13. Wilder #2
That’s the last thing I hear before he walks away from the table, leaving both my friends to roll their eyes, but it’s the gentle surprise in Prescott’s stare that almost consumes me.
He looks grateful, but he also looks a little shocked, like he can’t quite believe someone would ever be so kind, and I can’t help but wonder how many people he truly has in his corner.
Of course there is his fake girlfriend, but who else?
And more importantly, why do I care so much?
The rest of the day follows in a blur. We make it to Sirmione by lunchtime, Matt having already secured himself a new yacht by the time we get there.
Then we explored the streets, the local shops, the bookshop Prescott had on his list, and a tiny little church which he eloquently told us all was called Chiesetta di Sant'Anna.
Apparently it was built in the 13th Century, and it had beautiful stained glass windows and marble carvings, that he took at least a hundred photographs of.
Despite calling him out at breakfast this morning and him seeming a little caught off guard, I haven’t stopped watching him all day.
It’s the first time I have seen him in his element since that night we met at the party, and it’s in an entirely different sense.
It’s clear history is one of his passions, and I have learned more today than I did all four years of high school.
Which is how we find ourselves entering as the last group of the day into Sirmione Castle.
I pay for our tickets at the small office on the left on our way in, seeing how Prescott is already too preoccupied to even notice, as Matt steps aside to take yet another call.
Knox and Beck have lost steam after walking around all day, and the second we enter the courtyard, they beeline for the lone bench along one of the walls.
I contemplate joining them considering stuff like this never usually interests me, but I find myself trailing after Prescott instead.
Feeling my presence at his back, he flicks his stare to me and smiles.
“It’s called The Castello Scaligero di Sirmione,” Prescott states in almost perfectly-pronounced Italian, one of the languages he knows, as I have learned today.
His eyes are sparkling with fascination, as he takes in the hulking infrastructure before us.
“That’s just the Scaligero Castle of Sirmione for us.
It was built in the middle of the 14th Century on behalf of the Della Scalla family of Verona.
It’s considered one of Italy’s best preserved castles. ”
His face is lit up with pure passion, his gaze assessing every inch of the high walls around us, as he walks around and soaks up the history.
He’s still talking incessantly, half of which I can barely keep up with, let alone understand, but the sound of his voice soothes me.
It was the same last night and I should probably examine why that is, but now is not the time.
We make our way across the courtyard to what looks like an old well. “Should I make a wish?” I joke, knowing I can’t really contribute to the conversation in any other way, and to my surprise he smirks.
“I didn’t think the high and mighty Wilder Miles would need to wish for anything,” he purrs, looking at me playfully, and it’s an entirely different side to the version of him I have become accustomed to.
Gone is the serious and work focused Prescott and in his place is someone far more fun to play with.
“Well, things are usually just handed to me on a platter,” I tease, and he shakes his head, pushing away from the well and walking toward a bricked archway on the left.
I contemplate leaving him to explore alone, but like he has me on a damn leash, I follow after him, desperate to hear what he might say next.
We walk through two more archways, before we reach the first set of stairs that actually lead somewhere, and he is rushing up them without pause.
I follow behind him dutifully, totally not checking out his sculpted ass, in his posh navy blue pants, and definitely focusing on the castle instead.
The stairs lead us to the second level, giving us a perfect view of the city and the lake, and I can even admit how beautiful it is.
“Just think of the people who must have lived here, what their lives must have been like,” he gushes, dragging his fingers along the rough stone and soaking in the view.
There are only a few people milling around considering it’s almost closing time, and I let him take his time surveying our surroundings.
I’m not sure how he knows so much, but he keeps spouting off facts about the castle and I soak up every single word.
Then he takes photos on two different cameras, also pulling out his phone, and I have to bite back my smirk when he reaches for a third camera, this one looking older than him.
Seeing my stare, he shrugs. “It’s an antique, I’ve got a thing for cameras, so Eloise hunts them down for me and gifts me one every year on my birthday.” He sounds just as passionate talking about his fake girlfriend as he does history, and I can’t resist prodding more into their relationship
“Are you and her…” I trail off, not really sure how to put it, or why I care so much, and he laughs.