2. Lucia
Chapter two
Lucia
A s far as the eye can see, the sparkling blue ocean stretches from the base of the cliff to the horizon. And I breathe the fresh, salty air in deeply. The simple things are always the best, and being able to escape from life, even if only for a few days, is definitely one of life’s pleasures.
No work. No paparazzi. And no more Pierre.
Antonio steps through the glass doors onto the terrace, carrying two glasses of red wine. Another of life’s luxuries: spending an entire weekend with my friend, doing whatever the hell we feel like.
Being with Ant eases the pinch of failure that comes with the ending of another relationship. The red wine from his family’s vineyard goes some way to helping too. He hands me the long-stemmed glass, then positions his body beside me, throwing a loose arm around my shoulders.
“You good?” he asks in his deep baritone voice that is so smooth it could lull a baby to sleep.
“I am now. Thanks for being here,” I mutter, peering up at his sharp jawline, softened by a day’s worth of stubble.
I’ve always found Antonio attractive. My teenage crush is a habit I’ve found impossible to kick, especially when he’s more handsome than any guy I’ve ever dated.
The cute boy I spent five wonderful summers with turned into a six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, imposing figure of a man.
All lean, hard muscles that not even Michelangelo could have sculptured more perfectly.
When he enters a room, heads turn, and women stare with blatant desire before vying for his attention with laughable preening and overtly flirtatious moves.
While I completely get their reaction and sometimes share their awe, that’s not what we are to each other. Our friendship runs deeper than a pretty surface and is more essential to me than any other relationship in my life.
He taps his glass to mine with a ting . “Cin cin. I needed this too.” The words are spoken so softly that I’m not sure he meant for me to hear.
I take a long sip, savoring the ripe blackcurrant flavor as it slides over my taste buds. Delicious . But still, a heavy sigh falls from my lips as my head drops back against his shoulder.
“I know it’s not the wine that caused that reaction, and you love being in Capri, so …” He leaves the words hanging between us before continuing, “Do you want to talk about what’s making you sad?”
“Not really,” I say, not bothering to deny his assumption that I’m sad. He’s always been attuned to my emotions without me voicing them and knows I’ll share my thoughts when I’m ready. Ant is a great listener, never judging me for making poor decisions. And I’ve made my fair share of those.
Why do I always pick the wrong men?
He squeezes my shoulder, and my sigh is softer this time. But I don’t elaborate.
“Fine,” he says, acknowledging my silence. “But just answer me this. Do I need to mess someone up for you?”
I know he’s half joking, but there’s still an underlying seriousness laced through his words, making my chest tighten. I love how protective he gets with me. It’s like being wrapped in a fluffy blanket on a cold winter’s night. I gaze up into the fiercest of scowls and chuckle.
“I’m serious,” he grumbles. “If someone has hurt you, then they’ll have to answer to me.”
“I’m okay, so you can stand down, big-guy,” I tease, using the nickname I gave him the summer he arrived in Capri standing a head taller than me.
“Pierre is not worth the effort. He was more a plus-one when I needed a date. Good-looking, charming when he could be bothered, and flirty when my ego needed a boost.”
I step away from him, walking over to the low brick wall surrounding the terrace.
The gentle sea breeze blows a few loose strands free from my ponytail.
“I guess that sounds horrible,” I muse, brushing the hair back from my face before turning to face him.
“What I really mean is that we weren’t that serious. It was a convenient arrangement.”
Nothing eases in the frown lines marking his handsome features. “Was sex involved?”
My eyebrow ticks up. “Should you be asking me that?” Whenever the question of sex is raised between us, the conversation becomes awkward, so I’ve learned to steer clear of the topic. If only he would too.
“Lucia?” he growls my name, demanding an answer. Ant’s protective streak sometimes has its downside.
“Sì, occasionally. Not that it’s any of your business.” Though this is my usual retort, it’s all a cover for my lack of sexual partners. Three—that’s all, and sadly, none of them were very notable.
He huffs out a breath, walking toward me, but this time, he leaves a couple feet between us as he faces out to sea. Tension ripples from the straight line of his broad shoulders and his clenched jaw.
I place a hand on his arm. “Ant, every time I mention having sex with a guy, you get pissed. So please stop asking. You know it’s been years since I gave up on my stupid, childish dream to hold on to my virginity until I got married.
It’s old news.” I don’t want this to fester between us over the weekend, as discussing sex is the only time we ever come close to arguing.
Ant seems to think it’s perfectly fine for him to have numerous conquests, while I should live the celibate life of a nun.
Honestly, imagining him making love to some faceless—but no doubt beautiful—woman is something I don’t want to do, so I get his issues with the topic.
While we share every other aspect of our lives, he’s still a guy, and thinking about him having sex is just wrong.
Plus, the days of wondering what he looks like naked are long past.
I slant my eyes sideways. “Are we good?”
“It wasn’t a stupid, childish dream,” he mumbles, but as is often the case, he doesn’t stay grumpy for long. And in the blink of an eye, he’s grinning again. “Now we’re good.”
It’s mesmerizing when he directs that cheeky bad-boy smile at me, but over the years, I’ve managed to build up enough of a resistance. My eyes roll so dramatically they nearly end up back inside my head. “One day, I’ll get the last word.”
He barks out a laugh, and I join him, willing to concede to keep the peace, but not without extracting a favor in return.
“I need a refill,” I declare, waving my empty glass in front of his face.
“Of course. One more, then we’re going for a swim.” That’s the thing about us; he knows exactly what I need almost before I do. I’m at my happiest floating in the refreshing waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea; it’s where I do my best thinking. And this weekend, I’ve got some thinking to do.
A short time later, with the pleasant buzz of alcohol still flowing through my body, loosening my limbs, we’re doing just that.
My mind wanders back to my earlier thoughts about relationships.
It was something Pierre said to me before I left him at the Ritz in Paris.
Lucia, you need to be open to love if you want to fall in love.
I’m still not sure what he meant. I wasn’t in love with Pierre, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t in love with me.
Cool water laps around my ears like a soft caress, and I tilt my head slightly to the side where Antonio bobs about in the sea beside me. “Do you think you’ll ever fall in love?”
I don’t think we’ve ever spoken about love before, and I’m curious if he sees himself settling down with a woman and having a family someday.
He considers my question for a moment. It’s one of his best traits, the way he listens to every random thought that pops into my head and spills out of my mouth soon after.
“Maybe one day. Why do you ask?”
“Remember that second summer you and your brothers came to Capri, and we hiked to our cove on the other side of the island? Just the two of us?” His smile tells me he does. “And we talked about our hopes for the future. I said I wanted to be married with two children by thirty.”
“We were only kids.”
“I know, and even though I’m thirty-two, I don’t regret my relationship decisions, because I’ve never been in love with any of them.
” I look up at a couple of fluffy clouds drifting by in the otherwise clear blue sky.
“But I do still want that one day, with a family of my own.” The admission comes directly from my heart with no filtering.
Back then, my need to earn Papa’s love heavily influenced my dreams. My fingers ached from hours of practicing the piano because he liked to hear me play.
Pretty dresses filled my closest to bursting so he could parade me in front of the media as his perfect daughter.
And bile rises in my throat when I think back to how willingly I complied despite the dread that filled my stomach every time.
Then came the summer of my seventeenth year, when I realized I would never earn my father’s love that way.
All along, his plan was to transform me into the perfect ornament, a wealthy man’s wife.
He sent me away to boarding school in Switzerland, and I never spent another summer with Ant.
At the time, it broke my heart to be torn away from the only person I thought understood me.
“You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman, Lucia.
I’m sure you’ll find the love you deserve, and you’ll be a great mother one day.
” His words are reminiscent of what he said to me that day, the sweet teenage boy still buried in the man’s heart.
And not for the first time, I hope we’ll always share these moments.
I flip upright from my back, treading water. “Thank you. Now I just need to find a good man like you to fall hopelessly in love with.”
A chuckle bursts from him. “Good luck with that, as I’m one of a kind. You should know that by now.”
Filling my hands with water, I throw it at his grinning face.
He coughs and splutters before sinking beneath the surface, and I know he’s coming for me.
I start swimming toward the shore, gasping for breath through peals of laughter.
We’ve reverted to our teenage selves, and my heart feels lighter than it has in a long time.
A tug on my toes makes me kick harder, but it’s hopeless.
Antonio always was the stronger swimmer.
His arms circle my waist, and then I’m soaring through the air to land with a splash into the crystal-clear blue.
When my head resurfaces a body’s length away from him, I’m grinning.
This was a game we used to play, taking turns to launch each other into the air until I could no longer lift him out of the water.
Any residual sadness from my recent breakup washes away with the time spent being silly with my best friend, reliving happier childhood times.
Being sent away to school in Switzerland wasn’t so bad, as it made me realize I deserved more than my father had planned for me.
I spent the next few years building up my resilience and starting a career in fashion.
Until one dull, cold weekend in Paris when I remembered Antonio and our summers in Capri.
On a whim, I reached out to him through social media, and our friendship returned like we’d never been apart.
He’s become a perpetual summer in my busy life, and I don’t know what I’d do without him.
“Let’s hike to our cove tomorrow.” Antonio grins back at me, and memories of the time we spent at our cove flood my head until it’s impossible to resist the idea.