carved into the rock, dark caves where the water is said to glow turquoise near the entrance. The skipper points toward a small island in the distance where three jagged rock formations rise from the sea.
“Li Galli,” he says. “Sirens used to lure sailors there.”
“Fitting,” I murmur, more to myself, but Gabriel hears it.
He glances at me. “Why?”
“Danger disguised as something beautiful.”
It’s funny how the most breathtaking things are usually the ones that can undo you. I swallow, my gaze drifting to Gabriel. He’s beautiful, with sun-kissed skin, and the wind pushing his hair back, but he’s also dangerous.
Not because he means to be, and that probably makes it worse. Gabriel has never set out to intentionally destroy me. He chases what he wants with tunnel vision. A few years ago, what he wanted was the tour and the glory of proving himself. And I became collateral damage.
Now he wants me, and I don’t know if that makes me safe or if it makes me the next thing he’ll sacrifice when something bigger comes along.
Being here with him feels like standing at the edge of something intoxicating. It would be so easy to lean in and let myself believe that this attentive, present version of him is the permanent one. But I’ve been here before.
I know how quickly beautiful things can turn into shipwrecks. And the worst part is I still want to swim toward him anyway. Regardless if we go up in flames tomorrow.
Gabriel’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and silence falls as the skipper slows the boat near a secluded stretch of water, killing the engine.
The sun is dipping now, swollen and orange as it kisses the horizon. Gabriel moves closer beside me on the bow cushion until our thighs brush.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m just tired.”
“I think it’s more than that.”
I stare at the sun instead of him, my anxiety about tomorrow growing so big that the thought presses against my ribs, making it hard to breathe.
“I’m just trying to remember this,” I say finally.
“Remember what?”
“This. Being here with you and the way it feels.”
He studies me for a long while and when the wind lifts a strand of my hair, he reaches out and tucks it behind my ear. His fingers linger against my cheek longer than necessary until I finally look at him.
“You’re scaring me a little,” he admits.
My heart hurts, because I’m scaring me too.
“I don’t mean to.”
He sets his glass aside and turns to face me.
“Come here.” He pulls me gently into his lap, settling back against the cushioned bench so that I’m straddling him sideways.
One of his arms wraps around my waist, like muscle memory, and the boat gently rocks beneath us. The skipper, tactfully, turns his back to give us privacy.
“Stop thinking about tomorrow,” Gabriel says quietly against my temple. “Right now, you’re here with me, and that’s enough.”
It shouldn’t undo me, but it does. I instinctively press my lips to his, slow at first, but then his hand slides to the small of my back and tightens. His mouth deepens against mine, like he’s memorizing me too.
My fingers curl into the collar of his linen shirt as the world narrows around us. When we finally break apart, we rest our foreheads together.
“You taste like wine and pasta,” he murmurs.
I snort and he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re suspended in something fragile—beautiful, but temporary—and he’s just as aware of it as I am.