‘I spend my life serving you! What’s the difference?’ I blurted, not pausing to regain control. ‘If I’m his servant or yours, what is the difference? At least with him I will run my own business. I will be part of a family, not paid to pretend to be one. Not paid for friendship!’
His eyes streaked with defense now too.
‘Is that what you really think of what’s been going on all this time?’ I watched him deepen his breaths, forcing his voice away from anger. ‘Tell me we both couldn’t tell, whilst we gardened at dawn, in the food you cooked with such care, in the times we shared a space doing nothing but watching Elizabeth. Tell me, with your hand on your heart, that you couldn’t feel something more than an employer and his employee? Tell me I’m a deluded man chasing childish fantasies. Because as I stand here looking at you now, not saying a word to the contrary, I’m wondering if that isn’t the truth after all.’
I stood motionless, wielding a stubborn shield against his words. Not wanting to admit that of course I had felt it. That it slipped through my every action. That it trailed me in the silent reliving of my dreams. How could I stand out here and allow him to see the passion that stirred in me? If I did, there would be no turning back. If I did, how could there ever be a future for me in this house? Yet how could I carry on working here if I didn’t? And then where would my path lead me? Down a narrow street into Paolino’s arms and a life I never wished for myself.
‘Then go to your grocer! Walk away from your future, Santina.’
‘What future? I am your serving girl. No more. And you stand there, saying things that aren’t real because you know you can. Because you know you’ve trapped me. That’s what a man like Paolino does! You are no different!’
‘Of course we’re different!’ He stepped closer to me now. I’d pricked his pride. It smarted.
‘You both pour out your feelings over mine,’ I continued, not allowing him to interrupt. ‘There’s no space for me! You’ve both made me a puppet. Neither of you have any more feelings for me than you do your own shadow!’
He looked into me. I knew my words were brittle and untrue.
So did he.
That’s why he didn’t move. That’s why he held the space for me to hear what I’d said. That’s why he waited to watch me surrender to my instincts. I looked at his face, streaked in the moonlight. I saw the familiar intelligence there, an ardent desire.
To win the argument?
Or to hold me?
He took a breath, searching for a way to unfold the truth, his voice lowered into a murmur, the unhurried glow of a dipping sun. ‘My feelings overwhelm me.’
We breathed in the quiet. A ripple of laughter rose up from the bay.
‘That was what I wanted to apologize for,’ he said, at last.
Nothing but shadows between us now.
‘I’ve fallen in love with you, Santina.’
The words were light and terror. Flight and obliteration. He stepped closer. I had no fight in me. He looked through me. His hand reached for the side of my neck. His gentle fingers rested there, waiting for consent. His lips pressed onto my skin. I left so many thoughts somewhere in the sparkles of starlight streaking across us, as he raised me up, as I wrapped myself around him, as we gave in to what wasn’t ours to articulate. I felt his lips hot and tender on mine. I felt the moonlight twist around our knotted silhouettes, casting guilty shadows along the tiles.
I left my conscience somewhere on that terrace.
CHAPTER 16
His hand reached for mine. I followed his lead through the shadows to my room. He turned back toward me, lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it.
‘Is this the part where the servant girl gives in to her master?’ I asked.
My hand slipped out of his. He sank down onto the edge of the bed, his hands clasped, head bowed.
I resisted my instinct to apologize for my bluntness.
‘Yes,’ he said, his head shaking, ‘this is exactly how it must seem to you.’
‘It’s not how I feel. But it’s what I need to know.’
His eyes met mine. Every fiber wanted the touch of him. Every ounce of self-respect I had protected from the moment I left the mountains begged me to hear reassurance from him.
‘I watched you arrive in our home, barely out of childhood, Santina, but with a swagger and pride to your gait that revealed your intelligence. Your sense of self is compelling. Your self-reliance. That’s the woman I took in my arms on the terrace, not a subordinate who will do as I ask because I pay her.’
I had never heard anyone describe me, let alone in these terms. Tears pricked my eyes. I refused to let them fall.
‘And now you stand there, swallowing back those tears because you can’t bear to hear how beautiful I see you are. How many young women would have done what you have, Santina? How many would have grown into a mother for another’s daughter? How many would have set their hearts on a life beyond their tiny town whatever the cost? How many would have taken on their education with such an open heart, with such a drive to know more? Open themselves? Search out who they are supposed to become?’
‘Many, I suppose.’
‘No. Only those with fire. Adeline saw it too. That’s why she insisted you come and work for us.’
‘And we betray her.’
‘Do we?’
‘Please be honest now. You’ve taken time to earn my trust. You’ve laid knowledge at my feet, and the world you’ve opened to me is more beautiful than I dare admit. You chose to do that. Nobody forced you. And you lit up. And you lit me up too. I want to let my tears of gratitude fall right here, but I can’t, because what we speak of will break that trust now. Every gram of it. And for what? A moment to satisfy your pleasure?’
‘And what about yours, Santina? What about how you feel? Let’s both be honest now. You and I are made of strong stuff. We’re not faint-hearted. But we can’t control every aspect of ourselves. Why would we want to? To half live? To feel less?’
The answer smarted, pricking the pause.
‘The woman I married disappeared a long time ago, even before you came to us, perhaps. I will never stop loving Adeline, but I don’t know how long I’ve been without her. Or if I’ll ever know her again.’
I held his gaze. My breaths quickened. I felt weak, scored with a spectrum of sensations I’d never felt before.
He stood up and walked over to me.
I watched as he moved in to kiss the base of my neck. I felt his lips brush my dress by my stomach. I saw him kneel down before me. He kissed my calves. His fingers traced my thigh. I stopped him with my hand.
‘We can’t do this.’
‘Santina,’ he began, looking up at me, his face lit, ardent, ‘this is bigger than either you or I. You know that.’
‘I think you like being in control.’
‘I do. And I’m not. This is me surrendering. I don’t want to conquer you, Santina. Let me love you. For one night. Please let me show you how I feel.’
I loosened my grip on his hand. He smoothed the back of my wrist with his thumb. I felt his fingers reach further up my thigh. My muscles clenched in defense.
He wrapped his arms around my legs and held me. I felt his heart beating against the top of my thighs. I knelt down to face him.
‘I’ve never been here before,’ I said, sinking into vulnerability, wondering if that proved me brave or a coward.
‘I know,’ he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, ‘let us be gentle with one another. The night is as long as we need.’
His lips found mine. The smell of his skin was woody, mountain air and salty, pine-toasted breeze.
‘Take all of me, Santina,’ he whispered into my ear, brushing it with his lips.
My hands ran up his neck toward his hair. I let his tongue find mine. Neither of us led. We searched together, molding the moment between us, two children working clay, wordless, playful, complicit.
Then he stood and lifted me up, laying me down ont
o the bed without force or hurry. This night would be our lifetime of love. This was the one moment we could express what wasn’t ours to share. My body opened as he traced his tongue up my thighs, as he eased away my underwear, as he gazed deep into the heart of me.
I’d never felt so bare or so safe.
‘You are perfect.’
That’s when the tears came again. Involuntary, brutal. The words were never gifted to me like that before. Not even my mother had couched her love like that. Hers wasn’t a verbal love. We had an unspoken bond. My father had always made me feel like I was nothing but a yoke around his neck. An unlovable. The feeling hit me like a boulder.
The Major raised himself on top of me and wrapped his arms around me.
‘Cry as you need, Santina,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘I want to cry too. I want to let my tears fall with abandon. I’ve kept them locked away for so very long.’
‘I’m not crying because I feel guilty,’ I sputtered. ‘I’m crying because no one has told me such a thing. Not like this.’
‘I mean every word.’
Every moment of what followed is etched in my mind, a dream a person is sure passed through them but which cannot exist beyond the shadows. In that nebulous place his fingers traced every curve of my body. His tender touch was gentle questions, probing for consent, uncovering the hidden wisdom of my body. It intuited every shift within me. It eased me into myself so that at last I relinquished all control and allowed the sensations to light through me, to the will of our bodies without judgement. And as we moved into one another, as we filled each other, the moon shadows played with our spirits crumpled in the sheets.
My body scored with electricity. My tears flowed. I felt his hands around me. He didn’t stifle my cry. We ebbed to stillness.
He propped his head up with one hand and gazed down at me.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
I turned my tear-streaked face to him, warmed by his startling openness.
‘I don’t want to apologize for my tears,’ I said, my breaths deepening at last. ‘There’s bitter happiness inside them.’
He didn’t rush to answer. He wanted me to fill the space.
‘I’m not a girl any more.’
‘You’re radiant.’
He kissed my bare breast. Out of instinct I reached for the sheet to cover them. An absurd gesture I realized, bearing in mind what we’d just done.
‘Are you cold?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then let me adore you some more.’
I sighed a laugh. He silenced it with a kiss.
‘I feel afraid,’ I said in a whisper.
‘We surrendered to something beautiful, Santina. These moments are fleeting in a lifetime. We paid reverence.’
‘You make it sound like we were at church!’
He sat up now. His chest was wide with tufts of blondish hair. I rose to my knees and followed the impulse to run my fingers through it.
‘You are a special soul, Santina. Never forget this.’
I kissed his chest. I let my lips find the base of his neck.
His hands smoothed my hair.
The feeling ached.
He eased me down onto my back. His hands wrapped around my knees. They fell open to him.
I knew there was no other place I’d rather be.
He moved himself lower, till he was kneeling upon the tiles, then drew me toward his mouth. His kiss wove inside me, a golden thread rooting me, sending splintering light through the top of my head. He pulled away for a moment, his gaze questioning whether I was comfortable. There were only two of us left upon the edge of our Positano cliff; just us, our sea, our canopy of stars. Waves of pleasure rose through my limbs. I let the tide carry me.
He rose back up. His face was level with mine again. Our breaths mingled. He traced his nose down mine. ‘Santina,’ he murmured in my ear.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m ravenous.’
I frowned, feeling a sudden pang of embarrassment. He felt me stiffen.
‘I mean, may I cook for you?’ he asked, lighting up, adding even more absurdity to the unfolding of our evening.
‘It’s night,’ I replied, a feeble stalling, I knew there would be no stopping him if he had decided it to be so.
‘Yes.’
I opened my mouth to offer some reply but none came. He leapt off the bed. I watched him retrieve his shirt. He gave it a shake and spread it open for me to slip my arms into. Off my frown he cocked his head with a smile.
‘Yes, in order to fit into this garment you will have to arise and for a moment enjoy your nudity.’
I didn’t move. He waited for a moment and then squatted down beside the bed.
‘Santina, it would break my heart if you thought that after all this time I hadn’t learnt at least one dish from watching your artistry. You’ve gifted me your trust in the most beautiful way I could have imagined. Surely allowing me to cook won’t be that painful?’
I laughed at that.
‘Don’t tarry, I’ve been practicing my acqua pazza, in my mind at least, but I should be delighted if you’d sip wine and oversee the proceedings.’
I don’t remember how I slipped into his shirt. I think I’ve erased all the memory of him closing each button with a kiss. How he took my face in his hands once again and planted his warm lips upon mine. We charged toward the ridiculous midnight feasting plan.
He opened the kitchen doors onto the lower terrace and pulled out a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. We clinked. I felt like an imposter for a moment, an amateur player saying the lines in the wrong order, moving through awkward gaps in her memory, trying her best not to crash into the scenery.
‘Look at me, Santina.’
I placed my glass on the counter, noticing I left my hand there as if the slab of marble might steady me.
‘The world can wait until tomorrow.’ His eyes shifted a melancholy blue. I couldn’t decide if we were running away or unpacking the truth. It was a frenetic sensation; a delicious escape and an ugly truth. He raised me up onto the counter. Raced his hands over my breasts.
‘I’m looking forward to your dish,’ I replied at last, returning his kiss.
Reality could wait after all.
He insisted I sat doing nothing but keep a watchful, judgeless eye upon him, as he lifted two fish from their paper wrapper, bruised a clove of garlic and slipped it inside each of them, dipping them in seasoned flour. He set them to crisp in a pan with hot butter. After a few minutes – I marvelled at his innate timing but would scarce allow myself to admit I’d noticed – he set them aside upon a tea towel-covered plate to blot the excess fat. I watched him tip a further two smashed cloves into the warm pan, adding several handfuls of cubed vine tomatoes from the garden and a generous grind of salt and pepper. He splashed the pan with water. The scented steam filled the room with savory promise. Out of instinct I stood up, sensing he ought to add a little more liquid for the acqua pazza, or crazy water as he called it. Whenever I made it he declared it appropriate for his household. The joke sat at an awkward angle for my taste but delighted his sardonic sense of humor.
‘I know, Santina,’ he said waving me off, ‘that was just to help scrape off the crunchy bits at the bottom, I’m pouring in some stock now.’
‘Stock?’
‘I picked up some shellfish when you were gone. I practiced what I’ve watched you do many times. I can’t be sure it will taste the same, obviously, but I followed the recipe to the precise instructions.’
He lifted a lid off the pan on the back burner and dipped a ladle into the thick coral liquid. The scent deepened and grew more complex, the deepening syrup of the softened garlic muddled with the tangy intensity of the shellfish broth and the concentration of heat-sweetened tomatoes. My mouth watered.
‘And before you ask, yes, I passed it through the passatutto, or, as we say in the grey country, food mill. And yes, it does alter its texture and intensifies the taste.�
�
‘And yes, you ought to pay more attention before your tomatoes are burnt passata,’ I replied.
He switched away from me and focused on the pan. My stomach rumbled. When the smell of anticipation became almost unbearable, he placed each fish on a plate and spooned the fragrant red sauce over it. He took both plates out to the terrace.
‘I’m not dressed.’
‘You’re wearing an enormous shirt,’ he replied, walking past me. I stood inside the doorway. ‘You and I both know this is the only house in your entire town that is not overlooked. I cannot see out. No one can see in. This grand prison is the seat of true liberty, Santina.’
He set both plates down and beckoned me outside. I was barefoot and giddy. I sat down.
He took a deep breath. ‘I meant everything I said.’
I held his gaze.
‘It’s cruel,’ I replied.
‘The truth can hurt. It’s a cliché most people subscribe to.’
‘I don’t want to be a cliché. Another employee who falls under the charms of her employer.’
‘You know that’s not what is happening.’
‘I sense it isn’t. But I can’t know.’
He resisted replying.
‘Tomorrow? We live with this aching guilt. Who do we hurt more? Us or Adeline?’
He turned his head a little, listening to the cicadas applaud the moon. ‘Tonight we hurt nobody. Tonight we belong nowhere.’
He turned his steel blue eyes toward me.
‘I want to believe you so very much,’ I replied.
‘Maybe you won’t. But it is the truth. My truth. I long for it to be yours too.’
A whisper of breeze lifted the shirt off my back a little.
‘Apetito, Santina.’
I smiled, hoping I would convince myself.
Hoping the thorn in my chest might ease out by morning.
*
We slept in a knot at the center of my bed. He’d carried me upstairs after our dinner, lain me down. We’d creased the sheets with more lovemaking until the dead of night swallowed us into slumber. My head rested in the nook by his shoulder. Delirium eclipsed my guilt, until the doorbell clanged, sending a charge of panic through me.
The Secret Legacy Page 19