She shook her head. “No, we’re not in touch. I know she’s living in a retirement village in Florida, but that’s all.”
I didn’t know anything about Caro’s mom—she’d never visited when her dad came to San Diego, so I hadn’t met her.
“Why aren’t you in touch? She couldn’t have been as bad as my mom.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” Caro grimaced.
“What did she do?”
“She didn’t do anything, Sebastian. That’s the point. When I … when I left David, she told me I’d made my bed so now I could lie in it. She didn’t want anything to do with me. Wouldn’t lend me a red cent to help out when I went to New York. She wouldn’t even send me any photographs of Papa. I only have a couple of old pictures of him…”
Her words trailed off, and I automatically went to pull her in for a hug, but she resisted me without even being aware of it. I shoved my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch her again. It was fucking choking me
“Do you see anything of him … David?” I grit out the name of her ex-husband, managing not to spit on the street as I said it.
“No. We had to correspond over the divorce papers, but that’s all. I believe he stayed in the Navy. You said you tried to see him … when was that?”
Really didn’t want to talk about it. I sighed, looking up at her expectant face.
“About four months after you left. It was killing me not knowing how you were, or where you were, or how to get in touch with you. Dad had already trashed my computer and deleted all my email accounts before I went to live with Mitch and Shirley. I didn’t even think the bastard knew how to do that stuff. Took my cell off me and smashed that, as well. Anyway, I was getting pretty desperate, so I went to your old house—but it was a waste of time. The asshole yelled at me that I’d ruined his marriage; I told him he didn’t deserve you and was a bastard for the way he’d treated you. He threatened to call the police. That was it.”
She looked so sad, that my ever-present anger began to boil over.
“You don’t feel sorry for him do you, Caro?” I snapped.
“A little. He just married the wrong woman, but he wasn’t a bad man.” The hell he wasn’t! “But you didn’t ruin my marriage: David and I managed to do that all by ourselves. You … freed me.”
It took a second for her words to sink in. She thought I’d freed her? Thank God.
“Please let me hold you, Caro,” I begged. “It’s driving me crazy that you won’t let me touch you.”
I reached out again, but she stepped away from me. Again.
“Just … just give me some time, Sebastian. I don’t deal with rejection well.”
Her words stunned me. “Is that how you see it? That I rejected you.”
She stared at me disbelievingly. “Of course. There’s no other way to see it.”
I ran my hands over my hair in frustration. Why couldn’t she see how wrong she was? That my anger came from fear—fear that she’d realize I wasn’t worth the effort, and leave me for a second time, a final time.
“Fuck, Caro! Last night was about my shit, not about you. Don’t you see that?”
“No, I don’t.” she said, shaking her head. “Not really. But I don’t want to go over that again. I’m trying to put it behind us … I just need time.”
“Okay,” I sighed. But it wasn’t okay. It really wasn’t.
“Do you want to go find somewhere to eat?” she asked, making an effort to lighten the mood, I guess.
“Yeah, I was hoping you’d say that. Do you feel like Italian?”
She raised her eyebrows, a small smile hovering on her lips.
“Oh, very funny. You should be on ‘Saturday Night Live’.”
We wandered through the crowded streets, checking out some of the cafés and ristorantes.
“What about that place over there because…?” she started to ask.
Suddenly, she lost her balance and I had to catch her arm.
“My camera!” she screamed, pointing at the thief who’d grabbed her and pushed her over.
Not on my fucking watch!
I sprinted after the douchebag asshole, tackling him to the ground and landing several good punches, one of which broke his nose with a satisfying snap. Blood leaked onto his t-shirt, and I was just about to express more of my extreme fucking displeasure, when Caro ran up behind me.
“Sebastian, no!” she gasped.
I uncurled my fists, shaking them out, then stood up, handing the camera back to her. I realized that a crowd was beginning to form, pointing and yelling. I really didn’t want a run in with the local Polizia.
“We’d better get out of here.”
“What about the police?” Caro whispered, her eyes glued to the thief and the blood pooling on his chest.
“Fuck them!”
I grabbed her hand, dragging her through the ring of onlookers who were watching the show. There were a few angry voices aimed at our backs, but no one tried to stop us.
Caro was pale and shaky. I would have thought a foreign correspondent wouldn’t get faint at the sight of blood. Maybe she was just hungry? Or maybe she was pissed that I’d made a mess of that fucker’s face? I never knew what she was thinking anymore. The thought made my gut clench.
I dragged her down a side-alley, and a moment later, we emerged into a wide piazza.
“Are you okay, Caro?”
“I’m fine,” she said weakly, looking away from me.
“Come on,” I ordered. “You should eat something.”
She nodded, and didn’t argue when I led us into a small restaurant pulling out a stool at the bar for her.
“Thank you for saving my camera,” she said quietly.
I was relieved—understatement. “I was waiting for you to chew me out for hitting that guy.”
“Well, I’m glad you stopped punching him when you did, obviously, but I’m very fond of my camera. I worked hard to afford to buy it. Thank you, Sebastian.”
I smiled, shaking my head in amusement. “You never cease to amaze me, Caro.”
Then she reached over and took my hand. “How are your knuckles?”
I chuckled quietly. “Much better now,” I said, running my thumb over the back of her hand.
The waitress sauntered over to take our order and was pretty damn obvious about checking me out while she did it. Better still, it was making Caro pissed, so at least I knew she still wanted me.
“Not my type,” I whispered, jerking my chin in the waitress’ direction.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Caro whispered back. “She’s not mine, either.”
I nearly fell off my stool, my imagination going straight to the gutter.
“Not interested in three-ways?” I croaked.
“I don’t know,” she replied, casually. “Do you have friends in the Marines who are as cute as you?”
No fucking way!
“No. I don’t.”
She laughed, and I’d have done anything to see that happiness on her face again. Although there was no way I’d let her near any of the grunts I used to hang with.
“Tell me about being a Marine,” she said. “What do you like about it? What don’t you like about it?”
“Are you interviewing me, Caro, or is this off the record?” I smirked at her.
“Off the record—for now,” she said.
I decided to answer her question seriously. I hadn’t had a choice about joining the Marines, but I’d been so desperate to leave home, I didn’t care either.
“I get to be part of a family,” I said, shrugging lightly. “The guys I work with, they’re my brothers, like we share DNA. We fight and piss each other off, but I get them and they get me. We’ve all gone through the same things so I guess it bonds us together or something.” I looked at her, “And I didn’t have much of a family growing up.”
She smiled sadly. “No, you didn’t.”
“A lot of guys thought that boot camp was the worst thing ever
, but I loved it. Yeah, it was physically tough—swimming, running, going through exercise courses, and learning how to shoot and take apart guns—but it took my mind off … stuff. For others, the toughest thing was being away from their families, but for me that was the best part.”
“And the downside?”
“Dickhead officers…”
“And their wives?” Caro laughed.
“Well, yeah!”
“Would you say you love it?” she asked, cocking her head questioningly.
“I used to. I was good at something for the first time in my life. Being part of my Unit—those guys were solid. Being a terp, yeah, I like that okay when I’m on deployment, but being stuck in a fucking office all day…” I shook my head. “I’m a good Marine but a lousy desk POG.”
“POG?”
“Person Other than Grunt.”
Caro smiled. “Yes, you always preferred action to words, I seem to remember.”
I waggled my eyebrows at her suggestively, “If you’re offering, ma’am!”
Her mood shifted immediately, and I cursed myself for being so dumb. I wanted a Caro who was happy to hang out with me, not one who was uncomfortable when I flirted with her. Dumb fucking bootneck! I changed the subject quickly.
“How did you meet your friend Liz?”
She smiled at the memory. “We were the only women on a press tour of refugee camps in Darfur. We just bonded. She’s totally committed to what she does and is a complete professional. She’ll go anywhere, talk to anyone, and she’s never afraid to ignore the line we’re being sold by politicians and top brass military. She has an amazing nose for a story.” Caro smiled. “And she parties harder than you do. She’s a wonderful reporter, but she’s no respecter of authority.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty scary. I thought Crawley was going to piss his pants when she targeted in on him.”
“Aw, feeling a little threatened, were you?”
“Hell yeah! My balls were just about ready to curl up and hide.”
Caro shot me an amused look, but then stifled a yawn.
“Are you tired?”
“Yes, definitely ready to head for bed, Sebastian. To sleep.”
Her comment was pointed, but I wasn’t going to let it faze me.
“Okay, let’s see what we can find. There were a couple of streets I saw online that are mostly pensiones. Should we try one of those?”
When I’d planned the trip, I’d worked out that these small, family run hotels were cheap accommodation in the cities—I just hadn’t counted on it being festival time..
“Sounds good,” she said, yawning again.
I paid the bill and we headed out. I was reaching for her hand again when she stopped me, a serious look on her face.
“Sebastian, don’t get mad at me, and don’t read too much into this … but I’d really like to have separate rooms tonight. Just…”
That definitely wasn’t what I wanted to hear. How were we going to work through this if she wouldn’t let me close to her? But she’d asked, and I couldn’t say no.
“Whatever you need, Caro,” I said quietly.
She relaxed immediately, a relieved look on her face.
“Thank you.”
I was so frustrated, thinking of a million things I wanted to say, that I hadn’t realized we’d walked nearly half a mile toward the pensiones in complete silence.
“This is the street,” I muttered, pointing toward a long line of narrow townhouses.
The first two we tried were fully booked and the third could only offer a single room. If worst came to worst, Caro could take that room and I’d find an all-night bar to hang out in—or maybe she’d let me sleep on her floor?
“We could try going more upscale,” I suggested tiredly.
“Well, we have to walk along this street to get back to the main hotel area, so we may as well try a few more on the way,” Caro offered.
“Yeah, okay.”
At the fifth pensione, we struck gold. Sort of.
“I’m sorry, signora,” the owner said to Caro. “I have one room with two single beds, but that’s all. It’s the Festival, you see,” she said, gesturing helplessly. “You’re lucky—I had a cancellation.”
I was willing Caro to take it, but she turned to look at me doubtfully.
“Pajama party,” I mouthed.
She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Si, we’ll take the room. Grazie.”
Oo-rah!
Our room looked like it was last refurbished in the 1970s, but it was clean and had two beds pushed together, and that was all I cared about.
I threw myself down on the bed nearest to the window, smiling as it creaked slightly.
“Not as noisy as last night,” I said, raising one eyebrow.
“I don’t think that’s even possible,” Caro agreed mildly, ignoring my flirting.
I was honestly trying not to, but with her it just wasn’t possible. I counted to ten, then turned to our overnight bag and tossed her toiletry bag onto the other bed.
“Thanks for packing up my stuff,” I said, looking across at her. “I thought I’d probably seen the last of these shirts.”
“What a tragedy,” she said snidely. “You might have had to do something shocking, like buy t-shirts in different colors.”
I smiled, but didn’t reply. She was just pissed that she hadn’t gotten rid of me for the night. I was fucking ecstatic. All I needed was time, I was sure of it. Almost sure.
I pushed open the window and gazed down into the street, watching people enjoying the festival. I’d like to have been down there and take Caro dancing.
“Listen to that,” I teased her. “Sounds like being in Italy.”
She stood and listened for a moment, a small smile softening her expression of irritation. “Yes, it sounds … happy.”
Her words surprised me and I turned to look at her. “Are you happy, Caro?”
She nodded slowly. “Getting there.”
“Good.”
We stared at each other until she looked away, then left the room to take a shower.
I gazed out into the night, imagining a future where Caro and me were together. It was possible, wasn’t it? I’d re-upped two years ago, but other guys in the Marines made it work. I’d be in Afghanistan for the rest of the year anyway, maybe more. But we’d survive—we had to.
When Caro arrived back in the room, her hair was damp and she was wearing an oversize t-shirt and a pair of tiny shorts. Both the sight and scent of her fresh from the shower made my mouth water, but I didn’t want to scare her off.
“Back in a minute, baby,” I said, winking at her.
The shower was cold, which was probably a good thing, helping to deflate my eager dick. Bastard was like a guided missile the way it aimed at Caro 24/7. I can’t say the aching cock and blue balls were doing me any favors.
I tried to ignore everything below my waist.
“You doing your writing?” I asked, as I walked back into the room.
She was sitting on her bed Indian style and typing on her laptop.
“No, just catching up with my girlfriends.”
She’d told me a little about her New York friends while we were at dinner.
“Did you tell them about me?”
“I told them I was traveling through Italy with an old friend.”
Not what I was hoping to hear. Was I still her dirty little secret? The thought pissed me the hell off.
“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” I asked, trying to find something to talk about that wouldn’t irritate either of us. “Look at more old buildings?” Or I could just slit my throat now and save dying of boredom.
Caro smiled, her expression amused. “Whatever. This is all a bonus anyway. Where would you like to go?”
“There’re a couple of surf spots I’d like to check out, if you don’t mind,” I suggested hopefully.
“I don’t mind, Sebastian. I could use some beach time—sleeping in the sun sounds perfect about no
w.”
Relief.
“Okay, cool! The surf isn’t great in the Med, but there are a few breaks that look like they might be rideable.”
I undressed quickly down to my skivvies, then jumped onto my bed, laying back with my arms behind my head, smiling across at her.
“Are you going to tuck me in?” I asked.
Caro shook her head and laughed. “I think you’re old enough and ugly enough to do that yourself.”
“Ugly?”
“Hideous. I can hardly bear to look at you.”
“You could close your eyes,” I offered.
“I could, Sebastian, but I might get the urge to peek.
Damn, she was turning me on. In fact the way she looked in her sleep shirt was making me hard. Again.
“Well, can I get a goodnight kiss?”
“Sure. I’ll ask Signora Battelli if she’s available.”
Fuck no! The pensione’s owner was at least seventy and must weigh 300 pounds. “I’ve never kissed a woman with a mustache.”
“First time for everything, Sebastian,” she laughed.
“Please, Caro,” I begged. “I’ll be good. Promise.”
“Hmm, I’ve heard your promises before.”
I gave her my best puppy dog eyes. They always used to work on her.
“Okay, one kiss. But that’s all!”
Fuck, yeah!
She stowed her laptop back in its bag and sat on my bed, allowing me to pull her down into a hug. She laid her head on my chest while my hands stroked up and down her back.
“We’re okay, aren’t we, Caro?” I asked quietly, seriously.
“Getting there,” she said softly.
Then she wriggled free and planted a quick kiss on my lips.
“Good night, Marine,” she said as she turned off her bedside light.
“Night, boss.”
I listened to her even breathing telling me that she was asleep. I rolled onto my stomach and pushed my hands under the pillow. It was like a dream for me to be with her again. I’d really fucked things up last night, letting a decade of bitterness and resentment ruin our time together. I saw a future with her, and I hoped that she did, too. I had 11 days of leave left to prove I was worth it.
But she was a successful journalist, and I’d be some unemployed grunt with a few language skills that weren’t going to be of much fucking use back in the US. I wouldn’t be able to get a job as a translator because I was shit at reading Arabic, let alone the Pashto alphabet. I was a good terp, but that wasn’t going to get me far. Maybe I could be a fitness instructor personal trainer—it wouldn’t take much to get those qualifications, and I thought the GI Bill would be good for that. I wondered if…
Semper Fi Page 13