Chapter Twenty-Four
Basil
Challenge: Do something new
How had it only been two weeks since I’d seen Chelsea? As busy as I’d been with my uncle’s restaurant and the massive itinerary of family visits, I thought she’d be out of sight, out of mind, but instead, I thought about her constantly. The bracelet I’d never taken off made sure I couldn’t forget her. I imagined her tasting everything I created in the kitchen, and when I toured the Acropolis, I pictured her joy exploring the ruin. I had nobody to annoy by saying, “You Odyssey this view.”
That’s when I realized how fucked I was. I’d missed her as soon as I left Charlottesville, but I’d expected that feeling to fade with time, distance, and a new focus. Instead, I found myself talking to her ghost.
But she was here now, in my rental car, watching me like I was dipped in chocolate. I squeezed her knee, and she said, “I’ve really missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
She looked so cute with her hair in pigtail braids and giant sunglasses perched on her head. I’d missed how her mouth could go from a pout to a mischievous smirk in the blink of an eye, how her eyes flashed her every emotion, how her body made me want to pull off the road and throw back the seats, and how she made me feel comfortable in my own skin just by being there.
I didn’t know how to answer the question she’d asked in Saint- Tropez about my plans for the future. Or was she asking about our future?
The truth was, once I’d arrived in Athens, I saw the potential of working in my uncle’s hotel for a year or two. I’d have creative control over the menu, a staff to assist with the preparations, and a chance, finally, to make something of myself and prove my worth to my family. I was bursting with ideas, and I felt proud of my work for the first time in forever.
If I kept a shit job in Charlottesville on the slim hope Chelsea and I could ever make a go of it, my life would become endless stagnation. I had no guarantees we’d work out, but how could I explain all that without making her feel pressured to commit one way or another? I just wanted a chance to show her possibilities.
As much as I loved her, I had to change the trajectory of my life somehow, with or without her. I’d rather it be with her, but I needed to start thinking about my future. She’d been the one to spur me to action.
My secret hope was that, once we got to the hotel, she’d fall in love with the sea and the proximity to Athens, and she might even invoke her vow to drop anchor somewhere foreign. If I decided to take my uncle’s job, it would be so much sweeter with her by my side, wherever my career took me, but I didn’t want to lure her with exotic locales. I wanted her to stay because she wanted me. I wanted her to choose me .
I pulled off the A8 so we could drive along the coast through Cannes and Antibes on the way toward Nice, and Chelsea asked, “Where are we headed?”
“Well, we’ll be in Nice in about an hour. We could stay there tonight or press on to Monte Carlo.”
She clapped her hands and bounced in her seat. “Oooooh! Monte Carlo! Yes, please!”
Chelsea gaped out the window, endlessly captivated, and sharing any info she found on the phone, so when we reached Nice, I found parking to give her a chance to experience more of France before we left the country behind. “Let’s stretch our legs.”
We strolled along the beach, made up of smooth rocks, and Chelsea pocketed one, telling me, “Maybe I’ll steal some piece of every place we visit. That way, when I get home, I’ll still be able to touch a part of the world.”
At her mention of home, I took the opening to broach the subject of an alternate plan, casually asking, “Do you still dream about going on vacation and then never returning home?” I was about as subtle as an asteroid.
She slipped her hand over my biceps and leaned her head on my shoulder. “You want to know a secret?”
“Sure.”
“I’m kind of a coward.” She squeezed my arm. “I love visiting all these places, and I get so bored in Charlottesville, but when I think seriously about moving away, I panic. It’s a big change. I couldn’t do it alone, and it would take a seismic event to get Elizabeth to leave Virginia.”
Did that mean she’d leave if she had a partner, or only if Elizabeth specifically went with her? I wanted to ask, What about us? Except there was no “us.” We were a couple of friends on the verge of becoming an “us,” and I didn’t know what it was reasonable to ask of her.
But then she surprised me by walking right into the discussion I’d been avoiding. “So you are thinking of staying here.”
“I’m thinking.”
“But you won’t, right? You’d never leave me behind.” She bit her lip, hiding a flirty smile, and I couldn’t tell if she was serious or teasing.
So I bailed with a dumb joke. “Go big, or go Homer.” When she winced, I said, “My Apollo-gies,” waited a beat and repeated, “Apollo. Gies,” enjoying her eye roll and reluctant laugh. I’d been saving those for days.
The sky was overcast, and a cold breeze caused us to shiver, so we climbed back in the car and continued along the curvy road as the sun set.
Chelsea said, “Isn’t it exciting to think we could go anywhere? Holland or Germany? Switzerland or Italy? It’s all so close.”
I laughed. “I don’t have that much time.”
“Oh, I know. But in the time it would take to drive from Charlottesville to Atlanta, we could be in Hungary.”
“You want to go to Hungary?”
“Someday.”
It thrilled me to hear her planning hypothetical trips with me. “Well, it’s early still. We could be in Venice before dinnertime tomorrow.”
In Monte Carlo, we found a restaurant overlooking the water. Chelsea put on a British accent and said, “‘Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.’”
I raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“I feel like Rebecca—you know, from the movie?”
“No.”
She sat up straight, in story-telling mode. “Rebecca was a companion for a wealthy woman, and on a trip to Monte Carlo, she met the sexy Max de Winter, played by the sexy Laurence Olivier. He married her and murdered someone. I think. I forget how it goes.”
“Does that make me the sexy but murderous Max in this situation?”
She eyed me. “Hmm. You could be. You are pretty sexy.”
Her flirting was killing me. “I hope you don’t think I’m murderous.”
She pointed a fork at me. “Only when you drive.”
“You want to check out the casinos while we’re here?”
Her eyes popped wide. “Yes, please.”
We decided on the big one: the Casino de Monte-Carlo. This turned into a bit of an adventure, both in terms of how to get there and then what to do once we had. We paid an entrance fee and then just gawked like tourists.
“This place looks like a movie set,” Chelsea whispered.
Honestly, I expected James Bond to show up. “We’re a long way from Virginia.”
“We have to play something.” She took my hand and pulled me up to a roulette table. We watched for a while, eventually working up the courage to ask someone how to get in the game.
The minimum bet was only five euros, which was where they got you because we definitely lost the first time we played, and Chelsea said, “It’s only five euros. We should try again.”
Yeah, we ended up losing about fifty euros before Chelsea figured out how to split the bet, and we finally won, but nothing close to our investment. Still, she jumped into my arms with excitement for her victory. Holding her like that, even so briefly, I badly wanted to kiss her, but she was in charge, and she hadn’t so much as hinted at wanting to cross that line.
We didn’t have a room in Monte Carlo because I’d need to strike it rich in a casino to afford one, so we found a place with two double beds a little farther along the route.
The next day, we took our time, poking along the Italian coast while Chelsea researched everything on her phone. “Hey, did you know Genoa is the birthplace of pesto?”
I glanced over to make sure she was paying attention when I said, “What d’ja know about that?” And when she didn’t react, I repeated more slowly, “What Genoa ’bout that?”
She sighed but said, “We should make a slight detour and find out if Italian pasta is as good as yours.”
Using her sleuthing skills, which I’d discovered were a little bit scary, she discovered the best restaurant for trofie al pesto . So we stopped for lunch in the colorful city of Genoa, overlooking the marina. We couldn’t resist ordering an appetizer of squid, focaccia with prosciutto, and both trofie and mandilli pastas with pesto because when in Genoa . And of course, Chelsea insisted we split the tiramisu for dessert.
“Chalk it up to research,” she said.
And it was true. Having a chance to experience the local cuisine and taste the food as it was meant to be served was invaluable. Everything went into the vault.
As we walked along the waterfront back toward the car, I said, “The next body of water we see will be the Adriatic.”
She slipped her hand in mine. “I can’t believe we’re in Italy together.”
I couldn’t believe we were together at all. I’d thought when I left Charlottesville, it might be the last time I ever saw Chelsea. Then Elizabeth had called and said, “Bas, I have done my part, getting my girl as close to you as I possibly could. If you want her, please come and get her.”
I’d never hopped on a plane so fast.
But this time together was a double-edged sword. I was falling more in love with her every day, and although I appreciated each moment, I could feel the clock ticking. Every mile we covered was another step toward Athens, and Chelsea had given me no indication we’d ever do more than flirt with the idea of forever. If we weren’t ready to discuss a future together now, we might never be.
We were running out of chances. I had a decision to make, and she had a return flight to Virginia booked six days from now.
Chelsea curled up in the passenger seat, oblivious to my angst, always on her phone, telling me tidbits of history or geography.
“Take a detour here,” she said as we neared Verona, directing me to pass through the town of Romeo and Juliet.
Or later: “Do we have time to see the cathedral in Padua?”
“Not if you want to get to Venice while the sun is still shining,” I informed her.
“No, I do.” She put her phone away, staring up at the sky with renewed concern. “Hie! Make haste!”
It wasn’t long before she was researching again, looking for restaurants and hotels and sites to visit. She read, “Ooh, listen. Venice is called the city of love. It says here, ‘Cupid reigns supreme.’” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “Or do you only recognize Eros?”
I stepped on the gas.
We arrived in Venice in good time and dropped our bags in a room that only had one bed. I dared not hope it was Eros playing wingman, but when we wandered outside, Chelsea gasped. “It’s the most romantic city I’ve ever seen.”
Cupid’s arrow must have grazed her. I laughed. “Where’d you bury Chelsea’s body?”
She harrumphed at me but grabbed my hand. “Can we explore everything?”
She dragged me through the cobbled streets, past a church, under arches, over bridges, and down to the wider waterfront. I didn’t mention that it reminded me of Super Mario Sunshine , a Nintendo game I used to play all the time with my brother. She might not find that quite so romantic.
As we approached a line of boats, voices called out as the gondoliers tried to get our attention.
Chelsea said, “Oh! A gondola ride at sunset would be magical. Please? I’ve always dreamed of doing this.”
I couldn’t reconcile this girl with romantic cynic Chelsea, and maybe I was a fool, but I wanted to believe she was opening up to the idea of love.
I approached one of the men in a striped shirt. “How much?”
“One hundred euro, sir. I take you nice ride with the sunset. For you and your bella donna.”
I tried not to groan out loud, but it seemed ridiculous to spend that kind of money to ride around the canals when we could take a walk for free. My finances weren’t infinite, and I’d already blown a wad in the casino, the hotels, the restaurants.
The sky had begun to turn orange, and the light set Chelsea’s skin aglow. Her dark hair flowed gently away from her shoulders in the early evening breeze, reminding me of the night we’d first met, the first time I’d longed to run my fingers through her midnight tresses.
Damn me, I wanted to make her happy. I wanted to be the one who brought a smile to her face. I wanted to show her the world.
She bit her lip, bouncing on her toes like an excited child. How could I say no?
I nodded to our gondolier, and he helped us step into the boat, handing us a blanket for the cool night air. Then he pushed us out into the canal. I forgot the cost of the trip and watched Chelsea watching the buildings. Her face lit up with joy as we went into a smaller canal and passed under bridges. “Oh, Bas. This is everything I always thought it would be.”
She relaxed against me. I wrapped my arms around her. We could have been a young couple in love. The gondolier thought we were. As church bells began to ring, he pointed into the air and said, “Le campane di San Marco.”
Chelsea sat up and stared at me, wide-eyed. “The bells of Saint Marco!”
“And?”
She waved her hands frantically to get the attention of the gondolier. He looked back, and she yelled, “The Bridge of Sighs! Where’s the Bridge of Sighs?”
He pointed ahead. “Si. Il Ponte dei Sospiri. è qui.”
A white covered bridge spanned the canal ahead of us. Chelsea blinked, and her tears shimmered in the fading light. As the gondola passed beneath, she knelt on the seat beside me, clasped my cheeks in her palms, and planted a kiss right on my lips. I responded immediately, completely overwhelmed by her sudden attack.
Just as suddenly, she sat back with a feverish grin.
“What was that about?”
“Didn’t you ever see A Little Romance ?”
“Nope.”
“Laurence Olivier.”
“Of course. I’m beginning to feel a little jealous of him.”
“My mom loved that movie.” She settled the blanket across our laps and took my hand. “There’s a legend that if a couple kisses under the Bridge of Sighs at sunset as the bells of San Marco toll—”
She sucked on her lower lip, like she’d been overcome by sudden shyness. Chelsea was never shy. “What? Tell me.”
“They’ll be assured eternal love.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You entered me into an eternal contract without my consent?” I gently pushed her shoulders, teasing.
“If I’d asked, you would’ve talked until it was too late.”
“And now what? Are we in love?”
“Of course we are, Bas. Don’t you believe in legends?”
“So what does it mean?”
“It means you can’t go anywhere without me.”
Transparent, but I smiled. “Or you without me?”
She sat back, smug. “Sorry. You can’t argue with legends.”
I pointed up at a pigeon perched along the side of the canal. “See that bird?”
“Yeah.”
I leaned in and kissed her quick. “Legend has it if you kiss a woman as you pass in front of a pigeon, she’ll kiss you back.”
“Is that so?”
“You don’t believe it?”
The corner of her mouth curved up. “Of course.” She moved closer and pressed her lips to mine, slower than before. I had the time to savor the feel and the taste of her tongue. My stomach swooped with the power of a fantasy coming to life. She broke away, eyes closed at first, then opening deliberately, gazing at me from an inch away, tempting me to make out with her on a gondola.
And so I did. I kissed her like I’d wanted to since Christmas Day, like I had when I’d taken it for granted. I wasn’t taking it for granted anymore. She relaxed in my arms and sighed.
We didn’t see the rest of the gondola ride, which could have lasted another hour or another ten seconds. Time lost all meaning, and I kissed her first soft, then hard, first slow, then frantically. By the time the gondola parked in its original spot, I’d kissed Chelsea until I remembered every way she liked to be kissed.
We stumbled out of the boat, hands clasped. She relinquished my grasp only to clutch at my biceps and pull me toward her. We kissed on the waterfront. We kissed as we walked along the cobbled path, under arches, and over bridges. I pushed her against the side of a church and kissed her in darkened doorways. She dragged me ten steps farther toward our hotel, walking backward, hurrying, slowing down, touching my face. And kissing me. Always kissing me. Like it was new. Like we were reckless. Like she’d never known fear.
Our arms intertwined as we crossed the hotel lobby. I fumbled with the key card, but finally the door opened, and we were all alone, together, with that one bed.
And I said a silent prayer of thanks to all the Greek and Roman gods of love.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I backed away from her until I reached the middle of the room, waiting on her to decide what would happen next.
She hesitated near the doorway, obviously aware that we were crossing a line in the sand. We hadn’t thought this far ahead. I just wanted to go somewhere I could kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. Right now the air hung heavy with the anticipation of what might come after the kissing.
She stepped toward me. “I want to see you.”
Slowly, she undid my buttons, pausing between each to gaze up at me, her eyes searing me with the heat of her passion. Once she unfastened the last button, she slid her hands along my shoulders and forced the fabric down my arms.
I shivered when she dragged her fingernails across my torso, stopping at the top of my pants. I held my breath.
She popped the button. “I love your body.”
I watched her hands, hardly breathing, and asked, “Just my body? So superficial.”
She pressed her lips against my pec. “And your heart. You have a beautiful heart.”
“Go on.”
She touched my forehead. “And your mind.”
“Those are all body parts. What about me?”
“All of you.”
“Tell me.”
“I love you . Isn’t that obvious?”
My body, aching for her to keep touching me, begged my mind to keep my mouth shut. But my beautiful heart interfered. “No. It’s not.”
I cursed my stupid, beautiful heart when Chelsea pulled away. “You’ve become my best friend, my companion, my trusty sidekick.”
I swallowed down the bitter resentment. “Sidekick?”
She laid her hand on my chest. “I don’t want to ever lose you.”
Her words made me dare hope we were finally turning a page. “Are you saying you want to be more than friends? For real?”
She pushed against me, and I staggered back a half step. “For real.”
“But why? Not just because you miss the sex?”
“Because I’m in love with you.”
My heart skipped a beat. When she gave me another rough shove, my legs hit the edge of the bed, and I sat hard on the mattress. I started to laugh at her manhandling of me, but then she planted her hands on my shoulders and knocked me onto my back.
“Chelsea—”
She straddled me and bent forward to whisper. “Stop talking.”
I couldn’t have said a word anyway, because she kissed me, but not like before on the gondola or in the streets. Not like when we’d fucked on the kitchen counter or made quiet love in her bed. When she kissed me now, it felt like possession. She broke free only to rip my zipper down and release my rock-hard cock from the confines of my boxers. My head fell to one side with the sudden pleasure of her hands on me.
She stroked the length, her thumb dragging just below the head, and I cried out for her. She ripped her dress over her head with one hand. I reached up and unclasped her bra, tearing the straps from her arms. I couldn’t bear the frustration another minute.
“Condom?”
“Fuck the condom, Bas.”
“But—” We’d never done this without one.
She laid a finger over my lips. “I have an IUD. I haven’t been with anyone but you. Have you been with anyone but me?”
“Of course not.”
“Good.” She slid her underwear to one side and positioned her soaking-wet opening over me.
“Is this what you want?”
“You’re it for me, Bas. I don’t want anything between us. Is this okay?”
I smiled at her. “Λατρε?α μου. Whatever you want. Just tell me you love me, again.”
“I love you.”
She rocked back onto me, slow at first, until I was nearly all the way in, and I groaned, “Chelsea, God.”
“Just Chelsea.”
Her laugh caught in her throat, replaced with an “oh” as she took me deep inside her. She sat like that, gyrating her hips slowly. My eyes rolled in my head. The pleasure of her overwhelmed me, and I grabbed her arms and flipped her onto her back.
I yanked my pants off the rest of the way and tore her underwear down to the floor. Then I climbed over her. “I love you. I fucking love you.”
“I love fucking you.” Her feet locked behind my ass as I entered her.
“Tell me again.”
“I love you, Bas,” she whispered, like a precious secret. “I want to be with you—always.”
She met my hips with hers, and I lost control, consumed by her body, senses heightened by the knowledge that it was Chelsea, that she’d fallen for me at last, that we could have a future, that she loved me. She loved me.
A powerful orgasm ripped through me, and she shuddered.
“My God, Bas.”
“Just Bas,” I grunted.
She panted out a laugh. “Do you believe in legends?”
“I do now.”