A Place in the Sun

by R.S. Grey

  I knew my mind was playing tricks on me. Like a mirage, the promise of Gianluca’s unbridled affection was too good to be true.

  I squeezed my eyes closed and gripped his shoulders as he picked me up and slid me back down onto him. It went on like that, painfully slow. I shuddered as the first waves of pleasure started to spread, but then he turned me around so my back was flush with his.

  “Be here,” he said, leaning forward and dropping his lips to my neck.

  He gripped my thighs and spread them beneath the bath water, sinking back into me as I let my head fall against his shoulder. His hand traveled down the front of my chest and I watched its descent. It was hidden beneath the bubbly bath water, but I felt him slide past my navel and my hips. He circled so close to my center that my toes curled and my fingers dug into the nape of his neck.

  His lips found the shell of my ear and then at once, he was everywhere, circling his fingers beneath the water, right across the most sensitive part of me, and whispering in my ear, his breath warm, his words confident. His other hand sought my breast, thumbing my nipple in time with his circles. It was all too much; I couldn’t hang on.

  “Gianluca…”

  I felt vulnerable, utterly exposed to him. He could see my nerves starting to fray, my body shuddering from the rush of climax. He continued his rhythmic teasing with his finger as he sank deep inside me, all the way to the hilt. My breaths came in short, weak cries against his neck. My teeth grazed him there, and then finally he picked up the pace, pumping in and out of me, and I was writhing in agony and pleasure, climaxing so high I thought I’d split in two from the pleasure of it.

  I was in a daze, vaguely aware of his orgasm combining with mine. I luxuriated in the blissful claim he laid on my body. Vaguely, I registered him sliding out of me and forcing the two of us to stand. He held up my weight as he bent forward and pulled the drain open. The spray of the shower collided with my back and we lathered each other up, taking our time and being lazy about it.

  He bent down and kissed my cheek as I lathered up his chest. Before I’d even finished, he hauled me up against his body. He was soapy and warm, a human shield I used to block the shower’s spray as well as the depressing reality that would await us when the water eventually turned cold.

  ALLIE HATED THE sea. She’d watched some nature program about sharks as a little girl and subsequently, she wouldn’t go near the ocean. She said it was too unpredictable for her taste. She liked pools, nice lovely resort pools with umbrellas in the drinks and complimentary towels. It was a bit funny that we’d moved to Vernazza for the last year of her life because she never once touched the water. She’d sit up on the pebbled beach, reading while I swam laps. I’d try to entice her, drag her to the edge of the water. It was crystal clear, no fish in sight, but Allie would scrunch her nose and retreat, slipping back to her spot in the shade or ordering a drink from one of the seaside vendors.

  I hadn’t ever let myself consider it, but in the last year of her life, Allie had been incredibly hard to love. I couldn’t blame her for it. I’d placed her on a pedestal, treated her like a princess, and she’d grown accustomed to the role. It made sense. If she only had a finite number of days, what was the point of compromise, in forcing herself to do something she didn’t want to? That last year, and even the years before (if I really wanted to consider it), my world revolved around pleasing Allie. If she wanted pasta for dinner, I’d have Massimo deliver a special dish just for her. If she fancied a massage, I’d hire someone and bring them in from La Spezia. If she needed more sleep, or extra pain meds, or anything at all, I’d oblige. What choice did I have? I’d have cut my arm off to please her and she deserved to be a bit selfish, didn’t she? Only recently had I come to realize that in the five years since her death, I’d only remembered the good, the fun, the rose-colored.

  I was up in my bedroom with boxes and packing supplies. I had hefty bin bags filled with things I should have tossed ages ago: her toothbrush, hairspray, makeup. Anything that could be reused I stowed away in donation boxes: jewelry, shoes, dresses. My house was filled with her things; I’d realized it long ago, I’d just preferred to live in denial. There was less guilt involved.

  Even now, as I let myself mull over Allie’s few unsavory qualities, it didn’t make it any easier to put away her things. I’d loved Allie fiercely and eternally, and I’d lost her.

  Now, I was doing the unthinkable: loving someone new.

  I had been to rock bottom and grown accustomed to the comfort it provided. Leaving it gave me hope for a future, but also a fear for the unknown. Loving Georgie took courage I hadn’t known I still had, courage that at times seemed like an act of sheer folly.

  “Am I dreaming right now or are you packing Allie’s stuff?”

  Massimo was standing in the doorway of the room. I’d called him and asked for help, but I’d forgotten about it until he was there, thumbing through a box of Allie’s shoes, wearing a look of disbelief.

  “You’re not dreaming,” I said, tossing a marker to him so he had to think fast to catch it. “Label that one, will you? Then tape it and take it down to the others.”

  “I passed the boxes downstairs. You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t meet his gaze; I continued working. “What? Getting rid of her things? It’s about time.”

  “No. It’s more than that, I can tell.”

  I sighed and stared down at the empty box waiting to be filled.

  “Yeah. It is.”

  THREE DAYS AFTER Gianluca’s birthday, I was hunched over the toilet in the first-floor bathroom getting rid of everything I’d eaten for breakfast that morning—not by choice, mind you. Apparently I was so miserable that even my oatmeal wanted nothing to do with me.

  In the days since our hike, I’d felt like utter crap. Tired and queasy. Emotionally and physically drained. Everything ached: my head, my body, and worst of all, my heart. I chalked it up to the stress of living a life I knew might come crashing down around me at any moment. I wasn’t sleeping well, and I felt close to tears at every moment, so emotionally fragile that I knew I couldn’t keep up the charade much longer. I’d walk around the bed and breakfast, trying to focus on a task, but would get distracted, suddenly so overcome with sadness that I couldn’t do it.

  Taylor knocked on the bathroom door. “Georgie, are you all right?”

  I jerked up and flushed, scared he’d barge in and see the evidence of my sickness.

  “I’m fine!” I shouted, feigning cheeriness. “Just cleaning up in here a bit.”

  “Really? Because it sounds like you’re cleaning out your stomach.”

  Oh god. I wanted to shout at him to piss off. What was I thinking bringing on a guest at the bed and breakfast? The place was better when it was empty.

  I forced myself to stand and wash my hands, splashed water on my face, and patted it dry. By the time I whipped the bathroom door open, Taylor looked genuinely worried.

  Nausea hit me in another wave, but I refused to acknowledge it as I brushed past him.

  “How are you, Taylor? Hungry? I could put on some tea for you?” My plan was to continue talking so he could never get a word in edgewise. “I think we’ve still got a bit of bacon and eggs. I’ll whip you up something to eat.”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  I waved him away. “Nonsense. This is a bed and breakfast, right? We can’t have you going hungry!”

  I could hear the slight hysteria in my voice, the edge that told him to handle me with caution. I was moments away from crying or throwing up and he had enough sense to keep a wide berth.

  “How about a double breakfast tomorrow? I’m heading off for a hike and then I’m reviewing a restaurant in La Spezia later.”

  I nearly cried with relief. He’d be gone and I’d have a few hours of peace and quiet.

  “Oh, right then! Well, good luck. I’ll see you when you get back then, yeah?”

  I was already heading toward my room, waving to hi
m over my shoulder. I locked the door and sat on the edge of my bed, listening to him leave. I reached for the crackers I’d set on my bedside table and nibbled on one, forcing it down.

  I needed to talk to someone, anyone. I felt so alone sitting in that quiet bed and breakfast, sad and sick and lonely. I tossed the crackers aside and reached for my mobile. My sister-in-law would know what to do.

  Andie answered on the second ring.

  “Georgie! That you?”

  Like a warm hug, her words broke the dam I’d been struggling to brace for the last few days. I sniffled and cried real sobby tears that were more painful than anything else. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been missing my family until I was on the phone with Andie, listening to her on the other end of the line, trying to get a word out of me.

  “Are you okay? Dear god, are you hurt?”

  I managed a weak no.

  “Should I call the police? Georgie?”

  “No. No, I’m okay.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it.”

  It took a few more minutes for me to catch my breath, and then finally I started to speak through soft tears.

  “I’ve gotten myself into real trouble in Italy.”

  “How? Have you gambled away all your money? Broken the law? Murdered someone?”

  “Worse. I’m in love.”

  She laughed. “I…well, that doesn’t sound all that bad, to be honest.”

  “He doesn’t love me back, Andie! Keep up!”

  “Oh, Georgie. I’m so sorry.”

  I groaned. “It’s so bloody complicated, Andie. The worst sort of situation, and I can’t keep anything down. I think I’m lovesick, truly, vomitously so.”

  “So you’ve been throwing up?”

  “For the last few days.”

  “What else is going on? Do you have a fever?”

  “I don’t know. On an emotional level, I feel very cold, so probably not.”

  “Do you feel flu-ish?”

  “Maybe. I’ve had headaches and I feel like I’m always on the brink of tears. I’m tired all the time, even when I get a few decent hours of sleep. Just yesterday I walked into a room to grab something and I couldn’t remember what it was. My brain isn’t working, I swear it. It’s like I’m a zombie.”

  “Sounds terrible, Georgie.”

  “Oh well, I guess there’s not much to be done now.”

  “Do you want to tell me about him?”

  I pinched my eyes closed. “Imagine the most gorgeous, thoughtful, lovely man in the world and then multiple that by ten billion. That’s Gianluca.”

  She hummed. “Sounds like the type of man you could talk to about this sort of thing. Have you tried explaining to him how you feel?”

  “I can’t go near him. You see, we have a very 21st-century relationship, where even though he doesn’t love me back we still frequently…shag. But at the moment I couldn’t bear it because my breasts are bloody tender. Do you think it’s possible my heart ripped in two, and that maybe the pieces have lodged themselves into my boobs?”

  “Georgie…”

  “I can’t do it. If this is love, it’s too much. I can’t go on like…like some—”

  “Georgie!”

  “What?!”

  “When did you last have your period?”

  “I don’t know, but that hardly seems relevant when I’m dying of a broken heart. And anyway—”

  “I think you might be more than lovesick. Those sound like pregnancy symptoms.”

  WHAT?!

  I threw my mobile across the room so fast it collided with the wall and clattered to the ground, screen split in two.

  No.

  No. Not possible.

  CRAP.

  I stood and ran for my mobile, trying to turn it back on. It was bloody broken. That’s what I get for swimming so many laps and toning up my arms—I can now throw with the force of Wonder Woman.

  I slapped it against my palm a couple times and then held down the power button for a solid minute. Nothing.

  R.I.P., you useless piece of shite that is actually quite useful when navigating a foreign country.

  I turned on my laptop, something I’d rarely done since arriving in Vernazza, and worded a quick email to Andie. She replied within minutes.

  To: AndieArchibald@Yahoo.com

  From: Georgie08@Gmail.com

  Dear Andie,

  Thank you for your advice regarding my sickness. You are—sadly—very, very mistaken, possibly delusional. Just because you possess the fertility of ancient Mesopotamia doesn’t mean the rest of us are baby-making machines.

  As you are barking mad, please refrain from giving any more advice to others until you seek professional help.

  Your Concerned SIL,

  Georgie

  ___

  To: Georgie08@Gmail.com

  From: AndieArchibald@Yahoo.com

  Georgie,

  I know it’s a lot to handle, but you need to think it over. Seriously. Fatigue, morning sickness, tender breasts. I’d be willing to bet you even missed your last period…

  Don’t freak out. Call me back.

  Your EVEN MORE concerned SIL,

  Andie

  ___

  To: AndieArchibald@Yahoo.com

  From: Georgie08@Gmail.com

  Dear Andie,

  What a rapid reply, have they let you bring your computer into the asylum? What’s concerning is that you think pregnancy is even an option. ARE YOU PREGNANT? I took one semester of psychology, and I remember learning about your condition. It’s called projecting. Is that what this is all about?

  I’ve attached a few names of proper therapists in London. Please do give them a call.

  Will pray for your speedy recovery,

  Georgie

  ___

  To: Georgie08@Gmail.com

  From: AndieArchibald@Yahoo.com

  Ha ha. Just take a pregnancy test. Once you know for sure, you can decide what you’ll do. Until then, you’ll drive yourself crazy worrying.

  -Andie

  ___

  To: AndieArchibald@Yahoo.com

  From: Georgie08@Gmail.com

  Dear Andie,

  Let’s entertain your sick fantasy for a moment. What’ll I do?! If I am in fact pregnant (*massive eye roll*), I’d be so completely lost I would simply pop out of existence and cease to exist. Due to the fact that I do, indeed, exist, it stands to reason that I therefore could not possibly be preggo.

  I think therefore I am (not pregnant),

  Georgie

  ___

  I slammed my laptop closed and reached for my box of crackers. Now that I thought about it, when Andie was pregnant and had suffered from morning sickness, she’d sworn having an empty stomach made it worse. But…that didn’t apply here…since I wasn’t pregnant.

  I was on the pill, mind you. I took it every day—well I had forgotten once a few weeks back, but the chances that I’d happened to miss a day and had begun to ovulate had to be astronomical. The odds were on my side. My stomach, however, was not.

  I munched on another cracker, letting it dissolve in my mouth as I stared off at a point in my room, right at the corner. I wanted to freeze time, to live in denial as long as possible. I’d never been pregnant before; maybe this was just a simple stomach flu? I did feel a bit lightheaded.

  Oh bloody hell.

  If it was true, my brother was going to freak out.

  My mum would moan on and on about me being an unwed mother. The scandal would likely do her in and then I’d have to shoulder the weight of having killed my own mother. How’s that for grief, Gianluca?

  Oh god, Gianluca. I dropped back onto my bed and shielded my eyes with my forearm. I had absolutely no clue what he would do if it was true. The worst part of me feared that maybe he’d assume I’d done it on purpose, like it was some twisted plot to trap him into staying with me forever.

  I knew it was silly, he would never truly think that, but how could I not worry?

&nbs
p; He’d been busy the last few days. He hadn’t come to work at Il Mare and had mentioned a bit of work he had to do up at his villa. I’d gladly shoved him out, telling him to take as much time as he needed to sort out whatever it was he was doing. I needed time away from him, time to think and wrap my head around my feelings.

  Now, I had this thing to think over…this massive, impossible, 100% unlikely…yet maybe possible THING Andie had just torpedoed at me.

  It was all too much. I tried to take in a deep breath, but my lungs constricted, fighting me. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was having a proper panic attack. I had to get out. I couldn’t die in a bed, alone, with saltine cracker crumbs scattered across my chest. Too pathetic even for me.

  I stood and reached for the jacket on the back of my door. I slipped on a pair of sandals and left. Evening had rolled in and the air was chilly outside. I had nowhere to be, but it felt good to get out and walk. I went up to the train station and bought a ticket to La Spezia. I sat alone and stared down at my fingers twisted together on my lap.

  We passed village after village and the train filled up. I listened to the sound of the passengers, more attuned to the children aboard than ever before. A mom and infant even took the seat in front of me, and I thought it was a real sign from God—up until the infant saw my face and started to wail.

  Oh baby Jesus.

  I was doomed.

  AFTER A LONG walk around La Spezia the night before and loads of sleep, I’d really come to my senses about things and had concluded that everything was fine, whether it wanted to be or not.

  Sure, I’d strolled into a pharmacy in La Spezia and picked up a dozen pregnancy tests, but they were more for drama than anything else. The real problem was that my brother had married a mental patient, and I thought it was best if we all focused our energy on getting her the help she needed.

  She’d emailed me a few more times overnight, but I didn’t read them. Instead, I munched on a few crackers—which were really helping with my stomach flu—and sat back on my fluffy pillows with a paperback cracked open. In the last hour I’d only managed to scan half a page, but I’d heard that literacy tends to come and go in adulthood. I wasn’t worried.