The Italian

by T L Swan

He turns, surprised by my statement. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, your parents and grandparents are all still married?”

  “Of course,” he scoffs. “Ferrara’s marry for life. Family is everything to us.”

  I shake my head, embarrassed that I just sounded so blasé about divorce. My parents divorced when I was a small child, and both have since divorced again. That’s my normality. We get to the first floor and he takes his keys out. “My parents are divorced,” I announce.

  He frowns as he stares at me. “And you think this is a good thing?”

  “No, but it is what it is.” I shrug. “I can’t change it.”

  He raises his eyebrows as he stares at me and I have no idea what he’s thinking. He opens the door and my eyes widen at what I see. Holy shit.

  “Are you serious?” I whisper as my eyes fly around the space.

  This isn’t money. This is over the fucking top luxury. It’s like a palace, only way better. Above us are gilded gold and hand painted ceilings. The floors are covered in huge Persian rugs, contrasting with gorgeous, dark wood antique furniture. The colors are rich and exotic—almost historical.

  It looks like the Vatican or some shit. “You live here?” I squeak.

  He smiles at my reaction and walks in. He carelessly chucks his keys onto the counter, as if it’s just a normal side table and not some two-thousand-year-old artefact.

  “Yes.” He puts his hands onto his hips as he looks around, unimpressed.

  “Jeez.” I feel the blood drain from my face.

  “I don’t notice it. I’ve grown up in homes like this, so it has no…” He pauses for a moment. “It’s my normal. It’s just a house. I would prefer modern furnishings, but this is a family property, so I make do.”

  “Make do?” I scoff. “Enrico, this is not making do. This is—”

  “What?”

  I stop myself before I say something insulting. Spoilt brat comes to mind. “Your grandfather owns this?”

  He takes my hand and leads me through the apartment. “Yes.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He owns multiple businesses—my father, too.”

  “Oh.” I frown as I look around.

  There’s a huge living area that looks like something out of a movie. It’s filled with deep red velvet couches, and there are antiques everywhere. The artwork alone is incredible. It’s all very stuffy. We pass through a formal dining room, and I count the chairs at the huge table. Twenty! There are twenty fucking chairs at the table.

  “What kind of businesses?” I ask. Does he own Amazon or some shit?

  “He manufactures sports cars. He owns a football team. He owns a lot of properties. He has many different avenues of income.”

  The kitchen is made of black marble with a huge island counter in the middle. We walk down the hall and into another living room. It’s a little less formal but still out of this world. We pass a gymnasium, five bedrooms, and I’ve lost count of all the bathrooms.

  I feel ill.

  Thank God he isn’t coming to my shitty one-bedroom apartment in Sydney. If only he knew what a pauper he was sleeping with, he’d probably run for the hills. It took me a year just to save for this trip. I really should be cleaning his fucking bathroom.

  “And this is my bedroom.” He opens a door at the end of the hall, and I smile in relief.

  This is more like it.

  It’s modern in here. There’s a large king-sized bed covered with white linen. Bright abstract artwork sits on the walls, and there’s an airy sitting room to the right with a brown leather couch and television. Huge palms in terracotta pots are dotted throughout the space. An all-white bathroom is to the left, which has a huge stone bath and a double shower inside it. The place is homey, and so much more like what I expected from him.

  “I live mostly in here,” he says.

  “You don’t like the rest of the apartment?”

  “I do. I wouldn’t have it like that if it were mine, but I can’t change it. This building and the furnishings have been in our family for centuries.”

  “How long have you lived here alone?” I ask as I walk around his room looking at things.

  “Ten years.” He takes me into his arms. “Where do you want to go today?”

  “Anywhere with you.”

  The wind in my face makes me smile. Rico’s hand is protectively on my thigh as he drives. I kiss his shoulder, and I’m filled with happiness.

  I’ve had the best day ever.

  We’ve been driving around on his motorcycle. We went out for lunch and had a lazy afternoon sightseeing around Rome.

  He is the tour guide of all tour guides. We’ve laughed and talked, and I think he may just be the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.

  He’s gorgeous, that goes without saying, but there’s more to him than meets the eye. Sure, he’s an Italian stallion, and yes, he has a fuckable package, but I actually like talking to him. He’s interesting, intelligent, funny, and sexy as all hell. I imagine every woman he meets falls madly in love with him.

  I can see why.

  Not that I’ll ever tell him that. He has enough confidence for all of Rome. I don’t need to add to his ego.

  But even I have to admit, every minute with this man is a gift.

  A twinge of regret kicks in. Why, oh why does he have to live in fucking Italy?

  I just have to make the most of it.

  The memory of Rici Ferrara will be my ultimate souvenir.

  He’s someone I’ll always remember.

  The candlelight flickers across our faces, and I smile at the man sitting opposite me. Ironically, we are in an Italian restaurant having dinner. We spent the early evening in bed. Determined to make every second of our weekend count, he dragged me out to dinner. I was happy being naked in bed. Toast would have been fine for dinner if it were up to me.

  “Tell me again what you do for work? I forget, I was blinded by your beauty the other night,” he says. “I know you said design, but for what?”

  I smile. “I design pyjamas,” I remind him.

  “You have your own shop?”

  “No. I design for Kmart.”

  “Kmart?”

  “It’s an Australian department store.”

  “Oh.” He raises his brows. “How did you train for this job?”

  “I went to design school. I never imagined that this is the job I would end up with.”

  “Why not?”

  “I always wanted to design for a fashion label like Gucci, Hermes, or Chanel.”

  He swirls his wine around in his glass. “Why don’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” I exhale heavily. “I have tried but I know jobs are ridiculously hard to get with that kind of label. I mean, it’s not that I don’t love my job, because I do. It’s just not what I imagined. You know?”

  He nods. “I never thought I would end up being a policeman.”

  “Really?” I ask, surprised. “Isn’t that the kind of job kids want to do all their lives?”

  He chuckles. “I guess.”

  “Your bruschetta,” the waiter says as he puts our entrees onto the table in front of us.

  “Grazie.”

  Rico dishes out my serve and then his. He likes to be in control. Not that I mind at all. It’s nice having him fuss over me.

  “Why did you become a policeman then?” I ask. “It’s not something that you fall into by accident.”

  “My father wanted me to do it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, he wanted me to get some life experience. He got me an interview through one of his friends. I didn’t have my heart set on anything else, so I humored him and thought that I could always leave later if I didn’t like it.”

  “What did you want to do?”

  “I only ever wanted to be happy. A job won’t do that for me.”

  What a wonderful thing to aspire for. I lean onto my hand and smile goofily across the table at him.

  “What?
” He smirks.

  “You know, for a fuck boy, you really are quite endearing.”

  He laughs in surprise. “A fuck boy?” He puts his hand on his stomach and really laughs, and I find myself laughing too. Other people in the restaurant look over at our table.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I have never been called that before. Even when I was a boy, I was never called that.” His eyes dance with delight. “You really are quite the surprise package, Olivia.”

  I lift his hand to my lips and kiss his fingertips, his eyes have a tender glow to them as he watches me.

  “Wait until you see me clean your bathroom.” I smile.

  He chuckles again. “I look forward to it.”

  “I have a surprise for you tonight,” Rico says as he lies down beside me on his bed.

  I sit up onto my elbow.

  “What?”

  It’s Sunday morning, and he has been on the phone organizing something. He’s been speaking Italian, though, so I have no idea what is going on.

  He grins. “Let’s just say that I think you’ll be pleased with me.”

  We stare at each other as something runs between us. It’s been there since last night when we made love—a tenderness. A feeling of closeness. It’s unexpected and disarming.

  Does he feel it, too?

  I’m being completely myself and he likes me as I am. I feel cherished. I feel cared for and desired, and damn it, why the fuck does he live in Italy?

  “What’s the surprise?” I ask to change the direction of my thoughts.

  “It happens at 11:00 p.m.”

  “I’m intrigued. Why that time?”

  “That’s the time that the gods choose.” He rolls me over onto my back and smiles down at me.

  “Are you going to fuck me at 11:11,” I tease. “Is that what the gods want?”

  He laughs out loud and it’s a beautiful sound. “No, I’m going to fuck you at 12:11. 11:11 is for something else—something better.”

  I giggle as his lips touch mine. “Nothing could be that good.”

  It’s 11:00 p.m. and I’m standing at the side door of the Pantheon.

  Enrico is behind me, and I am encased by his protective arms. We’ve had another amazing day and this is his surprise for me.

  “Rici,” I whisper up at him.

  “Yes?”

  “I love this surprise already.”

  He gently kisses my lips.

  I have no idea what it is. The Pantheon isn’t even open, but it’s cool just being here in this greatness.

  The door opens and a man comes into view. He’s wearing a suit and seems important. He bows his head. “Enrico, my child, come in.”

  I bite my lip. “What the hell?” I whisper as we follow the man.

  The Pantheon is lit up with candles and spotlights. It’s perfect.

  It’s like something out of a movie.

  Rico turns to me and takes my hands in his. “Tonight, Olivia, we get to speak to the gods.”

  “What?”

  “Through centuries, this has been my family’s tradition. We each have a turn. It wasn’t my year, but I swapped with someone so you could experience this, too.”

  “Rici,” I whisper in wonder. My eyes roam around the huge round space, at the marble columns and the beautiful flooring.

  “Pantheon means honor of gods, and it is the best preserved Roman monument,” he says. “It’s over two thousand years old and still has the original flooring and marble.”

  My eyes follow his voice as he points to the marble statues that stand around as if guarding the magnificence.

  “It is the tomb to many of our great Italians. Vittorio Emmanuelle II. Umberto and his queen Margherita. Rafael and his lover.”

  He looks down at me and I rise up onto my toes to kiss him. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “The Oculus.” He points to the ceiling. I look up and my mouth falls open in wonder. A circular hole in the ceiling is open, meaning I can see the clouds in the sky.

  “Is that open?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Does the rain get in here?”

  “Yes, the floor is sloped and has drainage.”

  “It’s incredible,” I whisper.

  He looks at his watch. “Come, it’s almost time.” He takes my hands and he leads me to the center of the room to stand on a marked spot.

  “At 11:11 on the 21st of April every year, the moon shines through the Oculus and creates a beam of light. It is said that, in that light, you speak with the gods.”

  I look up at the ceiling and then back at him. “Wait, that’s today.”

  “We get to speak to the gods, Olivia.”

  “What?” I whisper.

  “When the moonlight shines on us, you need to say your truth.”

  I stare at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I go first and speak my truth to the gods. After that, you tell them yours.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He holds my hands in his and we stare up at the opening in the ceiling above, waiting for the moonlight.

  This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever done… ever seen.

  We wait and wait and wait, and then suddenly, the moonlight dances off the mirrors around the room, shining directly down on us like a magical beam.

  We stare at each other.

  “What’s your truth, Enrico?” I whisper.

  He clenches his jaw and frowns, as if troubled by what he’s about to say. “I don’t think our story ends here.”

  Tears threaten to form as I stare at him, because this is magical and perfect and how the hell is this real? Does he feel it, too?

  “Now your truth, Olivia,” he whispers.

  I pause. What the hell do I say?

  “Hurry, bella,” he urges.

  I stare at him. “I think our story is just beginning.”

  In a perfect moment of clarity, hope fills me. Enrico takes me into his arms and kisses me in the light… and just as quickly as it came, it disappears as the moon moves on.

  The light may have gone but the magic hasn’t left the room.

  Suddenly, I need him.

  I need all of him.

  “Take me home,” I beg him.

  He kisses me with a desperation, and I smile against his lips.

  The Pantheon wins the best tourist award of all time.

  Holy shit.

  4

  Enrico

  It’s dawn, and I’m sitting on the side of the bed watching Olivia sleep.

  Her naked breast rises and falls with her every breath, and her long, thick, blonde hair is splayed across my pillow.

  Breathtaking.

  This woman is utterly breathtaking.

  Arousal isn’t the only thing I’m feeling. It’s a closeness… a strange attachment.

  I walk to the window, pull the drapes back, and stare out at the street below as I imagine what would happen if I brought Olivia to meet my family.

  An Australian.

  It would be frowned upon. Blasphemy!

  The Ferrara’s eldest son not taking an Italian as a partner? I imagine my grandparents and their reaction.

  The gossip that would follow.

  It would kill them.

  My stomach twists at the thought of letting them down.

  For years, I’ve been set up with every well-bred Italian woman known to my family. Every time, they hope and pray that she will be the one I fall for. They’ve lined them up—ticked them off their list. The women have come from far and wide as my family try and coax me into who I should be dating.

  Someone who is good for me.

  Someone who will be the next Ferrara.

  So far, nobody has interested me in the slightest.

  I exhale heavily. Why the fuck does a woman from the other side of the world who is completely wrong for me finally make me feel something?

  Typical.

  She inhales sharply as she rolls over and puts her arm out for me. “R
ici?” she murmurs in her sleep as she feels around the bed.

  I go to her and sit down, brushing the hair back from her forehead. “I’m here, bella.”

  She smiles with her eyes still closed, and she takes my hand to kiss the back of it. “Come back to bed, baby,” she whispers, her voice husky from sleep.

  “You have to get up. It’s time to go, angel.” I smile softly as I watch her.

  She scrunches her face up, her eyes closed as she groans.

  I stare at her as I fight to hold my tongue. I want her to stay. I don’t want to let her get on that plane. I want her to stay here with me… in the moment.

  But I won’t.

  She needs to go, and she needs to go soon.

  We drive to the airport in silence. Olivia’s hand is in mine on my lap, while I am deep in thought.

  “Where are you going again?” I ask.

  “Down to The Amalfi Coast with my friend Natalie.”

  “Who is Natalie?”

  “She’s my best friend. We met when we were sixteen and have been inseparable since. She’s been living in London. She’s meeting me there. She’s the funniest person I know. I call her Nat the rat.”

  My eyes drift over to her. “Why is that?”

  Olivia grins, her affection for her friend obvious. “She’s always getting into some kind of trouble.”

  So, she fucks around.

  I try to hold my tongue. “Meaning what?” I snap, failing miserably.

  “Nothing, she’s just funny. It’s my nickname for her.” She leans over and kisses my cheek as I drive.

  “What are you going to do down there?” I ask.

  “Sightsee. Look around.”

  “Is she single?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you be going out at night?”

  “Obviously.”

  I see red and clench my jaw.

  Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it.

  “So, you’ll be looking for number four down there?” I snap.

  Olivia looks out of the window without a care in the world. “I don’t think so.”

  I turn to her, horrified nearly running us off the road. “You don’t fucking think so?” I growl. “What is this? An Italian fuck fest?”

  She laughs out loud. “I’m teasing you, Rici.” She leans over and kisses my face, while I continue to see red. “Although, I do have to say, I’m loving this jealousy thing.”