10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Mialina
The morning sun is too bright. It’s an aggressive, cheerful sort of light that’s entirely at odds with my mood.
I’m back at our estate and can breathe without the looming threat of running into Maximo Marco again.
Mamma and Isa are still at Mari’s, the three of them probably dissecting the success of the memorial planning over lemon cake. So now is the perfect time to follow through with my plan.
Maximo is likely on his way to the airport by now. I can almost see him, sitting in the back of a sleek black car, looking at his watch and counting down the seconds until he can return to his kingdom in Chicago.
Good riddance.
The further away he is, the easier it’ll be to scrub the memory of him from my mind.
I head down the stairs and then the narrow, rocky path that leads to our private stretch of beach. The salt air usually calms me, but today it feels like a reminder of everything I haven’t experienced.
I sit down on a lounger for a few minutes, observing the waves roll in and trying to steady my breathing. My eyes stay glued to my watch.
It’s changeover time for the guards soon. When that happens, the beach will be unpatrolled for exactly thirty seconds. It’s a tiny window, but it’s enough time for me to sneak out and for the new guard to assume I returned to the house… I hope.
I’ve spent the last few years learning how to move through the gaps in my father’s security. Today, that knowledge is the only thing that can buy me the privacy I need.
Father kept us in a bubble. A beautiful, gilded, high-security bubble. Men were employees or threats, never possibilities.
I’ve somehow made it to nineteen having read plenty about romance while knowing absolutely nothing about what to actually do with a man.
I need a complete stranger. Ideally a tourist whom I’ll never see again.
Checking over my shoulder, I watch as the old guard steps away and climbs the stairs up to the house.
Go time.
I jump up, disappear behind the shrubbery, and sprint down the narrow path toward our boundary. Even after crossing it, I don’t stop. I keep running until the house is long out of sight.
Breathless, I sink down onto the sand and scan the shoreline for a suitable candidate. Unfortunately, there aren’t many tourists in Sicily during winter.
The beach is mostly empty, save for a young man, probably around my age, near the tide line. He’s golden-skinned and lean, dressed in simple pants rolled up to his knees and a linen shirt.
Hmm, probably a local, but he might do. I walk toward him, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
I considered approaching one of the garden hands back at the house, but I dismissed that idea before I even got down the stairs.
It’s too close to home. Gossip in an Accardi household travels faster than a bullet.
This stranger won’t know who I am, and more importantly, I’ll never have to see him again.
The closer I get, the more I realize I have no idea how to start. Do I just say hello? Do I ask about the fishing?
He notices me, his eyes widening slightly as he takes me in. I’m wearing a simple sundress, but I know I look like I belong here.
“Beautiful morning,” he says, his voice friendly and light. It’s nothing like Maximo’s low, gravelly baritone. It doesn’t make my skin prickle.
Good. That’s good, really.
“It is,” I reply, my voice steadying.
I can do this. I’m an Accardi. We don’t flinch.
“Are you having any luck?”
He grins, and it’s a nice, normal grin.
“Not yet. The fish seem to be smarter than me today,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
I find myself smiling at him. He’s cute.
“I’m Mia,” I say, stepping a little closer and holding out my hand.
“Elio.” His cheeks flush an adorable shade of pink.
We talk for a few minutes about the weather and the coast. It’s easy. Comfortable. I wait for the spark, for the pull I felt in the garden with Maximo, but there’s nothing.
He’s nice, polite, and clearly charmed.
See? I can do this.
But as the seconds tick by, I realize he isn’t going to make a move.
Is that normal?
He’s looking at me like I’m something to be admired from a distance. Perhaps he’s shy?
I don’t know how to deal with shy men. Ha, he’s not really a man, is he? He’s still a boy.
But surely, even boys can kiss.
I don’t have time for the slow dance. If I’m going to do this, I need to do it now, before my courage fails and I start thinking about Maximo again.
How do people get to the kissing bit? Do they wait for a lull in the conversation? Does he need an invitation in writing?
To hell with it.
I can’t wait for him to find his nerve. He probably won’t make the first move.
I take a step forward, closing the distance until I can feel the heat radiating off his chest. His eyes widen as I reach up, grab the front of his shirt, and pull him down to me.
Elio lets out a small, muffled sound of surprise. He’s stunned, his body freezing as I press my lips against his. For a second, I’m standing there, holding onto a stranger’s shirt while the waves lap at our feet, wondering if I’m doing it right.
He recovers quickly. His hands find my waist, tentative at first, then more certain. He kisses me back, his mouth moving gently against mine.
He smells like sunshine and sea salt. It’s a pleasant smell. A normal smell.
Our lips keep moving together. I wait for the lightning and for the world to tilt the way it did in the garden when Maximo’s hand slid into my hair.
Nothing.
A seagull lands a few feet away, and I find myself studying it instead.
Huh. I’ve never noticed how pretty their wings are before.
For a moment, I almost forget I’m kissing a total stranger, until he moans against my mouth and pulls me carefully closer.
His lips are soft, and he’s being perfectly gentle, but there’s no fire. No hunger.
It’s like a handshake with faces. My heart isn’t hammering, not one little bit. I’m actually bored.
I pull away abruptly, letting go of his shirt. Elio’s eyes are wide and his breath comes in short, confused puffs.
“You okay?” he asks, looking a little dazed.
I touch my lips, but they don’t even tingle. They just feel wet.
Merda. I haven’t erased Maximo. I’ve highlighted him.
The problem isn’t the act of kissing… it’s the man.
“I’m fine,” I say, already backing away. I have a sudden, desperate urge to be alone.
“I just… I have to go. My sisters are waiting.”
I turn and run back up the way I’ve come. I sneak back onto our land, my breath hitching in my chest.
It didn’t work. The plan was brilliant; it was logical.
And it was a complete failure.
Dammit, why did I let Maximo kiss me?
I should have pushed him away and slapped his face when he pressed his mouth against mine.
He ruined it for me. Something I’d always imagined choosing for myself now belongs to a memory of him.
I make my way back into the house unnoticed. My heart doesn’t stop racing until I’m behind the heavy oak door of my bedroom. I lean against the wood, anger surging all over again.
Damn Maximo Marco for being my first kiss and for being so… loud in my mind. If Elio had taken that spot, it would have been a nice enough memory. Something easy enough to beat in the future.
But Maximo had to set a bar so high that a normal, decent person can’t easily reach it.
I step out onto my balcony, the December wind cooler than I’d like. I look out toward the horizon, past the jagged cliffs and the gray expanse of the sea, where I imagine his plane is currently taking off.
I should be celebrating, not standing here cursing his name. I touch my fingers to my lips. They’re not even the slightest bit swollen.
I won’t let Maximo win this.
Not happening.
I pull my arms around myself, shivering as the sun ducks behind a cloud. I just need to refine my strategy.
Elio was practically a boy. And judging by that kiss, probably almost as inexperienced as I am. No wonder I didn’t feel anything.
Next time, I’ll pick a man. Someone with enough experience to make me forget what happened in the garden yesterday.
I will find him, kiss him, and erase Maximo Marco once and for all.