12. Matteo
MATTEO
Sebastian announces the midnight swim by taking off his shirt at the dinner table.
Nico nudges the shirt away from his plate.
“No.”
“That was not a question.”
“It should have been.”
Luca is carrying empty dishes toward the kitchen. “If anyone bleeds on the lower terrace, you are cleaning it.”
“I am going swimming, not fighting.”
Adrian gets up with his wine. “Those are not mutually exclusive with you.”
Claire laughs beside me.
That decides more than Sebastian does.
The night has stayed hot long after dinner. Casa Bellamare’s terrace doors are open, the stone still holding the day’s warmth, and the sea below us is black except where the moon breaks across it.
Sebastian points at Claire. “You understand summer.”
She looks at me instead.
“Is this one of those traditions with seventeen rules nobody explains until I break one?”
“There are three rules.”
Sebastian says, “There are no rules.”
“Which is why there are three,” Nico says.
Claire turns back to me. “I’m listening.”
“No diving from the old wall after dark. No glass on the beach. If Luca says the current is wrong, believe him.”
Luca comes through the doors again carrying towels. “The current is fine.”
Claire stands.
“Then I’m swimming.”
She is already reaching for her camera bag before Sebastian can say anything else.
Ten minutes later, the six of us are walking down the private path with towels over our shoulders and Sebastian complaining that Nico has stolen his sandals.
“You left them beside the table.”
“I was going to retrieve them.”
“You were barefoot.”
“That is not the point.”
Claire walks in front of me with her camera strapped across her chest inside a waterproof cover.
I must look at it too long because she catches me.
“I’m not swimming with it.”
“Good.”
“I brought it for the walk down.”
“You said good light ends at dinner.”
“I said useful light changes.”
“Different category.”
Her mouth curves. “You remembered.”
I enjoy that reaction more than I should.
At the bottom of the path, the private beach is mostly pale stones, dark water, and the old boathouse crouched at one end with its doors open to the night. We have used the building for towels, paddles, old rope, and things nobody can agree to throw away since the first year we bought Bellamare.
Luca drops the clean towels on a bench beneath the overhang.
Claire lifts her camera.
Sebastian immediately poses.
She lowers it.
“That is exactly why I am not photographing you.”
“I have excellent lines.”
“You have excellent commitment.”
“To art.”
“To yourself.”
Nico walks straight into the water.
Sebastian follows at a run and hits him with enough spray to start a fight.
Claire raises the camera again.
“What are you trying to get?” I ask.
“The light on the water behind them.”
“Not them.”
“They are unfortunately in it.”
Sebastian turns at the sound of his name, ruining whatever she had.
Claire lowers the camera. “And now he’s too close. I lose the depth of field I wanted.”
I know what the words mean only because she has used them twice this week while editing.
That fact is mildly concerning.
She seals the camera into the bag and leaves it with the towels. I leave my shirt and dry shorts on a peg inside the boathouse before following her toward the water.
Then she takes off her shirt.
I forget photography.
Her bikini is black, simple, and considerably less useful to my concentration than it has any right to be.
Claire catches me looking.
“Very subtle.”
“I was not attempting subtlety.”
“Good. I would hate to watch you fail twice in one week.”
“Getting lost once does not create a pattern.”
“Ravioli.”
“That was cooking.”
“Dishwasher bowl.”
“You moved it deliberately.”
She is still smiling when she walks backward into the water.
“Come prove your versatility.”
I follow her.
The first step is warm.
The second is not.
By the time the water reaches my waist, Claire is already laughing at my face.
“It is cold.”
“It is the Mediterranean in summer.”
“At midnight.”
“You’re very brave in kitchens.”
“I was attacked by pasta.”
She splashes me.
I stare at her.
“Do not.”
She does it again.
I catch her around the waist before she can retreat.
Claire makes a surprised sound and immediately tries to twist out of my arms, which would be more effective if she were not laughing.
“You started this.”
“I used water. You escalated to kidnapping.”
“You are standing.”
“Technicality.”
She shoves both palms against my chest.
I let her go.
She gets two steps away before Sebastian sends a wall of water in our direction and Claire ducks behind me.
“So now I’m useful.”
“Temporary shelter.”
“Unromantic.”
“I’m wet and hiding behind a billionaire from another billionaire. I think the genre is intact.”
I laugh.
Luca throws a splash at Sebastian from several feet away. Adrian, who claimed he was only coming down for the air, is now in the water to his shoulders. Nico disappears beneath the surface and comes up behind Sebastian long enough to drag him backward.
The next few minutes become undignified.
Claire cheats at everything.
Claire invents a competition before the water reaches my shoulders. First to the old marker buoy. Longest underwater. Best attempt to make Sebastian swear in two languages.
She wins the last one.
When she comes back toward me, her hair is slicked away from her face and she is breathing hard from laughing.
“Cold?” I ask.
“No.”
Her teeth click together once.
“Hostile question.”
“Accurate question.”
She rubs both hands over her arms.
I point toward the boathouse. “Towels.”
“I know where towels live.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to escort me.”
“I also want a towel.”
“That sounded almost believable.”
We walk out of the water together.
Behind us, Sebastian yells because Nico has taken his towel.
Nobody follows.
The old boathouse smells like salt, damp wood, and rope that should have been replaced at least six summers ago.
One bare bulb hangs above the workbench, but I leave it off.
Moonlight comes through the open doors and catches the edges of stacked paddles and an overturned dinghy someone has promised to repair for three years.
Claire grabs a towel from the shelf and wraps it around herself.
I take another.
She looks at the old bench beneath the window. “This place is terrible.”
“It is dry.”
“Debatable.”
A drop falls from the ceiling and lands on the bench.
Claire’s eyebrows rise.
I check the ceiling.
“Mostly dry.”
“That should be on the Bellamare brochure.”
“There is no brochure.”
“Missed opportunity.”
She rubs the towel through her hair, making it stand in several directions.
I am watching her again.
Claire catches me and, for once, does not make a joke.
She lowers the towel slowly. The smile stays.
She walks toward me.
I stay where I am.
“You’re dripping on the floor,” she says.
“So are you.”
“Yes, but I am charming.”
“Unproven.”
She reaches up and wipes a line of water from my chest with the edge of her towel.
Then she does it again with her fingers.
“Claire.”
“What?”
I know that version of “What?” now.
Nothing sensible has followed it yet.
Her hand closes around the back of my neck.
She kisses me first.
I drop my towel.
It lands on an old coil of rope.
Claire looks down.
“That seems hygienic.”
“You created the problem.”
“I kissed you. I did not attack the towel.”
I pick it up, shake it once, and hang it over a nail.
When I turn back, she is laughing.
I kiss her to stop it.
She laughs into my mouth anyway.
I back her toward the workbench, then remember the workbench has a rusted metal cleat at one corner.
“Wait.”
Claire looks over her shoulder. “What?”
I move a box, a broken lantern, and the cleat.
She watches me.
“You are clearing the surface.”
“Yes.”
“For sex.”
“I am preventing tetanus.”
Her face collapses.
She starts laughing so hard she has to brace a hand on my shoulder.
“This is not funny.”
“You stopped kissing me to conduct a safety inspection.”
“There was exposed metal.”
“Matteo.”
“You are welcome.”
She is still laughing when she pulls me between her knees.
For perhaps thirty seconds, I still manage to move slowly.
Claire opens her towel and lets it fall behind her on the workbench. She pushes the wet bikini bottoms down and kicks them free, then hooks one leg around me and kisses my neck, my jaw, deliberately avoiding my mouth until I catch her chin.
She turns away again.
“You are doing that on purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you get bossy when frustrated.”
“I am not bossy.”
She bites my lower lip lightly.
I forget the next sentence.
Her smile is immediate.
“Oh, that worked.”
“Do not become pleased with yourself.”
“Too late.”
I kiss her harder.
She answers just as hard, fingers in my wet hair, pulling until the careful pace is gone.
My hip catches the box I moved.
It falls.
Something metal rolls across the floor with an enormous clatter.
We both freeze.
From outside, Sebastian shouts, “Everything alive in there?”
Claire presses her face into my shoulder, shaking with laughter.
I close my eyes.
“Fine,” I call.
There is a pause.
Nico’s voice carries in from the beach. “Do not ask another question.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
Claire laughs harder against me.
“This is your fault,” I tell her quietly.
“I haven’t moved.”
“Exactly.”
She lifts her head. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“It is hot in here.”
“We just came out of cold water.”
I kiss her before she can produce more evidence.
This time Claire pulls me where she wants me.
Her hands slide down my sides and stop at the waistband of my swim shorts.
She pauses. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She kisses me again and pushes the wet fabric down. Breathing gets complicated.
I find the condom in the pocket of the dry shorts I left on the peg. Claire sees it and raises one eyebrow.
“Optimist.”
“Prepared.”
“You brought it to a group swim.”
“I have met Sebastian. I prepare for emergencies.”
“That is not helping your case.”
“It was not intended for Sebastian.”
“Thank God.”
I laugh against her mouth.
The condom wrapper almost slips from my wet fingers.
Claire catches it.
“Competence is having a difficult week.”
“Be careful.”
“Or what?”
I hold her gaze.
She smiles and opens it for me. I take it from her and roll it on.
The room is all wet skin, salt, rough wood, and the faint slap of water outside against the stones.
Claire wraps her legs around me when I step between them again.
“If you want me to stop...”
“I’ll tell you.”
Then she pulls me in.
Going slowly lasts about three seconds.
She laughs once when I swear into her shoulder.
“Very composed.”
“Claire.”
“I’m just observing.”
I grip her hips.
“Still funny?”
“Extremely.”
I move again.
Her smile breaks on a breath.
She holds my face and kisses me, then sets the rhythm herself, impatient and sure. I follow.
When she asks for faster, I give it to her.
When she changes her mind, I move with her.
She comes with my name against my mouth, the last of the laughter gone.
I follow a moment later, forehead against hers, both of us breathing too hard to speak.
Claire touches my cheek.
Then she says, “Tetanus.”
I stare at her.
She loses it again.
I start laughing too.
We stay in the boathouse until we can return to the beach without looking like we have forgotten how legs work.
Claire sits beside me on the old bench in my dry shirt, which she found on the peg with my shorts.
“You steal that one too?” I ask.
“This is borrowing. Different criminal category.”
I hand her water from the bottle I left with my clothes.
She drinks and passes it back.
For several minutes we listen to the others outside. Sebastian is arguing about a towel. Luca tells him to use the one he threw into the sand. Adrian says something too quiet to hear. Nico tells all of them to stop shouting.
Claire nudges my knee.
“What were you like at sixteen?”
“Better than Sebastian.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the relevant comparison.”
“Did you count things?”
“Yes.”
“Steps?”
“Sometimes.”
She grins. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“You were born forty.”
“I was not.”
“Did you own loafers at sixteen?”
“I had shoes.”
“That answer is devastating.”
I ask what she was like.
“Shorter.”
“Useful.”
“I had a camera I bought secondhand and a belief that putting it inside two plastic grocery bags made it waterproof.”
I turn toward her.
“It did not.”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Municipal pool. Summer. Very expensive lesson for a person with almost no money.”
“You took a camera into a pool.”
“I was photographing my cousin underwater.”
“In grocery bags.”
“Two bags.”
“As if quantity improved engineering.”
She points at me. “You are not allowed to criticize historical Claire.”
“Historical Claire destroyed a camera.”
“Historical Matteo owned loafers.”
“I said shoes.”
“Which means yes.”
I have no useful defense.
Outside, Sebastian shouts our names.
Claire closes her eyes.
“We should go back.”
“Yes.”
We stay on the bench a little longer.
Claire stands first, still wearing my shirt over her swimsuit.
She catches me checking the shirt.
“Borrowing.”
“You already have one.”
“I returned it.”
“That does not improve the pattern.”
“Then stop leaving them where I can reach them.”
We return to the beach carrying dry towels and absolutely no dignity.
Sebastian looks at us once.
Then at the boathouse.
Then back at us.
He opens his mouth.
Nico says, “Don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were.”
“I was going to ask whether they found the towels.”
Nico looks at me.
“I am not commenting,” he says.
“Thank you.”
He points at my shoulder. “You have rope fiber stuck to you.”
Claire makes a choking sound.
I remove the fiber.
Nico turns away.
“That was not commentary.”
“It was unnecessary.”
“It was visible.”
Claire retrieves her camera from the waterproof bag.
Sebastian immediately starts toward her.
“Photograph me now. Moonlight is forgiving.”
“It is not that forgiving.”
He ignores her and steps closer to the small lantern Luca has set on the stones.
Claire adjusts the lens.
“Stay there.”
Sebastian leans forward.
“Not closer,” she says. “You’ll fall out of the depth of field.”
He leans farther.
Before I think about it, I say, “She said stay where you are. You’re ruining the depth of field.”
Silence.
Luca slowly turns toward me.
Too late.
Claire lowers the camera.
Her smile starts at one corner.
Luca looks delighted.
“Depth of field?” he asks.
I pick up my towel.
“Do not.”
His grin gets worse.
Claire starts laughing again.