by Karin Baine
‘We’re not there yet. Don’t worry. You look amazing.’ He gave her a squeeze but she was only reassured when they carried on past the main dining area and down a flight of stairs.
The restaurant below was small, intimate, with a distinctly French theme. The decor was cream and black with paintings of fruit and old wine caskets dotted around to give it some colour and texture. It would’ve been perfect if not for the fact that it was empty and the chairs were stacked on the tables.
‘You did tell them we were coming, didn’t you? Or are we too early?’ There weren’t even any staff about so goodness knew when dinner was going to be served.
‘I called in a favour. Come with me.’ He took her by the hand and led her past the closed bar and serving area towards the door marked Staff Only. With a flick of a light switch he revealed a spotless kitchen.
‘Ta-da!’
Sophie looked at the empty stainless-steel surfaces then back at him. ‘Ta-da, what? I don’t understand what I’m supposed to be looking at.’
‘We have free rein to make our own dinner here. This is ours for the night. They only use this as an overflow during lunchtimes.’
She got why this might be a big deal for him when he’d spent the last eight months having meals made for him. It was a novelty. To her, though, not cooking every night was a bonus of this holiday.
‘Great. What are we doing? Reheating leftovers?’ She couldn’t muster a whole lot of enthusiasm with a rumbling stomach. Perhaps they should’ve grabbed a plate on the way through the buffet and come down here to eat in peace instead.
Luciano cocked his head to one side and watched her with amusement. ‘No. I’m going to cook for you.’
Now, that changed things. Made it more intimate. Special. He wanted to cook for her and this was as close as she’d get to him taking her back to his place. The equivalent to a fourth or fifth date in her mind. What else would you call leaving the public arena, letting her into his inner sanctum, and trying to impress her with his culinary skills?
‘What are we having?’
‘Pasta.’
‘Oh.’ Her anticipation of watching him show off in the kitchen as expertly as he’d done in the operating room was quashed as quickly as it had sprung up. Even she could throw a bag of pasta into some boiling water. She tried to look on the bright side. Whatever the meal, they were getting to spend some time together.
He pulled out a stool and rolled up his sleeves. ‘If you want to sit there, I’ll get started.’
She sat down while he flitted about the kitchen, gathering ingredients. He opened the fridge and loaded his arms with fresh produce. Which, frankly, she thought was overkill when he could easily open a jar. Then he dropped an onion on the floor and bent down to retrieve it, giving her the opportunity to ogle...and she was definitely grateful for the view.
‘Do you do this often? Take over the kitchen?’
He set the food on the counter before reaching for two wine glasses out of the dishwasher. ‘Never. I cook at home, or I used to. This is the first time I’ve commandeered the galley.’
‘The first time? I’m privileged.’
‘I’ve been saving this too.’ He uncorked a bottle of wine. ‘It’s from the family vineyard. I had to smuggle this on board with me.’
‘Are you sure you want to waste that on me?’ She was honoured he deemed her special enough to crack open the bottle after all this time but she wasn’t sure she deserved it.
‘It’s not a waste when I’m sharing it in good company.’ He poured two glasses and handed one to her.
‘I suppose it beats drinking it by yourself in your room. To good company.’ She clinked her glass to his in a toast then took a sip of the mellow red liquid. It tasted of summer and carefree afternoons in the sun somewhere she wished they were able to visit together.
‘Tastes as good as I remember. Like home.’ For someone who claimed he had been desperate to escape the place he appeared wistful at the reminder.
‘It’s really nice but I imagine we shouldn’t drink too much of it on an empty stomach.’
‘Is that a hint to get on with cooking your dinner?’
‘Not at all. I’m simply saying if we don’t eat soon I might end up dancing on the tables and singing like a scalded cat.’
‘Okay, okay. I’ll get started.’ He opened more cupboards until he found the dry ingredients he was looking for. ‘Although, I wouldn’t mind seeing that.’
‘Cook,’ she said, rapping her knuckles on the work surface.
‘Si, signorina.’
Sophie watched as he poured out some flour, made a well in the centre and cracked eggs into the middle of it. ‘I thought we were having pasta?’
‘We are. I’m making it now. No self-respecting Italian would ever use that dried rubbish. We only use fresh, home-made pasta.’ He started mixing the concoction with a fork and added a dash of salt.
‘You’re making your own pasta? Right now?’ The idea was incomprehensible to her when to most people it was a convenience food made in minutes. Still, she appreciated the effort.
‘It’s not a big deal.’ He was kneading the dough, bringing it together into a ball with a smooth action. The few times she’d tried to make dough it had been a sticky mess, clinging to her hands, the work surfaces and the rolling pin, bearing no resemblance to the pictures in the recipe book.
‘It is to me. I can’t remember the last time I cooked a proper meal. There doesn’t seem any point for one person. Usually I make do with some beans on toast. Sometimes I change it up with some cheese too. I suppose all Italians learn to cook at their mamma’s knee?’
‘Something like that. Everything was centred around our kitchen at home. It’s the most important room in the house.’ After he’d stretched the dough out a few times, he flattened it on the counter with the rolling pin.
‘I need to let that rest for a while,’ he said, then set to work chopping and frying off the vegetables in a little olive oil. Once the sauce was simmering away on the stove, he pulled out some sort of steel trap.
‘What’s that? Some kind of torture device?’
‘It’s to make the pasta. Have you never used one?’
‘I’ve never even seen one before.’ She got up to inspect this strange toy he was completely at ease with.
‘Would you like to try?’
‘I don’t want to ruin anything.’
‘You can’t. It’s fine. Hold this and I’ll fetch you an apron. I wouldn’t want you to ruin your outfit.’ He left her in charge of his creation to get something to cover her clothes. In hindsight, silk wasn’t the best choice for working in the kitchen.
He hung the apron around her neck then leaned in to double tie it around her waist. He was so close she could feel his breath at her neck and all the way down to her toes. ‘Thanks.’
‘We feed the dough in here and wind the handle to flatten it out. See?’ With his head at her shoulder, his chest to her back, he guided her hands with his to make the dough into a smooth sheet.
‘Uh huh?’ She wasn’t paying any attention to what he was showing her, only what he was doing to her by being so close.
‘Your turn,’ he said, testing her. She’d have done a better job of telling him what aftershave he was wearing or what toothpaste he’d used because she’d paid more attention to those details.
As a result, she was all fingers and thumbs, her composure in tatters from having him touch her. His lovely pasta dough got caught up in the machine and fell out in lumps instead of the smooth sheet he’d shown her.
‘Sorry. I should’ve left it to the professional.’ She stood back, leaving him to clear up her mess and try to rectify it.
‘Honestly, I haven’t done this in ages. I think the last time I did this was for... It doesn’t matter. It’s all done now anyway.’ He expertly whizzed it back through the
steel mangle a few times before producing freshly cut spaghetti.
‘It’s all right. You can say her name. We’ve both been as churned up as my attempt at using the pasta machine because of our pasts. You don’t have to hide it and there’s no point in pretending the worst parts of our lives didn’t happen.’ Sophie took her seat again, content to let him chop the vegetables in case she lost a finger too.
It didn’t bother her that he’d done this for his wife. On the contrary, she was glad he was sharing this side of himself with her. Clearly, he was comfortable enough with her to revisit something that meant a lot to him and held lots of memories—something of the life he’d run away from.
He kept winding the dough through until it was a long, silky ribbon. With the last pass through the machine, he cut it into thin strips. ‘Renata. Cooking for her is one of the good memories I have. Sometimes they get lost in amongst the bad. The majority of our lives at the end revolved around tragedy. Now, do you want to set one of the tables in there or shall we eat here?’
Whilst a candlelit dinner in an otherwise empty restaurant would’ve been the traditionally more romantic option, she was content to be here, talking and getting him to open up to her.
‘I’m happy to stay here.’ She pulled a stool over for Luciano and once he’d cooked the pasta, he plated up the meals so they could eat together off the countertop he’d just cleaned.
‘It’s not quite the evening I had planned,’ he said as he topped up their wine glasses.
‘I’m still enjoying it, though, and this is delicious. You can definitely taste the difference with it being home-made.’ Sophie did her best to twirl her spaghetti without splashing sauce over everything and completely showing herself up. Thank goodness for the giant bib she was wearing.
‘Buono.’
‘I don’t think Ryan ever cooked for me. Not like this. He wined and dined me when we first got together but soon it was takeaways and comfortable nights in. By the end of the relationship we weren’t eating together at all. He was always working late. Allegedly. He was probably out wooing his future wife. He left me with a few trust issues and called my judgement into question. I think that’s why I was so defensive when we first met.’
‘I’m not surprised. Although I think he’s the one with the problem if he didn’t appreciate what he already had at home. You’re better off without him.’
‘Yes, I am. It put me off the notion of men altogether.’
‘And now?’
‘I’m coming around to the idea again.’ Was it her imagination or were they flirting during this little heart-to-heart? She was afraid to call it that but there was definitely something springing to life between them again.
‘I know what you mean. It was different with Renata and I. There was no cheating or Vegas wedding involved but I didn’t think there’d be anyone after her.’
‘And now?’
‘I’m coming around to the idea.’ His coy smile was as intoxicating as the wine she was sipping.
‘I just couldn’t face that kind of pain again. All our hopes for the future had been won and lost with the first pregnancy. After she lost the baby, having another became an obsession. We both wanted a family and it became our sole focus. Our carefree life as a couple was over and all we cared about was seeing another positive pregnancy test. If I’d known I would lose her too I would’ve done things differently. We should’ve made the most of every second we had together.’
‘How far along was she when you lost the baby?’ Sophie’s voice was barely a whisper, afraid to appear unsympathetic or obtrusive in the face of Luciano’s heartbreak, but she wanted to get to know him and understand his state of mind.
‘Only a few weeks the first time. Three months the second time. We’d already had the scan, heard the heartbeat and dared to believe we were going to be a family. Ten days later I’d lost them both. It took a long time for what had happened to sink in.’
‘Shock, I suppose. You never expect something like that to happen. I’m so sorry, Luciano. My feckless ex doesn’t even compare to what you’ve lost.’
‘We’ve both suffered but I think the clouds are beginning to clear. I moved on from shock to grief and I think by signing on with the cruise company I moved into denial. Away from home and a life without Renata I was avoiding facing what had happened.’
‘How do you feel about things now?’ About me? she wanted to add, but this wasn’t supposed to be about her. Luciano was sharing the very personal details of the worst time in his life. Something he hadn’t discussed with anyone else. She was honoured that he was choosing to work through his emotions about that time with her.
He exhaled a long breath that seemed to come from deep within his soul. ‘Honestly? I’m not one hundred percent sure. The thought of inviting more potential heartache into my life is terrifying. So is the thought of remaining alone for the rest of my life. Spending time with you has made me realise that.’
‘Just take one step at a time. There’s no need to rush into anything you’re not ready for.’
He nodded. ‘This is good. Just hanging out.’
‘Do you know what I’m ready for now? Dessert!’ It was clear they were both nursing old wounds, unwilling to commit to anything serious that would cause them to reopen old wounds, but at least they were acknowledging that. Sophie didn’t want them to dig so deep that they became maudlin when their objective tonight was to have some fun together. They needed to get their date back on track.
‘What would you like? I’m sure I could make something.’
‘No. You do the dishes and I’ll sort dessert.’ It was her turn to surprise him, even if she was planning on taking a rather unconventional route.
When Luciano had cleaned up and come to see what she was doing at the other end of the kitchen, he burst out laughing.
‘That’s cheating,’ he said as she started up the ice-cream machine.
‘I didn’t know there were rules. If you don’t want me to...’ She turned away and pretended to put one of the ice-cream cones back in the box.
‘I didn’t say that. Please may I have an ice-cream cone too?’
Sophie pulled the lever until the nozzle piped a frilly mixture of chocolate and vanilla dairy goodness into both cones. ‘Why don’t we go up on deck and take these with us?’
She wasn’t ready for the night to end and she hoped he felt the same way.
* * *
There was an open-air movie screening near the bow of the ship, so Luciano directed Sophie towards the quieter end at the back. He was pleased she’d suggested this, otherwise he would’ve had to take her to one of the crew bars to continue their evening, and that would have meant sharing her. And, even worse, shouting about their feelings over the loud music within earshot of his crew mates.
He liked it being just the two of them. That was what had prompted him to make dinner himself and keep the evening intimate. He’d wanted quality time with Sophie, time and space to express their fears about what was developing between them. Neither of them was going to jump into something serious and Sophie wasn’t pressuring him for anything. He didn’t need to be on his guard around her. She had become a symbol of everything that would be available to him in the future.
‘It’s quiet here. I like it.’ Sophie was peering over the side of the ship as she finished her ice cream, watching the wake left in the waves.
Luciano moved over beside her and rested his arms on the rail. ‘That’s because everything’s closed until tomorrow. There’s no reason for anyone to come this way. Sometimes I come here at night for a timeout.’
During the day this area was heaving, mostly with children, for use of the climbing wall and the waterslide. For safety reasons they shut down before sun set. He preferred it when the rows of redundant sunbeds were stacked and the sound of the sea replaced the noise of shrieking.
‘A timeout f
rom what? Being on your own?’ Sophie laughed at her own joke and he decided he preferred that over all other sounds.
‘I suppose I have become something of a hermit.’ He tossed the last of his cone overboard and watched as it disappeared into the darkness.
‘A hermit in plain sight of thousands of passengers and crew. That’s quite a feat.’
‘Yet you’re the only one to notice.’ Of all the people he’d met, of all the friends he’d made, Sophie was the only one who’d gotten close enough to see he was essentially alone. It said a lot about her and how much he thought of her to let her in.
‘Birds of a feather and all that.’ Sometimes an English turn of phrase went beyond his knowledge of the language.
‘Pardon?’ He looked up at the sky, trying to figure out what she was talking about, but he couldn’t even see any seagulls about.
‘Oh, Luciano.’ Her giggle was a glorious sound, even if it had come at his expense, but it was the hand lightly resting on his chest that he took most pleasure in. ‘It simply means we’re very alike. I’ve spent a lot of time on my own too.’
‘Not tonight, though.’
‘No. Not tonight. I’ve enjoyed the company very much.’ Sophie faced him and he found he was jealous of the moon putting the silver sparkle in her eyes and the tongue that had licked the last of the ice cream from her lips.
‘Me too.’ With every word they uttered they were gradually moving closer to each other. No longer fighting the inevitable but fully embracing it.
She tilted her chin up towards him and, convinced this was what he and Sophie both wanted, he captured her mouth with his in a ferocious expression of his desire for her.
Her hand, previously resting on his chest, was clutching the back of his neck. He pulled her forcefully to him, his hands sliding along the cool silk at her back. Everything she’d inspired in him tonight was wrapped up in that kiss. A wish to move on, to live again and enjoy being with someone free from guilt.
* * *