Draw Me In

by Megan Squires

  “It’s me,” I assured, sweeping my hair back into a ponytail to prove the resemblance. “See?”

  “But it doesn’t look like you.”

  “I had short hair.” That was an understatement. Saying I had peach fuzz would have even been a gross misrepresentation. Honestly, Sinead O’Conner and I could have swapped passports and no one would have been the wiser.

  After a few more moments while the officer appeared to vacillate back and forth between letting me into his country or packing me in a crate and shipping me back to the good ol’ U.S. of A., he slammed the stamp loudly onto the fourth page of my book and waved me through. “Enjoy your time in Italy.”

  “Thank you.”

  While I slipped my passport back into my luggage, both Ian and Leo flew past the officers without question and caught up to me.

  “So Ian says something about a fairy giving you trouble?” Man he was hot. Even after nine hours of travel, he looked fresh and rejuvenated. How did he do that? “I have no idea what that means, but that wouldn’t be the first time I’ve felt that way with you.”

  With my hand still wrapped around my passport, I pulled it out of my bag and waved it Leo’s direction. “The hair.”

  “Oh wow. Or you mean lack thereof.” I tried to read his expression to see what he truly thought of it, but I got nothing. This guy was probably a champion at poker, because that face wasn’t giving anything away. “Did you lose a bet or something?”

  “Nah,” I shrugged, taking the passport back from him. I couldn’t remember what carousel they said to pick our luggage up at, but Ian looked like he knew where he was going, so Leo and I followed behind and continued our conversation. “I did it for charity. One of my students was trying to raise money a couple years back for a cancer walk and she got $100 for each person she recruited to shave their head, $200 if it was a girl. It was a no brainer. Plus, I saved on haircuts for like a year. Total win.”

  Never mind, Leo would suck at poker because the look on his face now was as transparent as glass. Intrigue. Awe. Even a touch of sorrow. It was all there, scribbled in the lines of his creased brow, the crow’s feet feathering out from his eyes.

  In a beat, he grabbed me by the face, two palms cupping my jaw, and pressed his mouth deeply onto mine. Airport patrons swirled passed us, bumping into our sides as we stood planted in place, connected at the lips. I wanted to shout, “I’m being kissed in an airport!” because wasn’t this sort of thing every girl’s dream? I mean, I don’t know that I can honestly name any romantic comedy that doesn’t involve at least one airport make out scene.

  Slowly, Leo pulled back. Light danced in his eyes as he said, “I know I don’t know you very well yet, Julie, but I want you to know that each time I find out something new about you, it’s like unwrapping a present. Thank you for that gift you just gave me.”

  Well, if that wasn’t the most adorable thing anyone had ever said to me. “The gift of seeing me practically bald? That’s not really a great gift. I’d ask for a refund.”

  “The gift of learning more about your character.”

  “I have been told I’m quite a character.”

  Leaning in for a hug, Leo wrapped his arms around my waist, his elbows resting on my hipbones. “That you are.”

  Ian was long gone, and by the time we met up with him in baggage claim, all of our luggage had arrived and we were ready to make our drive to the Tuscan countryside. Leo’s family provided their own personal driver, which shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did because the more that I got to know Leo, the more down to earth he appeared. Things like Italian villas, chauffeurs, and multi-million dollars wine labels just didn’t seem to fit anymore.

  He was slowly becoming more normal, though I wondered if I had the definition of that word wrong all along. He was right when he’d said in the dressing room that it was something measured on a person-by-person basis. Yeah, there were social norms that we all seemed to operate under, but even those were somewhat fluid and morphed as society changed and shifted in its views and ideologies.

  Normal was subjective.

  However, I’m fairly certain it wasn’t considered normal for the leggy and busty blonde that greeted Leo at the grandiose entrance to the Carducci Tuscan Villa to kiss him the way she did. It was that customary cheek kiss I knew to be very common in this part of the world. But the thing about a cheek kiss is that it usually involved at least one cheek.

  And certainly not a little tongue.

  And no ass-grabbing. There was definitely no ass-grabbing involved.

  “Ian!” I hissed, stepping out of the black SUV onto the gravel driveway that led to the sprawling vineyard home. The Villa was expansive, blocks of carved stone and pillars that rose out of the hillside like they were part of the original creation story rather than some afterthought an architect later added to the landscape. I’m pretty sure on the eighth day, God made the Carducci household. “Ian, did you see that?”

  Our chauffeur swiveled around us and to the back of the vehicle to gather our things as Ian slid out of the backseat, his jeans squeaking against the leather friction of the interior.

  “The girl?”

  “Yeah, the girl. Miss July over there just shoved her tongue down Leo’s throat.”

  Shading his brow with a flat hand held to his forehead, Ian squinted toward the direction of the home entryway where Leo and Blondie were quietly exchanging pleasantries, and, I was pretty sure, saliva. “I’m sure she was just being nice.”

  “With a French kiss?”

  “It’s called a European kiss, I think.” Ian’s eyes slivered even more and he craned his neck like a giraffe to get a better view. I half-contemplated asking him to get out his zoom lens so we could better spy what was happening, but I gave that a second thought. And let’s face it, you can’t half-contemplate something. You either contemplate it or you don’t. And the fact that I was contemplating whether or not I was contemplating pretty much meant that I was becoming obsessed with the notion of getting a better view. Stalker-status officially reached.

  “Stop staring!” I whispered, even though it’s exactly what I was doing, and in reality it wasn’t like either one of them were even glancing our direction. “And I know how Europeans kiss. That was not a friendly, ‘Glad you had a safe flight,’ type of kiss. That was a ‘Let me see if I can tell what you had for lunch,’ sort of tongue action.”

  “Well, let’s see if she does it with me.” Ian began walking toward the Villa, then stopped short, flicking his head my direction. His blond hair grazed the shoulders of his beaten leather jacket, the one that his grandfather had left him just last year. “Better yet, let’s see if she does it with you. Then we’ll really know what kind of greeting it was meant to be.”

  I was almost positive I wasn’t a lesbian. But the nerves that shot through me at the notion of planting my lips on that beautiful woman’s made me a little disoriented. I really hoped it wasn’t butterflies, because that would’ve been all kinds of confusing. A sexual identity crisis really wasn’t something I had time for today. Probably not tomorrow either.

  “I’m not going to kiss her.”

  “You don’t have to. Just wait to see how she greets you. If it’s similar, we’ll know it was nothing.”

  He had a point. And I had one to prove, so I confidently marched up those carved stone steps to the front porch, adrenaline pumping through me full force. Whoever the girl was, she appeared just as glad to meet me as she did to see Leo, and she bent her slender frame toward me to deposit an obligatory kiss onto my cheek.

  The problem was, I completely froze and forgot what it was that I was supposed to do or how I was supposed to respond to a strange girl’s mouth careening toward me like that. Should I move my head left, should I angle right? Should I stay in one place and let her take the lead? Oh my God, lips! Was this like a dance where the guy takes control, and in this instance, who was the guy since we were both women? She was maybe just a bit more feminine than me, so was I s
upposed to initiate? Why was this so confusing?

  By the time I remembered the real reason I was here and what Ian suggested I do, I snapped my head up with newfound determination.

  Which was the wrong thing because my lips landed full on hers.

  And to my relief, I was not a lesbian.

  She shook her head quickly, probably a little stunned by the dumb American that obviously knew nothing about European culture. (Which wasn’t true—I knew quite a lot, I just didn’t know how to conduct myself in circumstances where someone else was kissing my man. Sue me.) Quickly shaking off her surprise, she slipped out her delicate hand and offered it to me instead of her mouth. “Buongiorno.”

  Well that completely backfired. Not only did I not have any more information than I did two minutes ago, I’d now kissed my very first girl, and unlike Katie Perry, I didn’t really like it.

  “Good morning.”

  Leo had disappeared somewhere into the depths of the house during my grand entrance, and I could hear several male voices speaking, their accents thick and authentic like I was suddenly swept onto the set of the Godfather or the Sopranos.

  “Julie! Come on over!” Leo called out from down the hall, his voice ricocheting off of all kinds of ridiculously expensive and ornate decorations that coated every square inch of the residence.

  Wanting to hang back to get Ian’s report, but not wanting to ignore Leo’s request, I followed the echo of voices through the vaulted hallway. Paintings taller than my ceiling back at our loft adorned the walls. There were scenes of rolling vineyards, the speckled colors of green and red grapes dotting the patterned vines that twisted across the image. If I hadn’t known better, I could have been tricked into believing I was looking out a window, the paintings were so realistic.

  “There you are.” Hurrying to my side while waving his hand to beckon me forward, Leo pulled me by the elbow toward him and into the opening of a large family room. There were gilded high-back chairs and gold encrusted end tables situated in the middle, and a wall of lead paned windows that framed the acres of vineyards that sloped down the hill, almost in perfect likeness to the ones back in the foyer.

  Leo’s lips brushed against my cheek as he mouthed, “I want to introduce you to my family,” into the shell of my ear. Yeah, I definitely wasn’t a lesbian because that small act alone made all my body parts tingle.

  His family was gorgeous.

  I promise you, I’m typically not one to ogle my almost-boyfriend’s father, but Leo’s dad was hands down the most handsome older man I’d ever seen. It was like traveling in some sort of time machine and getting a future peek at what Leo would look like thirty years down the road. He had graying hair that was naturally sophisticated—that style and shade which didn’t need the help of dye to make him look young because he had a twinkle in his crystal blue eyes that hinted at that youth all on its own.

  “This is my father, Eugenio Carducci.” It was at that moment I realized I had a very boring name. I almost wanted to lie and say my name was Juliette just to fit in, but I’d done the whole lying to impress thing and that didn’t play out so well. “Dad, this is Julie.”

  Taking my hand into his large ones, Eugenio pulled me toward him and deposited a light kiss on either cheek, the way European kissing should be done. “Hello, Bella.”

  Leo’s brother, Gio, was next and must take after Leo’s mom, because he didn’t have that obvious family resemblance that Leo and Eugenio shared. He was equally as good looking, but with lighter hair and darker eyes, their shade nearly golden in color. “Hi, Julie. Nice to meet you.”

  And it was nice to meet them. Surreal, in fact, because I was just getting used to the notion that not only had Leo admitted to having some sort of feelings for me, but that we’d just flown halfway across the world and were now standing in the very center of his family’s multimillion dollar vineyard. This is what dreams were made of. Scrap all of my previous dreams.

  “Come on. I’m going to show you to your room.” Leo dropped his hand onto my waist and I don’t know if it had something to do with the amount of time I’d spent in that airplane, but I was positive this must be what it felt like to lose cabin pressure. Everything in my head went fuzzy. “Gio, would you mind taking Ian and his things to his room?”

  Gio nodded just as Ian waltzed his way into the family room where we were gathered. I figured he got caught up in the hallway admiring the artwork, but some of that delay also might have had to do with our little smooching experiment. I was eager to get the goods from him, but more eager to see my room and get Leo alone for a few minutes. We hadn’t talked much since last night’s surprise visit at my loft, and though I honestly didn’t care if we did any actual talking, I really just wanted some one on one time with him.

  “You’ll be staying in my old room since that’s where the bust is,” he said as we trekked down a hall located off the side of the room we were just in. “I thought it might help to have it in there. I’m not really sure how the whole artist inspiration thing works.”

  “I don’t necessarily need to sleep with my subjects in order to draw them, but it would probably help.”

  Leo tripped. Like he literally tripped on absolutely nothing but my words, because as far as I could see down the stretch of hallway in front of us, the travertine flooring was as smooth as glass.

  “Right, yes. Sure.”

  Leo had been one of my muses. And here I was saying it would help to sleep with my subjects in order to draw them. No wonder he’d tripped. In reality, I should have been the one to trip, and then end up in a contorted heap on the ground with my foot in my mouth, because that’s exactly what I should be doing.

  “So here it is.”

  We’d rounded a turn down the corridor and came upon a solid door that arched at the top and stood at least twelve feet high. It reminded me of something you would find in an ancient castle; every detail preserved like the rightful work of art it was. Etchings of vines and flowers twisted across the frame, bringing the wood to life with sculpted flora. Impulsively, I stretched my hand out to feel the texture underneath my fingertips and appreciate the intricate work with my own hands.

  “This is original to the Villa. Renaldo Carducci, the man you’ll be drawing and the founder of our vineyard, carved it back in 1524. Not only was he an artist when it came to wine, he liked to dapple in many different mediums. Most of the things you’ll find in this room were his creation.”

  I couldn’t imagine how I could be any more impressed with anything on the other side of the door than I was with the actual door, but I should have known better. Leo had the whole ‘never ceasing to amaze me’ thing down like it was his job.

  “Your room, my lady.”

  It wasn’t a room. More of a museum where everything in it was worthy to be placed on display. The four-poster bed mimicked that same pattern on the door, and even the silk draperies cascading from the iron rods above the windows and balcony were intricate damask and brocade in texture. Buttery tones clung to the walls and gold accents glittered on the nightstand and dressers. The room was gorgeous beyond measure, sort of like the man who grew up in it.

  “This is phenomenal. I can’t believe you lived here.”

  “It’s been a few years. But it’s still home,” Leo laughed, walking over to the bust situated on a marble column near the window on the wall opposite us. “And this is Renaldo, your roommate for the next few days.”

  It was as though both Leo and his father had somehow morphed into a bronze creation and were replicated in the statue in front of me. The likeness was so uncanny that it honestly did feel a little awkward to think that this bust of a man would be sharing my living quarters. I could feel the heat of blush spreading onto my cheeks at the very idea of it. I suddenly wished I packed the flannel pajamas as opposed to the silk nighty I’d tossed in last minute.

  “Alright then. That should do it. Do you need any help unpacking?” I wasn’t sure why, but Leo’s words suddenly became forced and too
formal for where I figured we were relationally. “Can I get you anything else to help you settle in?”

  “Hey.” I boldly planted my hands on my new favorite letter on his body, knowing I needed to squelch whatever awkwardness was beginning to brew. “What’s the plan here? Like with us?”

  Leo’s entire frame relaxed, his shoulders dropping. “I’m not sure I have a plan. But I do plan to get to know you better. And I plan to do more of this.”

  Curling his hand around my back, he drew me into his chest, sandwiching my body against his. Just when his mouth was inches from mine, I blurted out, “Who was that girl we kissed?” You know, because I was incredibly awkward like that.

  “What?”

  “The blonde gal that greeted us. You kissed her. I kissed her. Pretty sure Ian did, too.”

  Leo’s eyes rounded. “Why did you guys kiss her?”

  “It was an accident. I’m not a lesbian.” Had to throw that out there for good measure. “But why did you kiss her?”

  Closing his eyes, Leo pulled in a long, deep breath that must have filled his lungs to capacity and then some because it immediately started flowing back out of his mouth in an exasperated sigh. “That’s Sofia.”

  “Oh, okay. Sofia.” Somehow that satisfied me enough and I was very nearly ready to jump his bones when he apparently decided I needed more information. That was probably a good call. Sometimes I was too easy to appease.

  “We used to date.”

  Well, I wished he would have kept that to himself.

  “And we were engaged once.”

  “Engaged in what?” I obviously knew what he was referring to, but I couldn’t help the flood of words that poured out of my mouth. I really hoped he didn’t go into the details of engaging in any sort of activities with her and just let me get away with saying stupid things.

  “It was two years ago, right after college graduation.”

  “Okay.” I couldn’t be upset with that. And truth be told, I wasn’t even upset about the kissing. I just wanted some clarification.