by Nina Hatch
When I finally had my birth records unsealed, I found out I was able to claim dual citizenship. Apparently, my dad was Sicilian, and the police had it on good authority that he fled the country twenty years ago, so I thought I might as well try to track him down. All I had to go on was an old faded photo of him from one of his former accomplices and not much else, but it was the most long-term plan I’d ever made in my life.
So what if my sudden transatlantic search for identity coincided with the same month that one of my buddies from the old gang was planning to name me in an open auto burglary case? That coincidence was for my parole officer to piece together, not me.
After I stepped off the boat in Naples, it took me a year of searching, befriending the right people in the seedy underworld of the Campania region before finding out that my father had turned up in Rome. I took a train there, still not knowing what I planned to say to him when I met him. I figured I’d start with an uppercut and a punch to the kidney, and then we’d see where things went from there.
When I found his last known address, the landlady told me that he moved out just two months prior. Stiffed her on the rent and bolted.
FUCK.
My cocked and loaded fist found the stucco wall outside his building, blood dripping freely down my knuckles as I paced back to the train station.
I’d never been this close to finding him, but I still wasn’t close enough, and now the leads ran cold.
He was in the wind.
Since that day, I’ve been aimless. I found my way back to my boat and I pushed on up the coast, but I carelessly let the towline get caught around the boat’s propeller, wrapping around and damaging the transmission beyond repair. Drunk and alone, I no longer cared if I drifted off to sea or if I crashed into the rocky shore.
But the boat looked out for me.
Even with the failing transmission, she floated into a small cove with a ramshackle old dock that must have been used when there were better fishing conditions in this area. I tied her off and slept off the hangover, but after that, she wouldn’t start again. I don’t think she’s been able to rely on her captain after that night, and I don’t blame her.
Ever since then, I’ve been trying to make it up to her, sealing and polishing her in the broken places, building other pieces anew, but I’ve never gone back into the engine. I don’t want to take the risk of breaking her again.
I’m still not sure what I’m doing with the key in my hand now, all I know is, since that night when I left Olivia, I feel like I need to move again. She’s under my skin like a fucking chemical burn, and my brain has been running restless.
I can barely sleep anymore. And when I do, I wake up hard as fuck and aching all over. All I can think about when I lay down at night is gripping Olivia’s soft curves, pressing my lips to her throat, thrusting into her deep — let’s just say the only one getting any satisfaction lately has been my right hand.
I can’t put my finger on what Olivia’s done to me. To be honest, I’ve regretted leaving her without an explanation since the moment after I did it. It was the first time I’d ever left before sex, and that had to be what my mistake was.
There were so many things I wanted to do to her still. So many things, and the thought of not being able to almost singes. If I would have just fucked her like I wanted to in the first place, maybe I would have her out of my system already and I wouldn’t be in this tailspin of sleepless, empty nights.
There was something so complicated about Olivia, and I still find myself wanting desperately to get my hands dirty and just untangle her. She was so uptight, so driven, eager to please everyone but herself, but when I had her in my arms, I felt her slip and let herself go in an instant, trusting me.
That’s the part I don’t get.
She’s too smart for that. Trusting me is like getting behind the wheel of a car with no navigation system, a car with a busted-up engine and a broken windshield — one that could send her careening out of control.
So why did I still want to try to be that guy she thought I was?
I’m desperate to get some release from this voracious feeling I’ve had ever since I met Olivia, and I hope the first step to that is fixing the boat and getting the fuck out of here.
I grab a few tools and head up the steep cobblestone path to my favorite bar in Schiaro — so-deemed because the bartender, Luca, is a buddy of mine and he always pours me a double for the price of a single.
“Jake? I haven’t seen you around here lately,” Luca says as I find a spot at the bar. He’s already pulling out a scratched old-fashioned glass for me.
“Yeah. I guess I’ve been busy.”
Luca was born here and runs the same bar his family has operated for five generations. He’s barely twenty, but he acts as my sometimes-wingman at the height of tourist season, and I try to return the favor for him when I can. I think he likes to think of himself as my protégé, but that makes me uncomfortable. Luca’s a good kid, and I don’t want him to get his heart broken by trying to play the game like I do. Hell, after this Olivia debacle, I don’t know if I can still play the game like I do either.
“Let me buy you a drink,” Luca says. “Mamma said you wouldn’t let her pay you for that work you did on her roof last month.”
“Well, the drink I will accept,” I say, settling in on my barstool. “She still keeping dry?”
“Ci. And she asks about you. A bit too often for my taste,” he says with a wink. “Told me to ask you if you had a girlfriend yet. She acted sly, but I think she’d audition for the part if you’d let her.”
I laugh. “Tell her it’s a permanently open position, but I’ll share a bottle of Taurasi with her anytime.”
“So, what, or should I say, who, are you doing here this afternoon?” he says with a smirk.
“I actually just need your internet connection. I’m looking for a couple parts, and I think I’ll have to order them online.”
“Nessun problema, I’m happy to help, however you need. I have a letter that came for you too, I’ll meet you in the back.”
After searching a few auction sites and supply centers, I find the right parts for the boat on the Internet, but after staring at the sum total on the screen for a full two minutes, I have to close the browser without placing my order. For that price, I can’t see how I’m ever going to get the boat fixed and get the hell out of here.
What I can afford, though, is another drink, and I need one.
“You don’t take Talia’s tab system here, do you?” I ask, downing the shot the moment Luca finishes pouring. “Not for the drinks, I mean, but for $9,000 transmission systems?”
I’m only joking, but Luca’s answer is sincere: “I can talk to her, Jake. I’ve actually been thinking about setting up a meeting with the DiCicco’s. Nothing long term, but mamma and I have been running a little short lately.”
“Probably couldn’t hurt, if you’re willing to pay the price, I guess. Ernesto wouldn’t approve, but then again, there’s no pleasing him. He has such high standards,” I say.
“But haven’t you heard?” Luca interjects. “Talia just bought Ernesto’s block. Everyone is saying she’s going to raise the rent on him. Squeeze him out if he won’t meet her terms. And you know he won’t. That’s why I’m thinking of setting up a meeting with her before she does the same thing to us.”
This news starts my blood boiling.
I’d been blowing Talia off for over two weeks now, so I shouldn’t be surprised to hear she’s making her move. Ever since going to the wedding with Olivia, I haven’t been able to drag myself back to Talia’s bed. Something within me refuses.
But Talia devours pleasure and power like a succubus, and she’s been spending a lot of time alone lately. I’d been expecting her to start extending her tentacles to seek me out, but I wasn’t expecting her to use Ernesto to do it.
My hackles raise at the thought, and by the time I slam some cash on the counter to pay for my drinks and push past Luca, I’m seei
ng red.
How dare she threaten Ernesto.
What was I thinking in believing I could outrun her schemes? And how dare Ernesto be so fucking stubborn that he won’t just play by her rules like the rest of us do?
I storm into Ernesto’s, jerking the stuck door open without saying a word. I pull out my screwdriver and go to work taking the front door off its hinges so I can set it up to plane it like I promised I would. When I hear Ernesto singing off-key opera as he comes out of the kitchen, all I can do is shake my head.
“Jacopo, you don’t need to do that,” he greets me with a smile, seeing me with the files and saws I brought from my boat.
“I told you I’d get your door unstuck and here I am,” I mutter. He lets me work in silence for a bit, sensing my mood.
Finally, I explode.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing standing up to the DiCicco’s by yourself?” I shout, my voice echoing through the empty restaurant. “Being bullheaded is only going to get you bankrupt. Why didn’t you come to me? I could protect you from them, get you a better deal.”
“You think you know better than me, bambino?” Ernesto says, his tone a warning. “I’m not getting you in any deeper than you already are.”
Anger is rising in Ernesto’s voice, his jaw set, face flaming. He looks like he’s about to lay into me when a tan guy in a uniform walks through the doorless entry. He looks worn out, the collar and creases of his all-white uniform wilted by the hot sun.
“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt. I’m Kevin Dawson, First Mate of the Venus of the Sea. Do you know anywhere I can find a carpenter who can work on short notice? I’ve been up and down every block and I’m desperate.”
I turn back to my work, grateful for the distraction.
Which is why I’m surprised when I feel Ernesto’s hand thump down on my shoulder. “Certamente. Jacopo here can do it. He’s the best carpenter in town.”
I whip around to face him. I’m a whole head taller than Ernesto, but he doesn’t back down under my glare. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get me out of here before I do something stupid.
“Sorry, man. I’m not your guy,” I say to Kevin.
“We could really use you if you could do it,” Kevin says, the exhaustion in his eyes apparent. “The pay is great, and we have all the tools and materials onboard. You’d just need to fix some paneling and trim for us while we sail. We can get you back here in four days, but we have guests boarding this afternoon.”
“He’ll meet you at the dock in one hour,” Ernesto cuts across before I can even get words out.
Chapter Seven
Jake
I’m still fuming by the time Kevin picks me up in a tender that afternoon. Who does Ernesto think he is, making decisions for me? Still, skipping over the waves on this tiny boat, I have to admit that I’ve missed being out on the open sea, and it’s looking more and more like I’ll never get my own boat fixed.
There’s no way I’m qualified to be a fine craftsman on a yacht job, though — I’m self-taught and I’ve never charged for my work. But, I figure, once they discover I’m a fraud, maybe I’ll just jump ship and swim ashore wherever the tide takes me. Start over again with nothing, like I have before.
Kevin points the tender toward the Venus, a gleaming white leviathan of a yacht anchored off the coast. The pristine steel is nearly blinding, and the yacht’s sleek body design is contemporary for no reason other than to look comparably chic next to other boats. There’s no sense of history to it, nothing special, no soul. The fact that this ostentatious monster is seaworthy and I can’t even get my boat out of the harbor makes me feel like I’m being mocked, and I grimace, swallowing my pride as we dip and bob closer.
“Thanks for doing this, man,” Kevin says as he steers. “We’ll get you set up in a cabin for the duration of the charter. This next group of guests is a bachelorette party for an heiress or something, so I’m hoping that means some good eye candy, right bro?” I grunt to acknowledge the fact that he’s saying words. “The panel you’ll be replacing has a pretty gnarly scratch, so it’s going to take some work. We’ll just need you to stay out of the way of the guests and we should have no problems.”
When I climb onboard, most of the Venus crew is still getting ready for this afternoon’s new guests, but I meet Captain Todd, along with a stewardess, Claire, who shows me to my cabin.
As soon as I shut the door, I collapse on the bed and fall into an uneasy sleep for the next several hours.
By the time I wake up, it’s pitch black outside my porthole. I must have missed when the guests came on, but I can hear them now, giggling and clinking glasses in a lounge above me.
Captain Todd told me I could get started on fixing the guest cabin interior tomorrow morning, but I’m not much of an early riser, and I need to get out under those stars. That’s really the only reason I agreed to this — nothing comes close to seeing the night sky from the open ocean. It makes you feel infinite and insignificant all at once, like everything is connected and nothing is.
I grab a few tools from the storage locker Kevin showed me earlier along with a portable workbench, a vise, and some of the rough-sawn lumber kept onboard for repairs and replacements, hauling it all up to a sectioned off corner on the sun deck where I can breathe in the misty air coming off the sea.
Blowing the dust off the planks of raw curly maple, I lay them out flat so I can circle around them under the moonlight, admiring the iridescence in the wood.
“Show me what you want to be,” I murmur, running my hands over the knots and contortions in the grain, exploring the blonde fibers with my fingertips.
This is one of my favorite moments with any project: the first encounter. I can’t connect this way with steel. I appreciate how metal or plastic can be shaped and forced into watertight forms, but wood is different. You fall into a relationship with wood. It can be formed, but it always has some say in the matter. The wrong piece will snap if you try to bend it too far, but if you can form an organic understanding of what that piece is meant to be, it will move and flex with you, finding it’s true place.
I’m tuning the hand plane when I hear light footsteps near the bow of the ship. I know I’m supposed to stay out of the way of the guests, but I head over to investigate anyway.
That’s when I see her.
I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately, but I know this isn’t a dream. I would recognize Olivia Quinn anywhere — her lithe body and full lips flood my mind every night when I close my eyes. What I don’t understand is how she can possibly be here. She made it clear she was expected back at her job in Manhattan two weeks ago.
But here she is, staring into the same bright constellations that I am.
A thrill shoots through me as I watch her — she must be a guest of the onboard bachelorette party Kevin was telling me about. This is exactly the way Olivia looks in my dreams at night — open and free — the loose waves of her golden hair splayed across her shoulders, a single curl lifting in the breeze. Her ass is round and firm in the mint green silk pajama shorts she’s wearing, her breasts filling out a gray tank top. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so attracted to someone, not like this. Like I’m caught in a riptide I never saw coming. I don’t know how to swim out of it or even if I want to.
I’m not used to catching any lucky breaks in life, but hey, if the universe is conspiring to give me a second chance to sleep with Olivia, I’m not going to pass it up. Raising two fingers to my lips, I blow a kiss to the night sky and move toward her.
She doesn’t hear me over the sound of the dark cresting waves, and I come in close behind her, wrapping an arm around the railing so she won’t fall in if I startle her. When my arm brushes against her warm skin, Olivia jumps, tripping over my foot and falling backward. I catch her easily, letting the momentum tip her into my arms, dipping her low. Her eyes go wide in fear, the greens and golds of her irises sparking like flint.
“I just told you to get to the beac
h, and here you are in the middle of the ocean,” I say. “You really do bite off more than you can chew, don’t you?” It’s only for an instant, but I know I see desire flicker across her gaze.
Desire quickly replaced by fury.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She spits the words, her temper already fully formed, and scrambles out of my arms. “Aren’t you supposed to be in some other country fucking models right now? Or racing Ferraris and crashing sailboats or something?”
“Nope. Can’t say that I’ve done any of those things. Sounds like a big waste of time, though,” I reply with a grin. Fuck, I love hearing her voice again. “Aren’t you supposed to be back in New York,” I challenge back, “analyzing financial statements and picking out china patterns with some boring idiot?”
“I’m still on my way back there, I’m just…taking the long way,” she says, flustered. “And I asked you first. What are you doing here?”
“I’m just here to fix a scratched wall and eat some free food.”
Even in the dark, I can see her cheeks go red. Her eyes flicker over my torn jeans, my thin and faded tee-shirt, my calloused hands. It’s a long way off from how I looked in Ernesto’s vintage designer suit.
“Wait, what? You’re the carpenter Kevin brought? But I thought…”
“That I’m a cocky trust fund assclown? Yeah, I remember what you thought. You just assumed you knew who I was and filed me away in that tidy little category.”
“Well, you didn’t say anything to stop me,” she snaps back.
“Sorry to disappoint you. I’m pretty sure any bank would laugh me out the door if I were to ever step foot in one.”
“It wouldn’t have been a disappoint— why didn’t you just tell me?” she asks.
“You said you didn’t want to know anything about me.”
That stops her. She frowns, her eyebrows knitting together. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. That night is over,” she says, trying to dismiss the thought. “You left before it ended.”
