Chapter Eighteen Ella
Chapter Eighteen
Ella
After nine hours exploring the Mount Etna region, we arrive back at our hotel. Rhia and I are ready to collapse from fatigue, and I can add mortification to the list.
We took the cable car up to Torre del Filosofo, more than nine thousand five hundred feet above sea level, and stared out over craters that looked like something from another planet.
We strapped on helmets to explore lava caves and learned far more about volcanic activity than I ever expected to on vacation.
Our guide, an overly enthusiastic geology student named Giuseppe, loved his subject with contagious intensity. His excitement made even rocks feel dramatic.
After a well-earned lunch of local delicacies, we continued to the Alcantara Gorges, where lava formations shaped over millions of years towered above clear, icy pools.
We swam and attempted natural water slides in helmets and safety vests.
Somewhere between body rafting and sunbathing on boulders, it became clear that Giuseppe was not interested in the bikini-clad women in our group.
The bare-chested bodybuilders, however, received very thorough geological observation.
Up until then, the day had been perfect.
But my unfortunate habit of sitting on living things triggered a chain reaction I will never forget. Nor will the rest of the tour group.
I could have died from embarrassment. Apparently, humiliating myself has become my vacation hobby.
Last night almost took the trophy.
Almost.
After sliding down slippery rocks in hysterical laughter, Rhia and I dragged our exhausted bodies back to the top, where most of our group was sunbathing on massive boulders. The only free spot was next to Giuseppe.
I happily took it.
I sat down.
And immediately bolted upright, screaming.
Yes. I did it again.
I sat on another unsuspecting creature.
A lizard this time.
But that was only the beginning.
The earth-colored, perfectly camouflaged lizard panicked the second my weight lifted. In search of shelter, it sprinted toward the nearest dark opening.
Which, unfortunately, was Giuseppe’s shorts.
He let out an impressively unmanly screech and shot up like a rocket, hopping and shaking himself violently.
The lizard did not evacuate.
In full panic mode and fiercely protective of his privates, Giuseppe yanked his shorts down and began a frantic dance that can only be described as interpretive terror.
He was not wearing underwear.
The group gasped.
The lizard, clinging for dear life, latched on with a vice-like grip.
To Giuseppe’s ball sack.
There are moments in life when time slows down.
This was one of them.
Giuseppe’s dance escalated into full ballistic chaos, pun entirely intended, as he jumped wide-legged across the rocks with a lizard dangling from his sack.
Half the group, mostly the men, watched in sympathetic horror.
The other half folded over in hysterics.
Rhia belonged to the second category.
I did not.
Being the closest person to Giuseppe and, apparently, the only one foolish enough to intervene, I dropped to my knees and grabbed the lizard’s tail.
I tried very hard not to focus on the jiggling penis directly in front of my face.
I pulled.
Giuseppe screamed.
The lizard let go.
And without thinking, I flung it as far away as humanly possible.
The problem?
There was an obstacle in my trajectory. An Italian woman in her early thirties.
Kill me now.
The lizard did not land on her clothing. No, worse. It landed in her hair.
To her credit, the raven-haired woman did not scream. She flicked it out with impressive efficiency and minimal drama.
The lizard vanished over the rocks and into a crevice.
I turned back to Giuseppe.
Big mistake.
My face was inches from his junk. Literally inches. I may have stopped breathing altogether to avoid inhaling the scent of sweat and sunscreen.
We locked eyes.
He stepped back and… lost his balance.
He fell naked-bum first into a spiky plant.
Silence.
Then a collective wince.
I was contemplating relocation to another continent.
When the tour ended, I handed Giuseppe a very generous tip. Not that it made up for what happened.
Let us pray no one filmed it, or I’ll become an overnight internet sensation.
Oddly enough, the entire nutcracker incident kept my mind busy enough to not think about Tiero.
Not too much, anyway.
Now that we’re back at the hotel and the evening is creeping closer, my nerves return with impressive efficiency.
“I think I’ll cancel dinner,” I mumble, face-planting onto my bed.
Rhia collapses beside me, shoving a pillow under her head.
“We are not having this conversation again,” she mutters. “You are not wiggling your way out of this. I want you to get laid tonight. It will do wonders for your stress levels after today’s… wildlife encounter.”
She yawns mid-sentence, exhaustion finally catching up with her.
“Power nap,” she declares. “I’ll set the alarm.”
A loud noise jolts us awake, and we both sit upright in bed. Rhia’s hair is a wild mess. I’m sure mine looks no better.
Another sharp knock sends me scrambling out of bed.
“Oh my god. Did we sleep through the alarm?” I ask, frantically searching for my phone. “Shit, this is probably Gualtiero, and I haven’t even showered yet.”
“Go,” Rhia urges, pointing toward the bathroom. “I’ll distract him.”
I bolt inside, adrenaline flooding my system and instantly chasing away the fog.
Shoot. I have no clothes in here. What am I going to wear? I glance around as if a perfectly styled outfit might materialize out of thin air.
Right. I’m sleep-deprived.
Calm down. One step at a time.
Shower first. Panic later.
I’m in and out in record time, blow-dry my hair, and twist it into a messy bun. Wrapping a towel tightly around myself, I crack open the bathroom door and peek out.
Silence.
No Rhia. No voices.
Has she sent Tiero to the lobby to wait for me?
Please let that be the case.
Laid out on my bed is a light-blue summer dress.
It looks like Rhia is styling me tonight. I don’t mind. She’s the fashionista between us, and I know I’ll look amazing in whatever she chooses.
I step into her room and stop short.
An enormous bouquet of colorful roses and tulips dominates the coffee table. I scratch my chin as I follow the sound of Rhia singing happily in the shower.
Tulips in August? They’re not even in season anymore.
When Rhia spots me, she beams. “You can relax, El. It wasn’t your date. The concierge just dropped off the flowers.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have rushed.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Oops, sorry. I just need to get ready, too. A car is picking me up in half an hour, at eight. So we don’t have oodles of time.”
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I have no idea. It’s a surprise.”
“Are the flowers from Lex?”
Her smile grows impossibly wide, lighting up her whole face. “Yes. I love that man. Read his card.”
I return to the sitting area and take in the floral splendor. It’s like an explosion of happiness. No wonder she’s glowing. Lex did very well.
I pick up the card and scan it.
Oh gosh. This man.
I’m melting, and it’s not even addressed to me. No wonder Rhia is giddy.
As if on cue, she appears behind me, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe.
“Your man is perfection.” I turn and hug her. “I am so fricking happy for you.”
“He is,” she agrees, smiling. “There was another letter with a parcel, but that one’s for my eyes only.”
I elbow her, and she giggles. “What was in the parcel, or is that classified information too?”
Instead of answering, she opens her bathrobe and reveals her body in exquisite, moss-green lingerie.
I blink. “Wow. You are stunning in that. Even I’m blown away.”
She closes the robe again, nodding with satisfaction. “He does have excellent taste.”
“Obviously. He’s dating you,” I say. “Did he send anything else, or are you planning to show up in a trench coat like they do in the movies?”
She laughs. “No trench coats. That’s too cliché. I’ll find something to wear.” She points at me. “But first, we’re getting you ready. I want you to knock Gualtiero De Marco’s socks off tonight.”