by Sophie Love
“They will be in the backyard,” Cristiano told her. “They always are when the weather is fair.”
Swallowing her anxiety, Keira followed him through the living room, under the arch, along the corridor and out through the glass doors. The smell of burning wood floated into Keira’s nostrils, and she could feel the warmth of its firelight on her cheeks.
At last, she caught sight of what had been obscured from her view. Cristiano’s parents were sat on a comfortable wicker garden couch. There was a bottle of wine on the table, along with numerous glasses, and a fire pit burned before them. A young couple, who were sitting on the couch facing the other way, turned at the sound of their approaching footsteps.
Cristiano spoke first. “Mamma, Papa, questra a la Keira.”
His parents’ faces burst into delighted smiles, as warm and inviting as the fire burning before them. They looked too young to be Cristiano’s parents, Keira thought. Both had clear complexions, olive skin, and not a single wrinkle in sight.
Cristiano’s mom unfolded her legs from beneath her and stood. She was dressed in a loose tunic, and the several large metal bracelets she wore on her arms clanked loudly as she reached out and took Keira’s cheeks in her hands. She bestowed kisses on her, her scent as floral as the Italian countryside.
“I’m Sabrina,” she said. “It’s lovely to meet you.” She gestured to the man behind her. “This is my husband, Francesco.”
It was Cristiano’s father’s turn to kiss Keira’s cheeks in greeting. She blushed, unsure she’d ever get used to the intimacy. Finally, the young couple on the opposite seat stood.
“I’m Pippa, Cristiano’s baby sister,” the girl said, grinning widely, kissing Keira.
Her companion stood. “Raffaele,” he announced. “Husband.”
“Raff’s English is not very good,” Pippa said, laughing. “You must excuse him.”
Everyone sat, and Keira found a glass of wine placed in one hand, a ramekin of olives in the other.
Sabrina spoke first, tucking her legs beneath her on the sofa again and swilling her wine glass.
“I will embarrass my son now,” she said. “He speaks very highly of you.”
“And often,” Pippa added.
Far from embarrassed, Cristiano looked proud. Keira, on the other hand, blushed.
“That’s very flattering,” she said, tipping her gaze down to her wine glass.
“You’re a writer?” Pippa asked. “Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Keira said. “I’m a travel writer for a magazine. We take a slightly different approach to our articles. They’re somewhere between journals and memoirs. And travel information, of course.”
Pippa look enthralled. “What are you working on now?” she asked, placing her chin on her fist and looking at Keira with curiosity. “Florence?”
“Italy in general. Whether it really is the most romantic country in the world.”
Everyone laughed then, and Pippa translated quickly for Raffaele’s benefit. He spoke back to her, and Pippa turned to Keira.
“Raff says that there is no other country as romantic as Italy. We are the most passionate people in the world.”
Keira smiled. “I’m starting to get that impression.”
Francesco leaned forward then, addressing Keira with an expression of interest that matched the rest of his family.
“And you interview people as you travel?” he asked.
Keira sipped her wine, finding herself relaxing into their company. “Yes. Part of my approach is to collect stories from couples, to see what secrets they keep, or what advice they have to offer.”
Francesco raised his eyebrows then and looked over at Sabrina. “Well, we have been married for thirty-three years,” he said. “You could interview us if you’d like.”
Keira didn’t need to be told twice. She leaped at the offer.
“Could I? That would be fantastic.”
Cristiano stood then. “That reminds me, I have your luggage,” he said. “Would you like me to fetch it? I think your laptop is inside.”
Keira smiled, relieved that her case had indeed survived. But she pulled her notebook out of her purse. “Actually, I’ve become very accustomed to taking notes by hand over the last few days,” she said. “I think the slower pace of the Italian life is rubbing off on me.”
Everyone laughed again.
Keira poised herself for the interview. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said to Cristiano’s parents.
It was Sabrina who took the lead.
“Physical touch is very important,” she said. Keira noticed her stroking Francesco’s hand. “We don’t find it embarrassing to express love and affection openly to one another. The children don’t either. It is better for everyone when we’re at peace and affectionate.”
Francesco nodded in agreement. “Time is important, too. We spend almost every evening together, out here beside the fire, or walking in the hillsides. Hand in hand, of course. Holding hands is not just for young lovers.” He chuckled. “And absolutely no distractions, no television or anything. We may not always be talking but being together in the silence bonds us more than staring at the television ever could.”
“You learn to love the silence,” Sabrina added. “It is very comfortable. You begin to feel as at ease in the other’s company as you are when alone.”
Keira wrote as they spoke. She remembered her experience in Florence, where she’d connected the senses with romance.
“What about food?” she asked, smiling. “Do you find eating together a romantic act?”
“Of course!” Francesco said. “My wife is a fabulous cook. We eat together as often as possible. It is an activity here, something to be enjoyed. We take our time, both with the cooking and the eating.”
Sabrina laughed. “And we put time and effort into not just how the food will taste, but how it will look. Because beauty in itself is romantic, and there is beauty in the craft of food, culture, art…” She took a big sip of her wine. “I think I may have drunk too much this evening.”
Keira watched on, smiling. Sabrina rested her head against Francesco’s shoulder. They did indeed look completely at ease with one another, so comfortable as to almost be one and the same entity.
Pippa spoke then. “Raff and I have been married less than a year,” she explained. “We hope to have what our parents have one day. But at the moment we don’t need to worry about keeping the romance alive. Italians are naturally romantic. It is in our DNA.” She laughed heartily.
They continued chatting, letting the evening pass with no concern over the time. Keira was so used to deadlines, to timekeeping, that it was a rare occurrence for her to not be aware of what the time was. It was very freeing and relaxing. Her only frame of reference was that they’d polished off several bottles of wine, breads, and cheeses, and now the Limoncello had come out.
“Have you had any chestnuts since you’ve been here?” Pippa asked. “It is traditional to have toasted chestnuts on All Souls’ Day. I can put some in the fire.”
“Thanks, that would be lovely,” Keira said.
“After, we should head to the graveyard,” Cristiano said to Keira. “I can show you the rest of my family.”
Keira’s eyes widened. “That’s a little morbid.”
“Not at all,” he laughed. “We celebrate our dead relatives. We are not scared of ghosts or death. It is just another part of being alive, and knowing we continue to love and celebrate our family when they are no longer walking the earth gives us all a great comfort, because we know that when we are dead we will not be forgotten. We will be loved and remembered. We will be celebrated every year. It is a beautiful thing.”
Keira nodded, agreeing, seeing where he was coming from. “Actually, that’s quite romantic,” she admitted.
Cristiano laughed. “Of course!”
“Perhaps Keira will want to see the groves?” Sabrina said. Then to Keira, she added, “We have orange groves, olive groves, and vineyards all ar
ound. They are very beautiful.”
“That sounds lovely,” Keira said, but she stifled a yawn.
Cristiano touched her arm lightly. “Would you like a rest first? I forget that Americans never siesta.”
Keira shook her head. “No, I want to enjoy the celebrations. Can I change first?” She looked down at the unattractive outfit she’d purchased while in Florence. Wearing her own clothes again would be wonderful.
Cristiano showed her upstairs to his room. Keira was delighted to be reunited with her things. Now she wouldn’t have to explain to Bryn how she’d managed to spend four hundred of her dollars while returning empty-handed!
Once she was dressed, Cristiano and Keira headed out. Keira still had no idea what the time was, but she didn’t care. She felt full of energy, in part thanks to all the food and wine she’d been given, but also because she was giddy on romance. Being with Cristiano again felt amazing. And now that she’d spoken to his parents and sister, she felt that she had a deeper understanding of him as a person, about the way he approached romance. Like Sabrina and Francesco, Cristiano wore his heart on his sleeve and expected others to do the same. It must have been confusing for him that she did not act that way. To Keira, being so open and forward made her feel vulnerable, but the Italian approach made perfect sense. Why waste so much energy guessing? Why waste time alone wondering whether someone wanted to be with you when you could waste the time together, hand in hand, walking in silent ease like Sabrina and Francesco had for thirty years?
Keira realized now, as she walked, lost in her thoughts, that she and Cristiano were doing just that. They were silent, had been for a long time, hand in hand, and his thumb was gently tracing against the back of her hand, showing physical affection just like his parents would.
They reached the cemetery, which was sloped just like the hillside. Red candles were still burning, and there were chrysanthemums everywhere. They walked through the graves, pausing momentarily to read the headstones. Cristiano introduced her to grandparents, great-grandparents, and distant cousins who’d died decades before he was even born. It was true what he’d said about it being comforting. She knew less about her distant living family than Cristiano did about his ancestors long past. He could live his life in the comfort of knowing his memory would be passed on, that he would be remembered, cherished and celebrated in the memories of his children, and their children, on and on, ad infinitum.
Along the path a little further were the olive groves. They stretched far into the distance. Keira thought it must be stunningly beautiful in the daylight when the vines would be all one could see.
Further along still they came to the orange groves. The air was scented with citrus and Keira felt another one of her senses come alive.
Finally, they reached the vineyards, which were positioned beside a small medieval town.
“There is a very interesting structure through here,” Cristiano said, gesturing along one of the pathways between the vines.
“We can go in?” Keira asked.
Cristiano looked over his shoulder. “I don’t see anyone about,” he said, mischievously. “Do you?”
Keira giggled, caught up in the moment. “Nope.”
He looped his arm through hers and guided her through the vineyards.
“When I was on the plane here,” Keira told him, “I made up a character for myself. I didn’t much feel like talking to the man next to me on the flight so I pretended I was a wine connoisseur.”
Cristiano laughed.
“It gets worse,” Keira added. “I said that my father’s passion was wine, that he’d married in a vineyard, and that I was conceived in one!” She laughed, remembering the act she’d performed.
Cristiano looked at her curiously, laughing too. “You are quite strange, my Keira.”
They reached a crumbling stone structure, an old bolt hole for workers on the vineyards to shield themselves from the heat of the midday sun during their long work days. It looked like it was a thousand years old, the roof having caved in eons hence, leaving just stone beam supports holding up nothing but sky.
“Wow,” Keira murmured.
She walked inside. Moonlight bathed the space in cool blue. The color brought back memories of being in the Blue Grotto with Cristiano, of that kiss that had never happened. She turned to face him now. He looked just as stunning in the pale blue light as he had in the vivid aqua marine of the grotto. He was gazing at her adoringly. Keira’s body felt alive with desire.
He touched her cheek tenderly, alighting her passion even more. Keira remembered how she’d missed out before on connecting with him while in the Blue Grotto. Not this time. She was not prepared to let any moments slip away from her again.
They kissed, deeply, powerfully, the sensation more intense than it had been between them before. Keira felt her body yielding to Cristiano, to the sensation and romance.
She pulled back from him, and with her eyes locked on his, moved her hands to the hem of her shirt. She pulled it up over her head and stood before him, half dressed. Cristiano needed no further prompting. He understood her message and intentions clearly.
Keira’s heart soared as he swept her up in his arms, pressing her as close to him as possible, before laying her against the cool stone of the ancient structure, kissing every inch of her flesh. He drew back and she gazed up at him with adoration. He removed his own shirt, showing his muscular physique and gorgeous olive skin. She bit her lip with excitement and anticipation, more willing than she’d ever been in her life to unite her body with another’s.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
If there was ever any doubt that Italy is the most romantic country in the world, then perhaps the fact that they have turned the least pleasant part of life (that is, death) into a beautiful, joyous celebration will convince you. I’m lucky and honored enough to spend All Souls’ Day in the countryside of Florence with a real Italian family (my lover, Cristiano’s, to be precise). Here, I sample traditional fire-roasted chestnuts and watch processions of people heading to graveyards carrying bouquets of chrysanthemums and flaming torches. Death, for the Italians, seems to be a continuation of life, the next step in eternal love. Cristiano tells me he takes great comfort in knowing that his spirit will never be forgotten after he is no longer walking the earth. In turn, he knows the names and narratives of ancestors he’s never met, but whom he shares a connection with through blood and flesh. I cannot think of anything more romantic.
Keira paused and peered out the window, at the bright, clear Florence countryside. In the bed behind her, Cristiano slept soundly, the covers messed up all around him. He looked gorgeous while sleeping, she’d discovered over the last few days they’d been staying at his family’s villa. But then again, he looked gorgeous always.
Keira let him lie in, using the respite to get on with her work. Today they would be leaving Florence—and Cristiano’s welcoming, accommodating family—and heading to Verona on Cristiano’s Vespa, so Keira wasn’t sure when she’d get another block of time to work. The slow days in Florence had been a blessing, and she felt she’d done her best writing. Although maybe that was something to do with being reunited with her muse, and allowing herself to fall in love with him.
She’d finally been able to let loose and inject herself into the piece. She hadn’t heard back from Viatorum yet but she hoped they’d be impressed. She was certainly proud of herself, and she could fully see where Elliot was coming from. Now that she’d put a personal spin on the assignment it was much stronger. She really was owning the persona of the Romance Guru, a persona she did not have to fake.
She went downstairs to prepare breakfast in bed for Cristiano. Sabrina was already awake, sitting at the dining room table drinking coffee.
“There is some in the pot,” she said, standing. “Would you like me to make you some food?”
“Thank you,” Keira said. “That would be lovely.”
They headed into the kitchen together.
“We are goin
g to miss having you here, Keira,” Sabrina said as she placed toast in the toaster and collected some mugs for the coffee. “It is so good for my son to have you. After Maria he was very sad. He almost did not take up the tour job. I am so pleased he did.”
“I am too,” Keira said, dreamily. How different things could have been had he not. “I’m going to miss you all too. You’ve been so welcoming. I wish I didn’t have to leave.”
“You can come back anytime,” Sabrina said with a smile.
The toast popped then, and she buttered it before placing it on the tray next to the coffee.
“Thank you, Sabrina,” Keira said, with deep feeling.
Sabrina patted her hand. “No, thank you, Keira, for making Cristiano smile again.”
Keira headed back upstairs and entered Cristiano’s room. He began to stir, so Keira put the tray down, then snuggled herself into the bed beside him. He murmured noises of happiness.
“Good morning, my Keira,” he said.
Keira propped herself up on her elbows and wiped the stray hair from his eyes. She kissed him deeply, tenderly, then smiled and replied dreamily, “Good morning.”
Cristiano’s hands stroked gently up and down the flesh of Keira’s shoulders and arms. “Are you looking forward to seeing Verona?” he asked her.
She shivered under the sensation. “I am. But sad to say goodbye to your family. I’ve grown very fond of them.”
“They’re wonderful people,” he agreed. Then he smiled softly. “How was your writing this morning?”
“Very good,” Keira said, feeling more confident than she had in ages about her work. “I think I will be able to finish in Verona. As long as there aren’t any rewrites to do.” She shrugged, thinking of Nina and her pedantically detailed line edits. “You never really know.”
