A Place in the Sun(74)

Massimo and Katerina were waiting for us outside. I hadn’t seen Katerina since our blowup on the mountain, but one look at her told me she wanted to make up. I didn’t lay into her—I regretted the way I’d shouted at her as well—and without a word, I stepped right up to her and held out my hand for her to shake.

“Truce?”

She grinned, bloody relieved, and pulled me into a hug. “Truce.”

“Sorry I was an utter cow. Pun intended.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Well that was fast.” Massimo laughed. “I thought we’d be standing here for at least a half hour while you two had another go at one each other.”

“We’re very ma-tour,” Katerina laughed, looping her arm through mine and tugging me into the square.

Everyone seemed to know our destination but me.

“Where are we going?”

“To finish that hike we started a few days ago.”

Oh, murder me. They expected me to climb mountains in my state?

“Let me at least go change into some proper shoes.”

Katerina shook her head and kept walking, forcing me toward the train station. We hopped on and headed toward Manarola. Out of the five villages in Cinque Terre, I’d spent the least amount of time there, hardly any at all, in fact. It was where I’d stormed off the other day, so I was familiar with the train station, but the group led me down a stone path toward the sea.

I was concerned about my sandals and sundress, but I looked around and noticed no one else had their hiking gear on either. Gianluca was wearing shorts and a white linen shirt. Katerina carried a hefty straw bag stuffed to the brim with what looked to be beach towels.

We continued down the stone path until we arrived in the center of Manarola, an area I’d never ventured to before. There were pastel buildings and restaurants bustling with tourists, but unlike Vernazza, Manarola was positioned high up on cliffs, giving us a spectacular view of the surrounding sea. Tourists were crowded at the iron railing at the edge of the main square, posing for photos and dipping over the edge to look down. That’s where Katerina dragged me, right to the edge. I looked down and gasped.

There was a massive, naturally formed swimming grotto just below. Crystal clear water surrounded a jagged central rock formation that children were climbing on and then jumping off of. A few fish darted around the edges, staying out of the way of the swimmers. Sunbathers relaxed around the grotto, making use of the smooth granite rocks, worn down from use over the years.

“Are we going down there?”

Gianluca had come up behind me, boxing me in against the railing. “We’re going to swim.”

“I didn’t bring my suit.”

“I know.”

They told me it was a rite of passage to take a hike from Riomaggiore to Manarola, strip off your sweaty clothes, and jump into the water as a reward for all your hard work. Since I’d stormed off the other day, we hadn’t had the chance.

Now, we were going to make up for it.

Gianluca led me down a steep staircase cut out of the granite rock. We carved out a bit of space for ourselves, sliding out of our shoes. The boys tugged off their shirts and I glanced up, aware of all the tourists watching us. I had on a pair of blue underwear and a matching bra, nothing more scandalous than the majority of the bathing suits I’d seen in Italy, but I still felt self-conscious tugging my sundress overhead.

Massimo was already in his skivvies, about to jump into the water. Katerina had stripped off her clothes and was folding them beside her beach bag.

“Nervous?” Gianluca asked, glancing back at me over his shoulder.

For a moment, I just looked at him standing there with the sun shining overhead and the turquoise water at his back. He had beautiful tan skin. Broad, muscular shoulders. Heavy lashes. Thick brown hair and a devilish smirk. He was the most romantic-looking man I’d ever seen, and at times it hurt to look at him. In another world, he would have been an arrogant *. No man is that good looking without taking advantage of it, but Gianluca wasn’t like that. He had a heart of gold, a gentle soul, and I knew that once he loved, he loved forever.

He reached his hand back for me. “Come on, we’ll go in together.”



…



Later that night, alone in the bed and breakfast, I finally worked up the courage to take a test.





THE DAY AFTER we swam in Manarola, I finished gathering Allie’s things from my house. I shipped a good bit of her stuff to her parents back in London, passed on a few lightly worn dresses to Katerina so she could resell them in her shop, and kept a few photos and trinkets in a small shoebox, sealed with tape, for myself. My house felt empty. My closet was half-bare, my medicine cabinet had been depleted of her old prescriptions, and my walls were blank canvases once again. I’d taken down every hint of her and rather than the guilt I’d expected, I felt relief. After all this time, it felt good, right.

I’d build a new life with Georgie in that villa. She’d fill the place with color and laughter and life. And while I feared loving someone else, knowing I could lose them just as easily, it wasn’t strong enough to override the new sense of optimism Georgie had infected me with.

Georgie was youthful and vivacious. She spoke her mind and rarely let anyone else get a word in when she really got going. She was bold and beautiful, adventurous and so full of life, she made everyone around her feel it as well.