Even his voice is hot. Then he kisses me on the lips. This kiss is gentle and filled with emotion, the way his touch was when he washed my hair and body. He knows what I need. He satisfies my desire and also my need for loving touch. He offers that blend of raw sexuality and gentleness that feels right. Almost too right. But I have a way of being blind to the truth. Maybe I just think this is perfect. And what I’m seeing and feeling isn’t reality.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jade
Our hotel is on a narrow cobblestoned street. We stroll along it, holding hands and admiring what we see in the shop windows. We pass a chocolate shop and an outdoor vendor selling fresh fruit. My eyes widen and my steps slow when we reach a bakery displaying mouth-watering pastries and loaves of freshly baked bread brushed with butter. “Mmm. That bread smells good.” I still feel euphoric from our love-making earlier. Now I’m excited to explore the city, my jetlag having flown.
“It does smell good. Are you hungry?” Luca’s hair is still wet from our shower. The morning breeze tosses his damp curls against his cheek bones. His eyes are shielded by his aviator glasses.
“Starving.”
“Why don’t we have lunch before we walk up to the castle,” Luca suggests.
“Okay by me.”
“Is there anything in particular you’re in the mood for?”
“No, not really. I would like to try some local cuisine.”
“I know of a few places tucked away off the street on the other side of the river. One of them serves excellent Austrian dishes.”
“I would like that.”
We walk hand and hand across the bridge. Luca points up at the castle. “That’s where we’ll be going later.”
“It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”
“It is, but it will be a bit of workout getting up there. There are many steps and some steep trails. Unless you want to take the funicular.”
The castle doesn’t look that far away. But he’s not kidding; it’s definitely up a steep incline. “What’s a funicular?”
“It’s a train that goes straight up. The main disadvantage is that there are long lines and it’s very crowded. And…” He pauses for a moment and runs a finger along one of his dimples.
I read his mind. “You’re worried you’ll be recognized.”
“Yes, that’s it. I don’t like having that happen, especially in crowded spaces where there’s no escape. When everyone grabs their phones and starts taking photos of me I have to smile and pretend it doesn’t bother me.”
I can’t even imagine what it would be like to deal with that intrusiveness on a regular basis. I’ve always been an introvert and sometimes I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone complete strangers. “Let’s not deal with that. A walk will be fine. It’s a lovely day.” A cool breeze caresses my shoulders. The scent in the air is a mingling of freshly baked bread, weathered stone, and cigarette smoke.
We walk along another cobblestone street, passing the apartment building where Mozart was born. I wonder what this building looked like 300 years ago. The exterior now shines bright yellow and the trim around the building’s many windows glows a clean white. This centuries-old building has been preserved like many others in this city. Salzburg is filled with history. I’ve never seen anything like this. It even smells like a different era. A little musty. I like that the city’s history is preserved. In the States, anything old is considered obsolete. Buildings, even people. Here age is worthy of respect.
I occasionally bump shoulders with other people crowding the street. And everywhere, there are bicycles. I dodge out of the way of a rider weaving through the walkers. “Watch where you’re going,” Luca says, angrily, craning his head toward the bicyclist.
“I think it’s wonderful that people here use bicycles as a mode of transportation,” I say. “But some of them are a little crazy.”
“That’s for sure.” He slings his arm around my shoulder, moving me closer to his body. “Stay near me. I’ll keep you safe.”
I nuzzle up against his neck, feeling his hair tickle my cheek. “I know you will.”
“We’re going to get away from all this in a minute anyway.”
A narrow side street leads us to the end of the walled walkway, which is surrounded by apartment buildings and restaurants. Vines creep up the sides of the stone walls. All the restaurants have large patios and outdoor tables.
“Here’s the place I was thinking of,” says Luca. “Does it look okay to you?”
It’s quiet and protected from the sun. “It looks great.”
A waiter approaches and invites us to choose any table on the outdoor patio. We find a seat and sit across from each other. I admire our surroundings. A group of four people at a table nearby are speaking in another language—German, I presume. Each one of them has a large amber-colored glass in front of them.
Luca takes off his sunglasses and sets them down on the table. He smiles and laugh lines appear at the corners of his eyes. “People start drinking early in Europe, as you can see.”
I laugh and lean in closer. “I see that. I read online that alcohol is bad for jetlag, so I think I’ll pass.”
“That’s a very wise choice. It’s taken time for me to get the hang of overseas travelling. I adjust much faster to time changes when I change my sleep schedule right away. I also try to drink lots of water and get plenty of fresh air and exercise.”
“That makes sense. I will do my best to follow all your expert advice.”
We talk more about adjusting to the time change and when the waiter comes by, we both order sparkling water. Luca persuades me to order the Wiener Schnitzel—a veal cutlet that has been breaded and fried. “It’s not the healthiest meal in the world,” he says, “but it’s my favorite Austrian dish.”
My mouth waters when the waiter sets my plate down in front of me. There’s a huge piece of veal on my plate just waiting for me to slice into it. Arranged on the plate beside it is a chunky potato salad and some salad greens. The meal looks delicious and smells even better. “Wow. This looks really tasty.”
Luca is already slicing into his meat. He smiles at me as he chews a bite. He watches me, eager to see me take a taste.
I slice off a piece of the veal. The tender meat dissolves in my mouth with a burst of juicy flavor. I chew slowly to savor the taste. “Delicious. I’m glad you suggested this. When were you last here?”
“Last October. This is my sixth time in Salzburg. I usually come here or go to Sorrento before our tours start. The guys and I have worked out this plan where we come at least two days early so we’re used to the time change and at our best for our first performance.”
“I can see why you like to come here. It’s beautiful. I love all of the old buildings. I’ll have to go online later and read more about Salzburg’s history.”
“This is an old city, steeped in history. Much of Europe is like this. You walk through the street, seeing so many old churches and castles and feel like you’ve stepped back in time. And whenever I’m in Europe, especially Italy, I remember my childhood. The good times, mostly.” He gazes off in the distance, looking reflective.
“Tell me what you remember, Luca. I’d like to hear more.”
“My two brothers and I spent our summers outside. There were a group of guys we’d meet at a park near our house. We’d play soccer every night until it was too dark to see the ball anymore. One evening when we were walking home, a musician was performing in front of one of the fountains. Intrigued, I stopped to listen. I was only eight at the time. My impatient brothers wouldn’t wait for me. I started humming along to the tune he was playing on his guitar. I still remember the man had silver hair twisted into dreadlocks. He waved for me to come over and told me his name was Alessandro. After that I met him in the park every day. He said I had an ear for music. He taught me how to read music and how to play guitar. Sometimes I’d make up lyrics to go with his tunes.”
“That’s amazing how meeting
this man helped you find your gift.”
“I was lucky I found him. Alessandro was a wonderful man.”
“When did you start taking music lessons?”
“I never had any formal training in music until we moved to Mexico. After my father left us.”
“Do you know where your father is now?”
“No. And I don’t want to know.” He clenches his jaw and fidgets with his water glass.
I reach for his hand under the table. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“Don’t worry. It was a long time ago.” Despite his reassurance, the hint of sadness remains in his eyes. “I sometimes worry I might see him somewhere when I’m Sorrento. I’m not sure what I would say if I ran into him at a grocery store or a café. Would I pretend I didn’t recognize him and just walk away? Or would I confront him and ask him why he deserted us? He probably wouldn’t even recognize me. I haven’t seen him since I was a boy. It’s not knowing why he left that still haunts me. It seems inconceivable that any man would walk away from my mother. She is so beautiful. And she is kind and honest and loving.”
“I’m sorry, Luca. There probably was no good reason. He probably couldn’t handle the responsibility.”
“I think you’re right.” He sighs. Then he pauses for a moment while the waiter comes by and scoops up our empty plates. He gives me a boyish grin. “Do you have room for dessert? You might like the Apfelstrudel, but my favorite is the Sacher Torte.”
“I know about apple strudel, but what’s the other one?”
“The most delicious chocolate cake.”
I burst out laughing. “Luca, are you serious? I figured with your body, you never eat an ounce of fat or sugar.”
“I do enough running and weight training that I can afford to enjoy a good meal once in a while. We had quite a workout earlier. And we have a long walk ahead of us. So, what do you say? You want to sample something sweet and Austrian?” One of his thick brows raises mischievously.
“Hell, yes, I do.”
He laughs. “You’re my kind of girl.”
Minutes later, we’re both eating cake. I can’t help smiling when I see the way Luca’s eyes flash brilliant green when he takes a bite. A large dark crumb sits on the edge of his lips. I want to lick it off. And kiss him until I can taste the chocolate on his mouth and tongue.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jade
After lunch, we walk toward Festung Hohensalzburg. We climb several flights of stone stairs and then follow the steep, winding path on up. As we ascend higher and higher, the crowds start to thin. Soon all we can hear is the whisper of wind in the meadows and the occasional chime of a church bell.
Alongside the path are a few small stone houses. Tall trees provide shade, and in the stretches of meadow, tall grass and flowers bow in the breeze. A sign directs us toward the castle. “Before we visit the castle, I want to show you this view,” says Luca.
We walk hand in hand to the top of the hill and stand beside each other admiring the panorama. “This is beautiful.” I glance at Luca and squeeze his hand. Beyond acres and acres of green fields, a jagged front of snow-capped mountains pierces the sky. “Come over here. Let’s sit on this wall for a moment.”
Luca sits beside me on the stone wall, close enough that our shoulders touch. He doesn’t say a word. I don’t mind that he’s quiet. I feel so emotionally connected to him right now. No words seem necessary. I still feel that special bond I always feel when we’re together. I know he notices the whisper of the wind in the grass and the chirping birds. He, like me, appreciates peace, appreciates nature. That’s what drew him to San Carlos. The places he chooses to rest before his Europe tours are similarly serene. That’s what he needs to keep his life in balance.
He jumps down from the wall and reaches for my hand. “Come on. Let’s go check out the castle.”
We walk together down the road until we see the massive wooden doors, dotted with rusted metal bolts, that mark the castle’s entrance. Enormous stone walls surround most of the castle. There are turrets and flat stone walls. Windows poke through many of the walls that must be at least three feet thick. The stone is blackened by hundreds of years of exposure to the elements.
Once we pay the entrance fee, we’re handed headsets and a remote that we can use to take the walking tour. We stroll from room to room, hearing about the history of this place—one of the largest medieval castles in Europe. The floorboards squeak beneath my feet. An odor of damp stone lingers in the air. The place is ancient. The stone is washed in a faint black ash.
We peer into many musty-smelling rooms with stone walls and wooden floors. One of the rooms, once used for a torture chamber, contains a wagon wheel, which was dropped on the bodies of the hapless victims to break their bones. A shiver rolls through me as I look around the room.
The overlooks are my favorite. We climb narrow, winding flights of stairs to reach them. From the top of the castle we look out at the high cliffs that rim the hills, the meandering Salzach River and the sea of spires and domes around the city. I’m awed by the amazing architecture in Salzburg—the blocky buildings with their dozens of windows and the blue onion domes and red tile rooftops that cap them.
The recording tells us that the construction of the castle began in 1077 and during the time of the Holy Roman Empire, the archbishops of Salzburg made more improvements. Eventually, the fort was captured by French troops. In the nineteenth century, it was used as barracks, storage depot and dungeon before being abandoned as a military outpost in 1861.
The audio tour ends when we’re on top of one of the buildings. We both take our headsets off and stand beside each other, admiring the view. The wind lifts my hair and brushes against my face. It’s warm, but not hot. A perfect day. This spot gives us a 360-degree view of the city. It seems too amazing to be real—this beautiful city of ancient buildings backed by the snowy Alps. The adventurer in me wants to get closer to those mountains, to hike up their flanks and pick a flower. “Have you ever seen the Alps up close?”
“Yes, a few times. I’ve hiked and rented an e-bike before.”
“What’s an e-bike?”
“It’s an electric bike. They’re used often by tourists in the Alps. You still pedal, but the motor helps you along more or less, depending on what level you choose. E-bikes make steep hills much more bearable and are great for exploring.”
“It sounds like a blast.”
“We could go to the mountains tomorrow if you like and give it a try.”
“Seriously? I would love that.”
“I’ll reserve some bikes later on.”
I turn and kiss him on the lips. “Oh, Luca, you have no idea how much fun I’m having on this trip already.”
He grips my shoulders and looks at me with a soft, loving gaze. “I’m glad you’re having a good time. It’s wonderful having you with me on this tour.”
I wonder what it would be like to stand up on a stage in front of thousands of people. I can’t imagine it, really. I’d probably be so terrified, I’d forget the words to every song. “Do you ever get nervous when you perform?”
“Most of the time, I feel stressed an hour or two before the performance. Once I’m up on stage, I get so lost in the music, I forget my worries. This is what I do, I perform. It all comes naturally now.”
“Tell me what happened after you moved to Mexico. That’s when you started taking voice lessons, right?”
“My mom found out I’d been learning some things from Alessandro shortly before everything went to hell. She tried to persuade me to take voice lessons, but I kept saying I didn’t want to.”
“Why, Luca?”
“I wanted to more than anything. But I was the oldest. I understood the financial hardships my mother was dealing with. My mamá made many sacrifices for me, but I couldn’t let her go that far. My brothers and sisters had needs too.”
Most young people would only be concerned about their own needs. But not Luca. His mother
taught him well to look out for his family. “Was your mother upset?”
“Yes, very. She told me I had talent and that she didn’t want me wasting it. We went back and forth over it for several months. Then I had a stroke of luck. I had just started middle school and I told my mamá I would join the choir and try out for any afterschool programs that were offered. I always auditioned for solo parts. And did quite well performing them at concerts. One day, my teacher, Mr. González, asked me to stay after class. He said I was gifted and that I should consider formal musical training. I told him about our family’s financial situation. He persuaded me to let him pay for me to take voice lessons twice weekly in exchange for me help teaching his son to play the guitar. I agreed and kept this arrangement a secret from my mother for several months. Even though I was giving something back, I worried it would hurt her pride to find out I was accepting financial help.
“Eventually, I felt too guilty, keeping all this a secret from her. My mamá burst into tears when I confessed to her. But after I explained how I had taught Mr. González’s son, Miguel, how to play the guitar, she didn’t seem as upset. She went to my school to talk to him. When he told her how talented I was and what a help I had been to his son, she came home with tears in her eyes. She said she was very proud of me.”
“Did you keep on taking lessons after that?”
“I did. My teacher connected me with other musicians. My brother was already playing in the band. I auditioned a few people, chose a group of guys, and formed my own band. Steve joined us later, but Raphael, Lorenzo and Larry have been playing with me since I was seventeen.”
“You all seem to get along well.”
“Lorenzo’s my brother, of course. But the rest of them—they’re like an extension of my family. We’ve spent a lot of time on the road together and it just keeps on getting better. This gig has worked out great for all of us. We all came from poor families. Steve was homeless when I found him performing on the street in Los Angeles. By then, I had an agent and we’d already had two albums hit platinum in the US. We all worked hard to turn our lives around. And we’ve all been able to help our struggling families live an easier life.”
Jade's Song (South of the Border Book 2) Page 15
