Mad About You

by Anna Premoli

  “Oh really! And how is he?” asks Vinny immediately, raising an eyebrow.

  “He’s all better,” I reply with a sly smile, even though it’s totally obvious that she’s not asking about his health.

  “You daren’t even tell us about it, you wimp...”

  “Because nothing’s happened between us,” I say sincerely. Nothing, except a long, crushing hug. And since when did hugs count as anything meaningful to a cynic like me?

  “Yeah,” says Vinny. “But only because you had a horrendous tummy bug. Which, by the way, would have put anyone off. Except for you two, or so we’ve heard from our sources...”

  “Your sources are talking rubbish.”

  “Oh really? Are you actually going to deny that you looked after each other?” she asks me with a satisfied expression on her face. “Or that you only caught it because you raced over to look after him when he was sick?”

  “I didn’t run... I walked,” I point out. A bit of accuracy, for God’s sake!

  At this point, both Ale and Vinny burst out laughing, and they carry on laughing for quite a while.

  “Listen, girl, are you at least aware of the fact that he is going to jump on you the first chance he gets?” Vinny didn’t use to be so direct before she met me. My influence on her life has been pretty powerful, I’m afraid. And not in a good way.

  “Oh come on...” I say. “Ariberto is a gent.”

  “Of course he is, and in fact he didn’t do anything while you still had a boyfriend. But, hello? You don’t have a boyfriend any more!”

  “Ale, can you give our mutual friend a slap around the head?” I plead. “She’s starting to get on my nerves.”

  Ale just shakes her head. “No I won’t, I’m on Vinny’s side. Especially because Ari tells a lot of things to Giovanni, who then tells them to me...”

  “Excuse me but why isn’t anyone giving Ale the third degree? Why aren’t we giving her a hard time about her relationship with Giovanni?” I complain. “What am I, the sacrificial lamb?”

  “The difference between you and me is that you are denying it, while I have no problem admitting that Giovanni is nice and that it’s nice being in his company. I’m still in the ‘nice’ stage, though,” Ale points out. “And you are way past the nice stage.”

  “Am I?” I ask them seriously, and they nod with annoying conviction.

  There’s nothing worse than being the last to notice something. Especially if it’s something about you.

  *

  This year spring has decided to come on strong, so even though it’s only ten o’clock in the morning, the sun feels like it’s about two hundred degrees. Obviously, when May comes, we’ll be freezing again, but for the moment the whole city is enjoying the fact of having gone full Sicily for a few weeks and being full of blossom. All the parks look wonderful, but Sempione park, which for the occasion has turned white, yellow and pink, looks even more wonderful than the rest.

  When I arrive at our usual place there is no trace of Ari, however. That’s strange: he usually struggles not to show up on time. Since I was a bit nervous, I decided to arrive the textbook ten minutes late in the hope of delaying the moment of the meeting. Perhaps, now that I come to think of it, he is suffering as much from anxiety as I am.

  Suddenly I hear his voice call out “Hey, Giada!” I turn my head and see him sitting in a rather secluded corner of the grass, half hidden behind some kind of thorny bush covered in blossom. Not only did he bring a blanket this time, he actually brought a nice one.

  “Why are you hiding?” I ask as I walk over to him.

  He pretends not to understand and tries to pull one of those innocent faces of his, but I’m not buying it for a second.

  “Oh yes, you’ve chosen a very secluded place and so my question remains valid: why?”

  “For some privacy ...” he answers vaguely, inviting me to sit next to him. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and one of his usual shirts, the sleeves of which he has rolled up for a more casual effect. Behind him is a light blue cotton sweater, which must have taken off because of the heat. But none of this actually looks casual: it is all so beautiful, so perfect, that my grumpiness starts to flare up again. He is really playing dirty...

  “Well done, you brought a blanket this time! That way, I can stay on mine and you can stay on yours,” I say. His reaction is pretty funny: he blinks his hazel eyes and looks surprised. And also a little offended, to be totally honest.

  “Why are you being so horrible?” he asks me in a serious voice.

  “Because you, Bertha, have got some funny ideas...”

  “Well I’m sorry if I interpreted the fact that you split up with your boyfriend as meaning something,” he mutters resentfully.

  “First of all, it was actually him who was the first to say he wanted to end it, so in theory, I didn’t split up with anyone, I was dumped. And secondly, what the hell about ‘I’ll give you some space and let you have time to process it’?”

  His answer to my uncomfortable question is to grab my legs and pull me down on top of him.

  “Ariberto, what the hell is wrong with you?!” I exclaim in surprise. “It’s not like you to act crazy!”

  “Oh yes it is...” he says in a rather sexy voice. “And anyway, you’re playing with me. I would be quite happy to give you all the space you want if I knew how to resist the temptation to hold you. And to be able to finally do it without guilt,” he adds sincerely, making me understand very clearly how much the last few weeks must have weighed on his mind.

  I stay curled up in his arms, reflecting on how to get out of this situation. Always given that I do actually want to get out of it, of course.

  “Ok, Bertha,” I say after a few moments of introspection, “I’ll admit that you might be partly right. But please let’s not get any weird ideas. We’re just a couple of single people, right?”

  “Sure, of course, who said we weren’t? But you stay here, and don’t talk about me letting you sit on another blanket. And if you run away, I’ll chase after you,” he warns me threateningly.

  “Let’s do this, then: let’s use both blankets – the ground’s a bit damp.”

  “Good idea,” he says happily. It didn’t take much to put the smile back on his face again.

  We place my blanket on top of his and then lie down next to each other to enjoy the sun.

  “We ought to be working, you know,” I remind him without much enthusiasm. “Or at least studying: we’ve got two theses to be writing. By the way, Bertha, what’s your major?” I turn on one side and rest my head on one hand as I look at him.

  “Corporate finance. My thesis analyses a complex case of corporate restructuring,” he reveals, turning to face me. “What about you?”

  “Ah, I’m exploiting the internship for all it’s worth: tax rulings in all their glory. As soon as my professor heard what we were working on at M&K he assigned me the topic. That’s fine, though. It means I’ll be very well prepared.”

  Ari reaches out and brushes aside a lock of hair that has fallen in front of my eyes. “We need to talk about this fondness of yours for black hair…” he says, changing the subject completely.

  “Again?” I snap. “Bertha, I don’t tell you how to dress, so I would ask you to extend the same courtesy to me.”

  I’m sick of black myself, I just have to find a way to carve out some time and nip to the hairdresser. I would have gone today if I’d been able to resist the temptation to spend the day with him. I’m such a pushover...

  “Don’t go off half-cocked like usual. I’m really not the type to go around telling people how to behave or how to dress - as far as I’m concerned, everyone is free to do what they like. But I would like to see how you look with your natural colour,” he explains with a smile.

  I really don’t understand how he always manages to say the right thing at the right time. It’s a quality that I’m starting to find unnerving!

  His eyes are much sweeter than usual today and if I
’m objective, I would have to admit that you can almost see the little love hearts in them like in a Japanese cartoon, which is worrying. Keep your distance, girl! We ought to have an entire continent between us, not just three inches.

  His hand can’t seem to find peace, because it returns to my face again to move a second lock of hair aside, and then he stays there, caressing my cheek. I have the suspicion there’s some half-formed idea of kissing me going through his head...

  “No,” I say before it is too late.

  He bursts out laughing. “No, what?” he says, pretending not to understand.

  “I’m not an idiot, Bertha. I know what you’re thinking about doing.”

  “And why would that be a problem? I mean, people kiss all the time, and most of them even seem to survive it,” he says as though it were nothing serious. I don’t know if he’s trying to convince me or himself.

  “It feels like a bad idea to me, Ari... And of the two of us, you’re supposed to be the trustworthy,” I remind him in a pleading tone. My only hope is that he keeps his distance and doesn’t try to do anything, because in truth my hands are itching with desire to touch his chest and to hold him tight to me.

  “I’m trying, Giada, I swear I am. But I can’t help it,” he confesses, as he moves even closer. His mouth quickly finds mine and gently presses against, then he rises slightly and leans over me, imprisoning my face with his big hands. And I let him, because I’ve been fantasising about this kiss probably more than he has. And this time his tongue doesn’t bother teasing but immediately wraps itself around mine without giving any sign of surprise at the presence of my piercing.

  Ari emits a dreamy sigh as he kisses me with almost unbelievable passion. Wow – apparently these nice guys keep their fires hidden until they need them. I put my arms around his neck and stroke his shoulders and back, then move them up into his hair. I feel like I’m drowning, and judging by the insistence with which Ari goes on kissing me and I go on kissing him, it’s as though both of us have stopped needing oxygen.

  I try to shift his weight onto me and I then sigh with satisfaction when he understands my implicit request and settles himself between my legs, creating a delicious friction between us.

  “Good gracious,” says a disgusted passer-by. “Young people today!”

  I don’t usually agree with Milan’s ubiquitous busybodies but this time they might be a bit right.

  “Ari, we’re putting on a show,” I whisper in his ear. He started kissing my neck with the same intensity with which he was kissing my lips and risks taking a chunk out of me instead of just giving me a love bite.

  “Mmmmm...” he sighs, not bothering to stop. He is a man on a mission – the mission of making me lose my mind, or what little I have left of it.

  “Bertha, we’re going to get arrested for committing obscene acts in a public place if we carry on like this,” I murmur in a hoarse voice.

  “Let them arrest us, then, it’ll be in a good cause.”

  “Ari!” I exclaim in shock. Is all this Mr Nice Guy act just that, then? An act? With a decisive gesture I sit up and wait for him to do the same. When our eyes meet, we burst out laughing.

  “Ok, since there are too many people around, what would you say about coming to my house?” he asks me with a toothy smile.

  I roll my eyes. “Ariberto Castelli, do you really think that’s a good idea?” I say, pretending to be horrified.

  “I’ve been asking myself that since the first time I met you,” he admits with a laugh.

  “You and your stuck-up surname ...”

  “I’m not stuck-up at all,” he observes with amusement.

  “Sure... I bet you even have monogrammed underpants.”

  Ari leans close to me and whispers softly, “Do you want to put your theory to the test first hand?”

  Hmmm - this new version of Ari is completely unexpected - but I’m quite into it.

  “No thanks! For your information, I don’t want to test any theories!”

  He shrugs. “That’s a shame. But never mind, I’m a happy guy anyway.” And so saying he grabs my face and starts kissing me again. It’s the kind of kissing that should have an 18 certificate. A moan escapes me and my body leans towards his. We urgently need to find other ways to spend the time... even though these kisses are rather divine...

  “Ari... Ari, please!” I beg him, moving away. “We said we were going to take our time, right? So let’s go for a walk. Maybe to the castle!”

  I get up from the blanket and hold out my hand.

  His expression is amused and not at all annoyed. “Ok, let’s go for a walk, and I’ll take a lot of terrible photos of you. But sooner or later,” he reminds me in that sensual voice of his, “we’ll have to go home...”

  Yes, it’s pretty obvious what’s on his mind.

  “Of course we will: you’ll have to go your home and I’ll have to go to mine,” I reply with the utmost conviction.

  Ari takes it as a challenge and doesn’t look too downcast. “That, my dear Ms. Spikes, remains to be seen.”

  *

  For anyone itching to find out which one of us was right, well... all I’ll say is, ooh, I hate losing a challenge!

  It annoys me, of course, but having Ari in my house was ultimately a temptation I couldn’t resist. Of course, he was as insistent as one of those annoying call centres that rings you up at dinner time, but I gave in pretty easily. He kissed me – and when I say kissed, I mean he took my breath away along with my brain for half an hour at least, and then he simply invited himself to dinner. That’s called playing dirty, because when he asked if he could come up I was no longer in any state to even understand what he was saying. I was saying yes to dinner together, but I could just have easily have said yes to having my organs removed on the spot, so all things considered, I’d say that it went pretty well for me.

  “We could have gone to the supermarket and cooked something decent,” he points out as I rummage through the flyers for takeaways that I have at home.

  “This idea of going shopping with you and then cooking together seems a bit over the top to me,” I say to him, with a smile. “It makes me anxious. Pizza, Bertha?”

  “Whatever you like. Pizza, Chinese, fish, kisses...” he says, as he approaches me to steal what must be about the billionth kiss of the day, I swear. It’ll be a miracle if I still have lips tomorrow. “Seriously, though – it doesn’t take much to get you anxious.”

  “All this everyday life stuff isn’t exactly my forte, Ari. And today you are not playing by the rules. What happened to the plan, eh?” I ask accusingly.

  “This is the plan!” he says, provokingly. “You’ve still got all your clothes on, haven’t you?”

  “I should hope that I do! Look, you’ve got totally the wrong idea about me. I’m an old-fashioned girl. We’ve never even been on a date. In fact, you’ve never even invited me on one...”

  Ari shakes his head, laughs, then asks, “Are you doing anything tomorrow?” He’s not wasting any time.

  “Look, I’m serious!”

  “Me too. I want to take you somewhere,” he tempts me in his totally irresistible way. “Come with me.”

  “Where?” I ask, curious in spite of myself. Looks like the score is self-love nil – lust 1.

  “We’ll go along the Naviglio canals by bicycle. How far can you handle?”

  “How far can I handle pedalling, do you mean? The bare minimum, of course. If I’d wanted to do the Tour of Italy I wouldn’t have started studying economics,” I reply sarcastically.

  “But you do have a bike...”

  “Yes, unfortunately I do have a bike.”

  “Great, so we can set off from Porta Ticinese and follow the Naviglio Grande up to Abbiategrasso. There’s quite a nice cycle path.”

  “How far is it, Bertha?” I ask in a formal voice. Something tells me that I’m not going to like the answer.

  “Around twelve miles, I think...” he says.

  “Are you c
ompletely out of your mind?! Twelve miles?!”

  “Yeah, but you’re not going to be walking it, you’re going to be pedalling...”

  Oh these men and their ridiculous ideas.

  “I understand, but twelve miles are still twelve miles! Have you gone completely insane?!”

  Ari rolls his eyes and then comes over to me and puts his arms around me, pulling me closer. “Do you want an incentive?” he suggests, stroking my face.

  “Only if you’re paying in chocolate,” I answer very seriously.

  “And there I was thinking that woman cannot live by food alone...” he says in a voice that sounds like a purring cat. Seriously, he needs to stop making me feel so strange around him.

  Still wrapped around each other, we bump into my multipurpose table: I eat there, I study there, and apparently now I kiss there too. Ari lifts me up as if I was as light as a feather, then positions himself between my legs and lowers his curly head to kiss me. I don’t think I’m going to make it until tomorrow – I’ll melt first.

  “The pizza...” I remind him between one frenzied kiss and the next. The last time I kissed someone this passionately was... well, never, probably. Yes, it’s definitely never. I’m beating all my personal records today. But the more I kiss him, the more I feel like I want to attach myself to him like a mussel to a rock. It’s starting to feel like an obsession.

  “Tell me that you’ll come on a bike ride with me tomorrow,” he says in a mesmerizing voice.

  “Okay, I’ll come...” I murmur before resuming what I was doing a moment ago. Which is shamelessly groping his chest.

  Is there some kind of support group for women with no willpower? Because if there is, I need to join it – fast.

  *

  Ari and I meet again in Piazza XXIV Maggio and from there we immediately take the Naviglio Grande. The day is warm and sunny, and cycling is almost pleasant, at least for the first few miles. On our journey we pass by the church of San Cristoforo, with its splendid façade in exposed brick, then we pass the old bridge of the Richard Ginori factory and pedal towards Corsico, leaving behind us the offices of some Milanese rowing clubs and ancient farmhouses. You would never imagine there was all this stuff in Milan when you set foot there the first time. But this city has many souls and the splendid treasures hidden away in its secret corners are just a taste of its beauties.