by Amy Waeschle
They both busted up, and Cassidy had to hold onto the sink counter. “Oh, my,” she said, fanning her face.
Pete inhaled a deep breath, a giggle catching at the end, and they shared one last fit of laughter. Then Pete took her in his arms and held her.
Cassidy relaxed in his embrace. How easily he got through to her, as though they had known each other for much longer than just these few months. “Oh, did you get a copy of the National Geographic article?” she asked when they separated.
“No, though Mark says it arrived.”
“And you didn’t stop to get it?” Cassidy said, shocked.
He grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I couldn’t wait to get here.” They shared a look, and Cassidy blushed. “Plus, I have good news,” he sang.
Cassidy smiled. “What is it?”
“I found a home for the Greece immigration story.” He grinned so bright his whole face glowed. “The New York Times!”
“What?” Cassidy cried. “Pete, that’s awesome!”
“They want to do a series.”
Cassidy jumped into his arms. “Oh my god! When did you find out?”
“Today. After my meeting.”
“Oh, Pete, I’m so excited for you!”
He swung her in a circle. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he said, putting her down.
“When are you going?” she asked.
“That’s the best part,” he replied, squeezing her. “It’ll coincide with your Etna trip.”
“We can meet up!” Cassidy replied, imagining the two of them swimming in the Mediterranean, skiing Etna, and walking ancient, cobbled streets, hand in hand. Maybe they could even go to Rome, or the Dolomites, or . . . Her thoughts ran away from her.
Later, after sliding the pizzas from the oven and settling in at the picnic table, they were still chattering of Sicily and Greece and where they should meet, where they should go.
By the end of the meal, Pete grew quiet.
“What?” she asked, folding her napkin and setting it aside.
“I know you said not to make a big fuss over your birthday, but . . . ” He gave her a sheepish look. “Can I take you to dinner?”
Cassidy blinked in surprise.
“There’s this really cool place I’ve always wanted to go. But we have to take a ferry and stay the night,” he added.
“Wow, okay,” she said. She didn’t like making a fuss over her birthday because it was a weird day . . . with her parents gone, the only person she celebrated with was Quinn. Pamela and Rebecca always called, and though she appreciated the gesture, it always made her sad. Usually, she buried herself in work to take her mind off it.
“Cool,” Pete said, his energy ramping up. “Can you leave Friday afternoon?”
“I think so,” Cassidy replied, thinking ahead two weeks to the date.
Pete squeezed her hand.
On the Friday of her birthday, Pete was only two minutes late when he picked her up at Casa de Roca.
“Wow,” Pete said as she exited her house in a blue wrap-waist dress and boots. “You look amazing.” He kissed her and a pulse of heat warmed her insides.
“So do you,” she said, taking in his trimmed beard and freshly combed hair. He smelled faintly of wool and his clove-scented shampoo. After storing her bag in the car, they drove through rush hour traffic to the ferry terminal. During the drive she caught him grinning.
“What?” she asked.
With his eyes on the road, he reached for her hand. “I’m just excited.”
She squeezed his hand, and a jolt went through her. “Me too.”
After Pete coasted his car onto the boat, they climbed the stairs to the observation deck. The heat from his skin spread through her body, making her feel electric.
“Let’s go outside,” Pete said, squeezing her hand. “We’ll pretend like we’re Rose and Jack in the movie Titanic.”
Cassidy laughed. “Though I’m not about to lean over the bow like Kate Winslet did,” she said, picturing the movie’s iconic scene. “Let’s find an empty car to make out in instead,” she added, giggling. Her loose curls blew in the wind as they stepped onto the deck. The ferry pulled away from the dock and the blast of cold air chilled her bare knees and cheeks.
Pete pulled her close as the wind swirled around them. “I have a better idea,” he said with a grin. “Come on.”
Cassidy let him pull her up to the second story and into the covered solarium. Sitting side by side on the metal bench, the heat from their bodies connecting, they watched the lights of the shoreline recede as the boat motored into open water. Pete put his arm around her and touched his lips to the top of her head. She looked up and kissed him, and the energy between them jumped. He returned her kiss, his lips soft but urgent, his breath quickening with hers. She worked her fingers beneath his coat and found his smooth skin. He caressed her knee and thigh. Their kisses continued, and a current zipped through her like a shiver, though she felt oblivious to the cold.
“Let’s go inside,” Pete said, his voice husky.
She rose and they walked to the door. Inside the dark room, rows of empty vinyl seats faced a large window. Cassidy walked to the window and peered through it, but the view showed only the empty mid-ship deck. Pete came up behind her, his hands stroking her sides. He kissed her neck and the shivers started up again. She turned and kissed him back, her hands sliding under his coat to the bare, warm skin of his back. His erection pressed against her thigh.
She gave him a look.
“See what you do to me?” he said with a sheepish grin.
“That’s my fault?” she said with a laugh.
“I think it’s your dress,” he said.
Cassidy kissed him. “Have you no self-control?”
“The nuns tried, but I was a hopeless case.”
Cassidy laughed. She remembered the story of his Catholic school experience and how he’d finally convinced his parents to let him quit.
“Actually, I’ve been having impure thoughts about you all day.”
Cassidy raised an eyebrow. “Exactly how impure?”
“Maybe it’s better I show you,” he said, and pulled her gently into one of the large seats so that she landed sideways on his lap.
“Oh my,” she said, giving him a look.
He kissed her, and his hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress. His touch sent waves of desire through her body. She kissed him back, stroking the warm skin beneath his sweater. She felt his fingers caress the side of her hip and slide under the thin fabric of her panty.
Hot blood thumped into her belly. “You’re crazy,” she said, kissing him.
“Crazy in love with you,” he said. His serene eyes met hers, and she realized that his words were genuine.
She inhaled a long breath. “I love you too,” she said, feeling a flood of emotion rise up inside her.
He kissed her again, adding a new and reckless edge to her desire. His fingers caressed her hip and along the edge of the fabric, and she didn’t care that they were on a ferry in the middle of the Puget Sound, that at any moment someone could discover them. The thrill of his touch and the longing for his kisses to heat every corner of her body urged her forward. She shifted her hips and Pete slid the panties down to caress her. A shock wave of pleasure rocked through her. How could he switch her on like this? One minute they were laughing and kissing and the next she was shooting for the stars. They kissed, their breaths audible in the darkness, until the sensation built up inside her and she couldn’t hold back. She broke from his kisses to grip him tight, her face buried in his neck while silent gasps escaped her lips, her hips quivering with pleasure.
“Oh my god,” she breathed into his ear after her heartbeat recovered. “I can’t believe we just did that.” She paused to catch her breath. “We’re crazy.”
“That was amazing,” Pete said, his eyes sparkling. “Thank you,” he added, giving her a long, sensual kiss.
Cassidy half-laughed, half-exhaled.
&n
bsp; He kissed her again. “I love you, Cassidy Kincaid.”
“I love you, too,” she said, kissing him back, knowing she would never forget this moment.
Ten
Syracusa, Sicily
May 11, 2015
“Yuck,” Cassidy said, wrinkling her nose at the taste of Pete’s gelato. After filling up their rental car with petrol on their return from exploring the waterfront city of Syracusa, Pete insisted they grab a serving of gelato from the adjoining restaurant.
“What’s wrong with cake-batter-flavored gelato?” he asked. “I think it’s brilliant.”
“I dunno,” she replied, returning to her cup of strawberry. “I used to get high when I was in middle school, and cake batter is the stuff we would eat.”
Pete’s eyes went wide. “What were you doing smoking pot so young?”
Cassidy shrugged. “It was just a stupid phase, but at the time, those were my friends, you know?”
“From stoner to scientist,” Pete mused. “Catchy memoir title.”
She gave his shoulder a shove.
They jumped back in the tiny rental car, and Cassidy accelerated onto the autostrada. Three days before, Cassidy had completed her project on Etna, and Pete had flown in to meet her after two weeks of researching his series on the immigration crisis in Greece. He had arrived in Sicily looking haggard, and she sensed he was still processing the experience. From experience, she knew to give him time; he would share it with her when he was ready.
The day before she had taken him skiing at the dinky resort on Etna. The wonders of skiing right up to an active lava flow and watching Sicilians smoke like chimneys in the lift line had lightened his mood, and she was relieved to see him coming back to himself.
When the autostrada merged with the Catania-bound freeway, the traffic slowed to a crawl.
“Huh,” Pete said. “Is there an accident?”
“I forgot that it’s Sunday,” Cassidy sighed. “I bet everyone went to the beach and now has to get home.” From previous experience, she knew that there was nothing to be done except wait.
They crept forward for several miles, breathing diesel fumes, the heat from the black pavement rising up in waves. “There has to be another way back,” Pete said. “There are roads all over this island.”
Cassidy watched him warily. Driving in Sicily had shocked her at first: Sicilians drove like possessed demons, passing at high speeds, flipping her off if she didn’t react fast enough, and cutting her off in roundabouts. And the transportation department didn’t exactly take great care of the roads, either. On her second day, after a rainstorm, a giant pothole appeared out of nowhere on the road she had driven just hours earlier. At other times, she would round a bend to find a section of pavement washed out. No sign, no warning. It reminded her of the roads on Helens, only in Sicily you were expected to drive at race-car speeds.
“Take a left up there,” he said.
“Okay,” Cassidy said as a tingle of anxiety wormed through her gut. “Though if we end up on one of your adventures I may never forgive you.” She had learned that Pete never passed up an opportunity to explore the “what if.” At least they had a full tank of gas.
“You love my adventures,” Pete replied.
She shot him a look, then turned onto a side street lined with tall eucalyptus trees, their wintergreen-colored boughs swaying in the breeze. The road followed a small river, the banks dotted with jettisoned garbage. Up ahead, a junction split the road in two directions. To the left, the road paralleled a rusty barbed wire fence and a meadow of tall grass broken only by smooth eucalyptus trees, and to the right, a shaded, cracked road followed the water.
“Try right,” Pete suggested.
Again, Cassidy glanced at him. “Do you even know where we’re going?”
“Sort of.” From the glove box, he had produced a map and unfolded it.
Cassidy looked back to the road and braked suddenly. There was a woman standing in the middle of the lane. Pete looked up.
The woman’s ebony-black skin gleamed in a patch of sunlight. A scrap of fabric—a hankie, perhaps, waved in her hand. If not for her bright red lingerie attire, Cassidy would have assumed the woman was in trouble.
She quickly realized that the woman was in trouble, only a different kind. As soon as Cassidy slowed the car, two more women popped out of the weeds. They too were dressed only in skimpy lingerie, their lean bodies glistening. One of the women held an umbrella over her head and flagged at them with her fingers.
“What the . . . ” Pete said.
Cassidy swerved around them, and as the women realized that they weren’t going to stop, they quit waving and flagging. Immediately, their gaze returned to the road junction, as if to anticipate the next car.
“Stop,” Pete said.
“What?” Cassidy glanced at him in alarm.
“I want to talk to them.”
“Why?” Cassidy glanced in her rearview mirror. “You know what they are, right?”
Pete nodded.
“I haven’t seen them before, but I’ve heard about them,” Cassidy said, feeling uneasy. “They call them ‘umbrella girls.’”
Pete turned around in his seat, his face bearing an intense look she recognized. “Can we go back?”
Cassidy pulled the car over. “You’re serious?”
“Where do they come from?”
“Nigeria, I think.”
Pete’s eyes filled with anguish. “I just want to talk to them.” He met her worried gaze. “Please.”
With growing trepidation, Cassidy turned the car around. By the time she returned to the area, another car had pulled over. A man was following the woman in the red lingerie down the bank of the river. Cassidy grimaced.
“What if they don’t want to talk to you?” she said.
“I’ll pay them.”
“What?” Cassidy cried.
“Not like that,” he said, stepping out of the car.
Cassidy watched him cross the road. The middle woman flashed him a warm smile, her bright white teeth lighting up the shaded roadway.
Cassidy saw the woman shake her head and step away, her smile gone. Pete followed, and she couldn’t catch his words, but in his hands was a folded bill. He offered it to the woman. She shook her head again and stepped into the trees. Pete followed, and ducked out of sight.
Cassidy bit her lip and searched the shadows and swaying grasses until Pete stepped back onto the road. Behind him, the woman watched him go until her eyes connected with Cassidy’s and she looked away.
Pete jumped back in to the car.
“She wouldn’t tell me anything,” he said. “She acted tough, but I could tell she was scared.”
“How do they get here?” Cassidy asked, remembering the woman’s haunting gaze.
“I don’t know,” Pete replied.
Cassidy felt a warm flush of gratitude as she sat around the table, drinking Sicilian wine with her colleagues from the Etna project.
Plates piled high with pasta arrived and Dr. Max Di Angelo stood. “First, a toast, to us!” he said in his accented English, raising his glass.
“Saluti,” Cassidy said with the others. Next to her, Pete’s voice joined in.
The waiters filled every surface with plates and the group pounced on the food. Pete had insisted he and Cassidy share the classic carbonara and the meatballs and both tasted amazing. By the time the meal wound down, Pete had interviewed everyone at the table about their research, their future goals, their frustrations with government restrictions or lack of funding—his usual. Thankfully, nobody seemed to mind the attention.
After strolling back to the apartment, Cassidy packed her bag and prepared for bed while Pete lingered on the couch with his weather-beaten notebook. She wandered over, stretching her shoulders in an attempt to loosen one of her many knots earned on Etna’s slopes.
“There’s an awful lot of scribbling going on in here,” she said, rubbing his shoulders.
Pete paused his
writing. “Ahh,” he said, relaxing beneath her touch. “You’re hired.”
“Anything you’d like to share?” she asked as her fingers kneaded his muscles.
He pulled her arms down so their cheeks touched. He tucked the pencil inside the notebook and tossed it onto the coffee table. “It’s just some stuff I learned from Max,” he said with a sigh.
She settled in next to him on the couch. Pete pulled Cassidy’s legs over his.
“Did he tell you about his theory that Etna is more like a hot springs than a volcano?” she asked.
Pete looked surprised. “No, that’s interesting though.” His pensive expression returned. “Actually, we talked about those umbrella girls,” he said, his eyes sharp in the darkened room.
Cassidy’s gut lurched.
“He says they’re lured from Africa with the promise to get jobs like hairdressers and nannies, but are really forced into working as slaves.”
“Ugh,” Cassidy said, grimacing.
“I know,” Pete replied, his face somber.
“These guys keep the girls’ passports and make them work off the cost of their travel. But they make the price so high that they can never pay it back.” Pete shook his head.
“That’s illegal!” Cassidy said, kicking off her shoes. “Why doesn’t someone do something about it? I mean, they were right there on the side of the road. What about the police?”
“Pretty sure the police are in on it,” Pete replied.
“Really?”
“They have to be.” He turned to face her. “Did you know that sex trafficking brings in more money than drugs?” He sighed. “Max said there are girls like that all over those back roads. They move some of the girls north into mainland Italy.”
“Who is ‘they’?” Cassidy asked.
“Not sure. Max pretty much shut me down after I asked that.”
“He lives here, so he probably didn’t want to stick his neck out.” She cuddled up closer to him. “He knows you’re a writer.”
Pete exhaled a tight breath. “What a scam, though. These people promise the girls a better life, and they end up here on the streets.”
