Sexy Surrender

by Jasinda Wilder

  We went still and silent, eventually.

  *

  I put a scene break here simply because I wanted to place some space between the majesty of that experience and all that came after.

  We dressed and made our way through the fields back to where I'd parked. Luca had a good laugh at the Vespa I'd ridden to get to the winery, and told me he knew the rental agent, he'd arrange to have it picked up for me. We fetched my bag from inside the building and Luca led me around back to where he'd parked.

  He drove us back to Montepulciano, to a little inn where he'd let a room for the night. We showered, making love again in the shower. Oh lord, how amazing. Hot water sluicing down on our bodies, washing away the dirt of travel and relaxing our muscles, pleasure rippling through us, heat in us and on us and around us. He pinned me against the wall and held my leg up around his waist, plunged up into me, lifting onto his toes as he thrust. I bit his shoulder with each hard thrust, moaning into the firm silk of his flesh, tasting skin and water. I moaned his name in his ear as I came, and then he shot his hot seed into me, his lips meeting mine with each thrust of his release.

  And then we had to wash all over again. The water ran lukewarm by the time we were clean and dry. We dressed and Luca led me out onto the streets, bustling with tourists and locals, splashing fountains lit yellow in the dark of descending night. We found a table at a little restaurant and talked over wine, pasta, and cannolis.

  I was learning more and more Italian with every passing day, and larger portions of our conversations were taking place in Luca's language rather than mine. This seemed fitting. I was learning to express myself, and he would gently correct my grammar or pronunciation or syntax.

  We left the little cafe and strolled the streets, hand in hand, sometimes talking, sometimes not. And then we turned a corner and Luca froze, his hand crushing mine with sudden strength.

  A woman stood in front of us, holding a young girl, maybe ten years old, by the hand. I knew instinctively who this was: Lia and Luisa.

  Two gut reactions warred within me. One part of me wanted to drop Luca's hand; the other part wanted to lean closer, wrap my arm around his waist and establish my claim.

  Lia's eyes widened with surprise, and then wavered with fear. Luisa seemed confused, as if she didn't know what she felt.

  No one spoke for a long tense moment.

  "Lia..." Luca said in Italian. "I did not expect to see you here."

  "We are just passing through," Lia responded, after a brief pause. "We were visiting family in the north."

  Luca licked his lips and his hand flexed in mine. I held still, not letting go or moving closer to him.

  "Luisa," Luca said. "You have grown tall. How are you?"

  Luisa looked first to her mother, and then back at Luca. "I am a child. Children grow." She tilted her head to the side. "Why did we suddenly no longer live with you, Luca? Mamma won't speak of it."

  Luca's face contorted as he struggled to find an answer, and to contain his emotions. "It...that is a hard question to answer, Luisa." He knelt down, and I rested my hand on his shoulder; I knew, on some bone-deep level, that he needed the constant contact with me to get through this sudden, surprising meeting. "It is something that is difficult for even adults to talk about, sometimes."

  Luisa frowned. "What you mean to say is that you will not tell me, because I am a child. 'You won't understand, Luisa,'" she spoke as if by rote, in a deep voice. "'I will explain when you're older.'"

  Luca rubbed his face with his hand. "You are a smart young lady, so I will not tell you any lies, or any such nonsense as that. I do not know why your mother did not want to live with me anymore. I am sure she had her reasons, though, and I know she loves you, and wants the best for you."

  "Well yes, I know that. She is my mother. Mammas love their daughters. But I have wondered for a very long time why we left. I thought maybe it was because you did not want to be a Papa to a girl who was not your own."

  Lia choked back some kind of outburst. Luca glanced up at her briefly and then back to Luisa. He put his hand on the girl's arm.

  "No, little one. That is not the reason. I would--" he cut himself off. "No. That is not the reason. You must know that. Okay? It was not anything that you did do, or did not do. It was not you."

  Luisa nodded. "Mommy has a boyfriend, you know. His name is Marco. He is nice, but he is not so handsome as you, I think." She seemed to have accepted his answer in the way of children, and then moved on.

  "Luisa, that is enough," Lia cut in, flushing. She tugged Luisa's hand. "We should go. Say goodbye, Luisa."

  Luca stood up. He glanced at me, and in that brief meeting of our eyes, I saw a welter of emotions. He looked at Lia again, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again with a glance back at me.

  I thought I understood what he was debating. "Ask her, Luca," I said in English.

  He nodded and squeezed my hand. "Why did you leave, Lia? I need to know. It will not change anything, nor do I wish to. But...I need to know."

  She shook her head, glanced down at Luisa and back to Luca. "You were not right for me. You wanted something from me I could not give, and I did not know how to say it. So I left."

  Luca shook his head. "That is not it. You took everything, Lia. Everything."

  "I had no job, no skills. I did not know how I was going to support us, Luisa and I, when I left. I know it was wrong, and I am so very sorry. I have regretted it, since. You are a good man, and you deserved better treatment than that." She looked at her feet. "You deserved better than me."

  "If you had just told me--" Luca began.

  "No more, Luca," Lia cut in. "Not here, not now. I have given you an explanation. It is enough."

  I felt a rush of the old panic at the raw emotion evident in Luca. I'd thought he was over it, past it, but now, with this, I suddenly wasn't so sure.

  Lia tugged Luisa into a walk, moving past us. "Goodbye, Luca. I hope you have a happy life. I hope you have found what you deserve."

  Luisa pulled free of her mother and hugged Luca. "Will I see you again?"

  Luca shook his head slowly. "No, Luisa. You will not."

  She nodded. "Maybe I will find you when I am older, and we can be friends."

  "Perhaps we can," Luca said, giving the girl a gentle nudge toward her mother. "Now you should go. You must not keep your mother waiting. She does not like to be late."

  Luisa and Lia rounded the corner out of view. Luisa looked back one last time as she disappeared.

  Luca was quiet for a long time, staring after them, as if he could see them walking away.

  "Are you okay?" I asked.

  Luca nodded. "It was a shock to see them, after all this time."

  He pulled on my hand and we resumed walking. After a few steps I had to ask.

  "Are you over her? For real?"

  Luca looked at me, frowning. "Over her? Of course I am over her. As I said, it was a great shock to meet them so unexpectedly."

  I shrugged. "I don't know. You just seemed upset. I thought maybe you were...missing her."

  Luca shook his head. "Upset, yes. The way she left me hurt me very much. It is why you running away as you did was so difficult for me. Why I could not move on if you did it again. I was upset, yes...but miss her? No. We were not right for each other. She was correct in what she said. She could not give me what I needed, nor I could I give to her what she needed, it seemed. She took the cowardly way out, but it is over. It is done. I was more upset for the sake of Luisa. I always hoped she did not think I abandoned her. I feel better, now, after speaking to her. She knows I did not abandon her. It is all I could ask for, from that situation."

  I felt better, then. "As long as you're sure you don't--"

  He stopped, pushed me back against the wall and interrupted me with a kiss. "Only you, amore. Only you, my Delilah. I want her no more than you want Harry back. It is done, for the better of both of us."

  We kissed in the orange glow of a streetl
ight, the soft splash of a fountain the soundtrack of our lips' dance. We walked the streets of Montepulciano for a while longer after that. We returned to our room in the wee hours, and made love yet again.

  Each time is different. In the grape fields it was slow and languorous and deeply emotional; in the shower it was rough and hungry; then, late at night, in the darkness of the room lit only by stars and city lights, it was wild and noisy and acrobatic, exhausting and satiating.

  I lay in his arms, panting, sweat-slick, quivering from aftershocks and afterglow.

  Luca's fingers were toying with my hair, and his eyes traced my features. He was deep in thought, and I wanted to ask what he was thinking, but I knew he'd come out with it when he was ready.

  I felt my eyes growing heavy when Luca lifted up on an elbow. I carved a line between his pectoral muscles with the pad of my thumb. His charcoal eyes were limpid with emotion.

  "I could not bear to have you leave again, Delilah," he said.

  I scooted closer to him and kissed his chin. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I love you. I want to be with you."

  "Forever?"

  My breath caught. "What? What are you...what are you asking?"

  "I'm asking if you wish to be with me, to love me, forever." He took my left hand in his, touched my ring finger. "I do not have anything to glitter here, in this moment. I have only me. Only my love, for all of my life."

  I reached up and wrapped a lock of his hair around my ring finger. "Say it, Luca. Say the words."

  "Will you be married to me, mia bella Delilah?"

  I nodded and kissed him. "I will."

  Luca laughed. "I suppose this was not the kind of romantic proposal of marriage a woman imagines, hmm?"

  "No, probably not, but it was perfect."

  "I will buy you a ring, amore," Luca said. "Just as soon as we get back to Firenze--"

  "Shut up, Luca," I said. "You're spoiling the moment. I don't need a ring. I had one, a big one, and it didn't mean shit. Love me forever, and never betray me. That's all I need."

  "This I can do. But I will still buy you a ring, so all the jealous men will know you belong to me."

  I snuggled close to him and felt his breathing slow. "I belong to you." I was more tasting the words for myself than saying them to him.

  He murmured something unintelligible in Italian, and then he was snoring.

  I waited until he was deeply asleep to start my clickity-clacking on the keys.

  He's stirring now, and I know he can feel me awake. He wants me to cuddle close to him, and now that I've gotten all this out, I can finally fall asleep.

  I said yes.

  Oh boy.

  August 3

  There was a crazy flurry of activity over the last few days. Apparently getting engaged is a huge deal in Luca's family. We haven't even talked about when we're actually getting married (*gulp*) and already Luca's sisters and sisters-in-law are making plans and taking me away for girl's nights and all sorts of nonsense. There was a huge party when Luca and I announced our news. There was lots of wine and grappa, kids dancing to music played by Elisabetta and Lucia.

  They've welcomed me with open arms. They are my family.

  August 4

  Luca bought me a ring. It's a thin platinum band with two small diamonds to either side of a larger one. It's beautiful, and perfect. He took me to Ponte Vecchio late in the evening, stopped me with my back to the railing, crowds passing around us, watching.

  He dropped to his knee, a ring box in his hand.

  I tugged on him, laughing. "I already said yes, Luca! What are you doing?"

  He grinned. "It did not seem correct to just hand it to you. It is an engagement ring. A man must do it right, no? So. Delilah Flores, will you marry me?"

  People had stopped to watch, cheering, whistling, calling out encouragement in Italian and English and German and French.

  I waited a few moments, just to draw out the tension of the moment for the crowd, then I stepped closer to him, bent down and kissed him. "Yes." I kissed him again and pulled him to his feet. "You are ridiculous, and I love you."

  "You are more ridiculous, and I love you."

  The crowd around us went nuts, and we both laughed.

  May 4 (the following year)

  I started a new diary not long after Luca proposed to me. It just seemed to be a new chapter of my life, and I wanted to commemorate it by starting a new diary. But now I want to come back to this one and put on an addendum.

  An Epilogue, if you will.

  I'm getting married tomorrow. I'm sitting in my hotel room in Venice, dressed for my bachelorette party. They don't call it that here, of course, but that's what it is, to me.

  I called my parents and told them, well, not everything, but that I was getting married in Italy, to an Italian. My mother hung up on me. I didn't bother calling Leah.

  Now, waiting for the girls to come bustling into my room and take me out to get me drunk, I know they are truly my family. Lucia was the first to hug me and brush away my tears when Mother hung up on me. Luca was gone at the time, on a business trip to Viterbo.

  The funny thing was that while I was hurt, of course, I wasn't devastated like I would have been, once upon a time. I wasn't even all that surprised. No one seemed all that upset that I'd left, after all. Mother didn't ask where I was, or what had happened with Harry, or if I was okay.

  Domenica is teaching me to cook. Domenica is a patient teacher, and I am an eager student, so I am learning well. I can almost make Luca's favorite dish to his liking, although he very seriously has made it clear that he doubts I will ever make it like his mother, and I agree. But I can try.

  I never cooked back in the States. We ate out, or we ordered in, or we did something simple, partially frozen or from a kit. We rarely ate together. Here, meals are events, a time to gather and discuss life and spend time with family. The entire family, including me and Luca, all live within minutes of Domenica and Dante, so there are always people eating in the kitchen, or at the long dining room. Everyone gathers there on Sundays, and various combinations come at will during the week. It is a place where all are welcome, all the time.

  When Luca and I had our first real argument as a couple, about something stupid which I can't remember, I stormed out the door of our flat and walked to Domenica's. I had a cup of late night coffee with Domenica, who was still up, as if she knew she would be needed. Luca showed up a while later, beer on his breath and lust in his eyes. He kissed his mother, had a cup of coffee, and acted as if nothing had happened.

  When he finally dragged me away from his mother, I was still trying to hold on to my irritation over whatever petty thing we'd spatted about. He just laughed at me, pressed me back against a wall and kissed me until I had no choice but to melt into his lips. He dragged me home, threw me onto our bed, stripped me of my clothes with greedy fingers and ravaged me with his tongue until I begged him to stop and let me feel him inside me. He obliged me, sliding up my body, lingering with his mouth on my breast, plunging into me without warning. I gasped, hooked my heels around his back and curled into him, taking all he had to give and demanding more, harder.

  The girls are here, demanding I close my laptop and come party with them.

  May 6

  What a perfect day. We picked Venice because a lot of Luca's extended family was coming from closer to that city. It was a lovely day, as every day seems to be in this country.

  There was no bride's side, groom's side in our chapel. I don't know if it's because that's an exclusively American tradition, or because his family tactfully avoided letting it happen. It didn't matter if I didn't have any family, anyway, because Luca has enough for both of us. His mother and father both come from large families, so the chapel was filled to capacity with chattering, laughing family. Like his immediate family, the extended bunch all welcomed me with open, loving arms, flaming, bottle-red hair and all. By the time the holidays and Carnivale came around, I was fluent enough in Italian th
at no one felt the need to revert to English for my sake. That was when I realized I'd really been truly accepted, I think, that I knew I really belonged.

  It was an amazing feeling. I'd never really fit in back in the States, not with my family, not with Harry, not in the cutesy little podunk town. Here, in Firenze, with Domenica and Lorenzo and little Benito and baby Maria and Elisabetta, I belong. I fit. I am home.

  The wedding. Focus, Delilah.

  Oh my. The wedding was traditional, sung in Latin and all the standing up and sitting down. It was beautiful, but short and to the point. The real fun was the reception. It took place in a vineyard not far from Venice, outside in the fiery light of the setting sun. There was a live band playing upbeat music, perfect for dancing to. We went through gallons of excellent wine, of course. Food by the table-full. There were easily three times as many people at the reception as the wedding, it seemed. Some people saw the party and just showed up, and they were welcome. It was raucous, rowdy, and wild. It lasted through the night and into the following dawn.

  I danced until I was exhausted, drank until I was dizzy, and then ate until the buzz went away, and then did it all over again. Eventually, when the gray light of spreading dawn gave way to the full light of day, people started to fade away in ones and twos, and then at last Luca led me inside to the winery building, where a small apartment was ready for us. We crashed, that night. We'd partied hard, and fell asleep in our clothes. We woke up a few hours past noon and took a limo to a local airport.

  It was the best day of my life. So many people, all having a joyous time, all in celebration of my marriage. Unlike receptions back in the States, this was a cut-loose affair, a true celebration. No one held back, no one felt a need to behave a certain way, or act appropriately. People got drunk, and had fun. There was no drama, no problems.

  Oh, I can't put it all into words.

  Luca stole me away whenever he could, pulled me into the rows of grapes and kissed me until I was dizzy from his kisses.

  Then, once, well past midnight, when we were both drunk, Luca got the look in his eyes, the one that said he wanted me and he didn't care how he had to get it. I led him into the winery building and up some stairs to a darkened office.