A Place in the Sun(46)

“Why?”

He hadn’t heard her shouting, but when I explained that I was due to go to lunch with Katerina, he nearly choked.

“Georgie! Are you here?” Katerina shouted again right before I heard her feet hit the stairs.

Good. We had a few moments to gather ourselves before she realized we were together, alone, naked in the first-floor bedroom.

“Put some clothes on you, will you?!”

He was bloody distracting lying there in the buff. I’d have stood there, ogling his Adonic body all day if only Katerina hadn’t interrupted. Would it have killed her to come round an hour late? Bit rude to show up on time if you ask me.

I hopped into my dress while also trying to hook on the back of my bra. Gianluca helped me, dropping a kiss to my spine, just between my shoulder blades, before turning to find his own clothes. He really would do me in with kisses like that. A girl can only handle so much romance in one day.

“Shit,” he hissed. “My shirt is out on the stairs.”

I’d forgotten we’d half undressed out there. I hissed at Gianluca to stay put until we were off. He frowned for a minute, I think a bit confused, but there was no time to explain. I winked, pulled open the bedroom door, and shouted up at Katerina.

“Kat! Where are you?!”

She stomped back down the stairs. “Where’ve you been?”

“Down here. Cleaning and all that.”

She arched a brow. “Where’s Gianluca? And why are there clothes on the stairs?”

“Oh, those clothes are old, his nonna’s or something.” I propped my hands on my hips, putting on a brilliant act. “And he’s not here because he went off for building supplies. Well anyway, let’s head off to lunch. I’ve worked up a big appetite this morning.”

“Oh, has your work been especially hard this morning?”

I choked at her question. “Probably harder than it’s been in a long time.”



…



The decision to keep my love life private came naturally. Gianluca and I had no clue what was happening between us, so getting everyone else involved would only make things messier. The sheer volume of advice and warnings and skeptical glares would suck the fun right out of it. It was better this way, perhaps even a little more romantic that our affair was kept secret.

The next few days were an absolute dream. I woke up early and hiked or swam in the sea at Monterosso. Summer would start to fade soon, and I wanted to soak up the sun while I still could. After, I took my time showering and slipping into a loose sundress. I brushed out my long hair, not bothering with a hair dryer. The sea air ensured it dried with a lovely wave to it. I spritzed on a bit of perfume just at the base of my neck. Gianluca loved the smell of jasmine and I loved the feel of his stubble against my skin there. Once I’d finished, I popped round to The Blue Marlin, picked up our tea and pastries, chatted with the locals, and then met Gianluca at the bed and breakfast. Sometimes he was there before me—those were my favorite days. I loved turning the corner into the main square to see him sitting on the front step. Those few seconds when he didn’t know I was there, when I could just look at him. It was hard to take him in all at once—he was too beautiful, inside and out. He’d sit with his elbows on his knees, seemingly lost in thought. He’d run his hand through his thick hair and stare off in the distance, but as I walked closer, he’d catch me there in the square and flash me a massive smile with his deep dimples. I swooned every time.

Some mornings we’d pretend to get to work, eating quickly and then departing to separate corners of the building. Now that we’d finally finished clearing the place out, restoration was coming along slowly but surely. Gianluca was doing a brilliant job of fixing all the electrical and plumbing issues, and I was working on painting and cleaning, sprucing up every inch of the place and getting everything in order for guests.

Those moments when we pretended to work never lasted long. I’d barely manage to lay blue tape around the trim of one of the walls upstairs and Gianluca would come up behind me, wrap his arms around my middle, and carry me down to the first-floor bedroom like I weighed nothing. I would put up a protest and moan about needing to work, but we both knew it was only an act. That small bedroom was quickly becoming heaven on Earth.

We’d spend hours exploring each other’s bodies and slowly building on the day before, though we steered clear of the final act. It was Gianluca’s doing. If I’d had it my way we would have christened every room in that bed and breakfast—and I wasn’t sure why he insisted on waiting. He avoided the question whenever I asked. The first time we were alone together, we’d been without condoms, but the longer we waited, the more I suspected there was something else at play, almost like Gianluca was holding off on purpose. I hated it. This in between, where I could feel him against me but not inside me was prolonged torture. He was always the one to pump the brakes. I’d protest with an exasperated laugh, but he never listened. I knew he was as starved for that final act as I was. I mean, I felt him, touched him, teased him. The man had the constitution of a monk as far as I was concerned. And I know it sounds greedy. I mean, we were still there, in that bed and breakfast, memorizing every inch of each other’s bodies, but it wasn’t enough; I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted to make love with Gianluca.

In the afternoons—after spending the morning in bed fooling around, but not quite doing the actual deed (groan)—we’d finally manage to get a bit of work done. Gianluca would take the train into La Spezia for supplies, or I’d pop around shops in Cinque Terre to get necessities for the guest rooms: new pillows, sheets, towels—we needed everything. I splurged on a few nice paintings to hang in the rooms and Gianluca balked until he saw them hung with the new light blue paint color.