A Little Too Far

by Lisa Desrochers

  He nods, then shifts his attention to Alessandro, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. “I will be in Rome for your ordination in six weeks’ time.”

  Alessandro lays his hand on the Father’s shoulder so their arms are crossed. “I’m happy you’ll be there.”

  “This is a big day for you—what you’ve been preparing for since you were a young man.” Father Costa’s eyes shift to me, then back to Alessandro. “Of course, I will be there for you, as I always have been. If there’s anything you need from me, counsel or support, you need only ask.”

  Alessandro nods, then pulls Father Costa into a hug, kissing both cheeks. “Thank you Father. I’ve always relied on your guidance.” He lets go of the priest and clasps my hand. “À bientôt.”

  We walk back to the car and climb in, and I can feel Father Costa’s eyes on my back.

  “I don’t think he likes me.”

  Alessandro looks at me as he turns the key. “Why would you think that?”

  I shrug. “Just a feeling.”

  He pulls onto the road, and we wind away from the church. “I’m sure you couldn’t be more wrong.”

  I watch the scenery as we crawl up the mountain, switching back at sharp angles. Frequently, vast stretches of ocean can be seen off to one side or the other. I’m staring at it out my side window as we crest a hill, and all of a sudden I’m being throw into my seat belt as Alessandro slams on the brakes. When I look out the windshield, there is a herd of … something in the road.

  “What are they?” I ask.

  “U muvrinu. Something like your mountain goats,” he answers.

  “Will they move … ?” I look warily out the windshield at them. “… Or attack?”

  He breathes a laugh. “They’ll move eventually.” He revs the engine a little as he inches forward, and they start to scatter, but they’re taking their time about it.

  “Does this happen a lot?”

  “As a matter of fact, no. I haven’t seen them in the road like this.” He smiles at me. “They’re showing off for you.”

  Eventually, they do move. It’s about fifteen minutes later that we’re able to pass, and by that time, there are two other cars waiting behind us.

  “What I love about Corsica,” Alessandro says as we break free, “is that much of it is like this. Unspoiled.”

  Just ahead, I can see snowcapped mountains. “It’s beautiful.”

  He nods. “It truly is. People come from all over the world to see it, and yet, so many of the communities are poor. I feel like this is someplace I could make a difference. Coming here saved my life. I’d like to have the opportunity to give something back.”

  I’m staring at him. I can’t help it. “Do you think they’ll let you come back?”

  “It’s still being decided.”

  For a long time, we wind through trees and mountains and come to where the snow is plowed back from the road.

  “Can we get out?” I ask him.

  He glances at me. “If you want.” He pulls over into the turnout, and as soon as I open the door, I realize my sweater isn’t quite enough.

  “Brr! It’s cold up here.”

  A corner of his mouth curls into a smile. “Thus the snow.”

  I make a face at him and go over to the low snowbank at the side of the road, curling my fingers into the snow. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m being wrapped in warm cotton. I look at Alessandro, standing next to me in a snug-fitting black T-shirt. He tucks his hoodie tight around me.

  “You’re going to freeze!” I say.

  “Maybe.”

  I wrap the ends of his hoodie around his waist, so we’re both bundled underneath it, and he presses his body against mine. I can feel the cut of his abs, the lines of his pecs through his thin shirt, and I have the sudden urge to slide my hands under and feel them, skin on skin. I restrain myself, but I do press my cheek into his chest. “Thank you for bringing me up here.”

  “You haven’t seen the best yet. We still have a way to go before dark, so, whenever you’re ready …”

  “It is pretty cold here.”

  He nods, his chin pressing into the top of my head.

  “Okay, enough snow. Let’s go.”

  I pull his hoodie off my shoulders and hand it back. He slips it on, and that fabulous body disappears behind too many layers of brushed cotton. We climb in, and he pulls back onto the road.

  “So, where are we going?”

  “L’Île-Rousse.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll see,” he says, flicking me a glance as he drives.

  It’s late afternoon when we wind out of the mountains and into a small costal town. Alessandro navigates the place like he’s been here before, and we end up in a sand parking lot across a crumbling road from a shack on the beach. The smell of salt and seaweed seeps into the car even before I open the door.

  “Where are we?” I ask as we get out and walk toward the shack.

  “L’Île-Rousse.”

  “Okay, but … where are we?”

  “This,” he says, pointing at the beach, “is the north end of the island. About a 150 kilometers that way is mainland France.”

  I look out over the endless water. “I wish I had time to see more. I’d love to go to France.”

  He flicks me a glance and twitches a smile. “You are in France.” He opens the door and gestures me through ahead of him.

  The shack, it turns out, is a very small and nearly abandoned restaurant. The smell of salt from the sea mingles with cigarette smoke and frying food. Behind a decrepit wooded bar that takes up the entire back wall, a bartender gestures with a tip of his enormous head that we should seat ourselves. Alessandro directs me past the only other patrons, two guys sitting at the bar arguing loudly in French, to a small table for two near the windows over the beach.

  “This is … interesting,” I say, looking around at the weather-beaten wood walls and salt-stained wooden floor.

  “My favorite restaurant,” he answers.

  The bartender comes over and says something in French, and Alessandro picks up a laminated piece of paper off the table and says something back in French. The bartender stalks back to the bar, and a few minutes later returns with a bottle of red wine and two smudged glasses.

  Alessandro looks at me as the bartender pours. “I should have asked if you like seafood.”

  “I love it.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Do you mind if I order for you? There are some excellent choices.”

  “If it saves me having to read a French menu, then I’m all over that.”

  He smiles and looks up at the bartender, reeling off a list of things.

  “So, you’re fluent in Italian and French. Did you ever take classes, or was that just from living here?” I ask once he’s gone.

  Alessandro sips his wine before answering. “I didn’t learn French until I came to live here as a teen, but Italian is my first language. We lived in Italy when I was young, and even after we moved to New York, my father spoke only Italian to us.”

  “He was Italian?”

  He nods. “By heritage. His parents moved to New York before he was born, but he grew up speaking Italian in the home.”

  “So … if he’s an American from New York, how did you live in Italy when you were young?”

  He sets his glass down and runs a finger over the rim. “My father was an Army cook. My parents met when he was stationed at the US air base in Aviano.” He looks up at me. “In Italy, not too far from Florence.”

  I nod.

  “He came to Corsica on leave with some friends and happened to stumble into the restaurant where my mother cooked.” A wistful smile curves his lips. “The story goes, they got in a huge fight when my father sent something back because it wasn’t prepared correctly, and two months later, they were married. Lorenzo and I were born in Italy. I was six, and he was seven when my father left the military and took his family back to New York.”

  “That’s some
love story.”

  He bobs a small nod. “My parents were in love. Deeply in love.”

  “I can’t even imagine what it would have been like to lose him that way.”

  His eyes lower to his wineglass, and he watches his finger trace the rim. “She’s never been the same.”

  “You said you’re still American, right?”

  He nods.

  “Could you have changed when you moved here? Become a French citizen?”

  “I could have. For a long time, I thought I would.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  His jaw tightens. “Because my citizenship reminds me of my path, my purpose. My father was American. What happened to him … the reason he died, it was because of that. He’s the reason I ended up where I am—he and my mother.”

  I’ve been trying to make sense of what his mother said to me before we left and what he just said strikes something in that process. “Does your mom want you to become a priest?”

  He lifts a hand and scratches the back of his head, grasping a handful of hair. “My mother believes I’m doing this out of guilt. She thinks I blame myself for what happened to her.”

  “Do you?”

  He opens his mouth, then closes it again, and for a long time, he doesn’t answer. “I’ve lost my entire family,” he finally says.

  “Alessandro, you can’t blame yourself for—”

  “I understand that I’m not responsible for my father’s death,” he interrupts, his jaw tight, “but could I have helped my mother? My brother?” He shakes his head slowly, resting his elbows on the table. “I didn’t try.”

  “So this is what you think you have to do to make up for it? Become a priest?”

  “I prayed for direction, and this is what the Lord showed me. This community.” He gestures out the window. “If I can do for one child what Father Costa did for me … if I can make one person see that they’re important, it will mean my life wasn’t wasted. I can help people here. This is where I hope they send me.”

  I nod at his determination. He knows what he wants. That’s more than a lot of people can say, including me. I sip my wine, and when I look up, I find him staring at me. I don’t break his gaze. He reaches across and weaves his fingers into mine, and we sit, looking at each other as, outside the window, the sun sets crimson across the water.

  IT’S THE MIDDLE of the night, but I’m mostly awake, watching shadows crawl across the ceiling. Alessandro and I sat at that restaurant for hours, eating course after course and talking. He told me about his favorite memories with his father and things they did together as a family. I told him about the plan I was starting to hatch to stay in Italy for at least another year. He asked if I’d consider Corsica—said if he was here, he could put me to work with the children of his parish.

  More and more, the thought of working with children is really starting to appeal to me. My passion has always been art, but when you put art and kids together, they both seem to come alive. And so do I. Could I stay here? Work with Alessandro?

  The conversations are still whirring through my head when I hear creaking on the stairs outside my room. I’m the only one up here, and I pull the sheets around me, afraid maybe Pépé is sleepwalking.

  When the door cracks open, there’s a shape in the dark stairwell. Whoever it is doesn’t move for what feels like a small eternity. Finally, I sit up in bed. “Who’s there?” I ask in a slightly shaky voice. Still, there’s no answer.

  But then Alessandro steps through into the moonlight, and suddenly I’m shaking more.

  Chapter Twenty

  I SIT BACK against the headboard and stare at Alessandro as he steps into the dark room.

  “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he asks softly, closing the door behind him.

  “No. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Neither could I.”

  For a long time, we just stare at each other from opposite sides of the room.

  “I don’t really know why I’m up here,” he finally says, looking down at his fingers, which are busy fidgeting with the hem of his T-shirt. “I just felt … drawn.”

  He looks up at me with a question in his eyes, and I scoot over to make room for him on the edge of the bed, both hoping and fearing that he’ll take the invitation. “It’s okay. I feel bad that I’m in your bed, and you’re stuck on the couch.”

  His eyes drop to the bed, then brush over my sleep shirt, which I now realize has one too many buttons open to pass for demure. He breathes deep as his eyes make their way back to my face, and finally, he comes and sits next to me. “It’s no hardship.”

  I grasp his hand. “I’m so glad you brought me here. This has been a really amazing few days. I’m just sorry we have to go back tomorrow.”

  He lifts a hand and brushes his fingertips along the line of my jaw. He lifts it higher and traces my eyebrow and down my nose with is index finger. “You are truly exceptional, Lexie Banks.”

  For a long time, he holds my face and stares into my eyes. My breathing is ragged, but I don’t dare move for fear of breaking the spell. He leans closer, and my heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it, but I still don’t move. His lips brush my down cheek and along my jawline. “You make me question myself … my choices,” he says, low in my ear.

  I want to turn my head so our lips touch. I want to pull him to me and feel that warm, hard body against mine, but I still don’t move. “I’m sorry.”

  His fingers scoop around my neck and thread into my hair, and when his lips press into mine I can’t breathe. His kiss is soft, so gentle, but I feel it ignite a slow burn in my belly and curl my toes. His lips leave mine after a minute, but he stays close, his hand still in my hair, his breath on my face. “You confuse me, Lexie, more than anyone has in a long time.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, then his lips are on mine, more insistent, pressing deeper into me. I part mine, inviting him in, and his tongue slips through and swirls with mine. Our breathing becomes heavier, and the ache in my groin grows until I throb for him.

  But I still don’t dare move.

  Finally, he pulls away. He looks at me a long minute with eyes that burn in the dark, then stands and disappears back into the stairwell without another word.

  I STEP OUT of the taxi onto the sidewalk, having defied death once again. Alessandro bangs the trunk, and the driver pops it open. He grabs my bag and carries it to my door.

  “I trust you’ll be okay from here?”

  “Yeah … I’ll be fine, unless … do you want to come up? We could get some dinner and—”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lexie.” That look is back in his eyes, and I long to grab him and kiss him again.

  He saves me the trouble.

  His arms slip around my waist and he pulls me against his body, crushing his lips to mine. I’ve been waiting for this—hoping for this since his visit to my bedroom last night, but he’s been so careful to keep his distance.

  His tongue edges my mouth, and I open wide, pulling him deeper into me. I lose myself in the feel of his body, his warm musk that envelops me, the desperation in his kiss, and my body responds. An ache grows in my heart and my belly. I want this man so badly.

  The horn blast shakes me out of my shoes, and my heart first leaps with the start, then sinks as Alessandro pulls away from me.

  “Will you come up?” I ask, breathy but bolder.

  He closes his eyes, and his lips press into a line as he fights with himself. “I can’t,” he finally says before opening them. He steps back and looks at me. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  The next second, he’s in the cab, and it’s rocketing away.

  “What am I doing?” I ask myself out loud.

  I hear a clucking noise as I slip my key in the door, and when I turn and look up at the balcony across the street, Grandma Moses is leaning on the rail, tsking me.

  I drag my suitcase up the stairs and into my apartment, then pace circles in the small space between the dining-ro
om table and the door, my hands fisted in my hair. “What am I doing?” I ask again.

  I plop down in the love seat and pull out my cell phone. It’s three in the afternoon, so … eight, seven, six … it’s six in the morning back home. I should wait.

  I can’t wait.

  I dial Trent, sure he’s not going to pick up.

  He does.

  “Hey. What’s up?” His voice is full of sleep, blurry and slurred.

  “I’m sorry to wake you.”

  He clears his throat, and I hear sheets rustling. “No, don’t be. I’m always awake for you.” He’s trying really hard to sound awake, so I won’t feel bad, I’m sure. Just one more reason I love him.

  “I think I might have feelings for Alessandro,” I blurt.

  “But …” throat clear, “you said he’s a priest, right?”

  “Not yet.” I grab a fistful of my hair. “God, Trent. I’m so confused. I don’t know what I’m thinking.” I’m still in love with Trent. I know that by the way my heart squeezes as I tell him this. But, am I falling in love with Alessandro too? Is it possible to love two men? And Trent and I have an agreement. Our friendship and family are too valuable to risk by following through on my feelings. “We just spent three amazing days together at his family’s place in Corsica.”

  “Wow … meeting the family is a big step.”

  “I know, and it felt like a big deal, you know. I mean, he went out of his way to take me to his favorite places. It’s just … he’s supposed to be ordained in six weeks.”

  “So, other than taking you to meet his family, has he said anything, you know, about being into you?”

  “He’s about to become a priest, for God’s sake. He’s supposed to be into God!”

  “I get that. I do,” he says in that voice that can calm me down even when I’m on the edge of a panic attack. “But has he given you any signals that he might be thinking about walking away?”

  “From the Church?”

  “Yeah. I mean, if he hasn’t been ordained, isn’t there still time to change his mind?”

  I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “He said he’s been called by the bishop and taken his vow of celibacy already.”