“I couldn’t afford the Intercontinental above the Spanish Steps, not for a three-month stay, at any rate.”
“I am not criticizing. This place looks charming.”
“Would you like to come in and see my room for a bit?” Care to see my etchings, big fella, Sigrid was thinking. I am so transparent.
Sandro smirked. “You are not afraid I will take advantage of your tipsy state?”
“Spero di si. That is what I am hoping for.” Heck, why fight it?
“Well then, show the way,” he said, while checking that the Vespone was secure.
Inside, Sigrid was grateful there was no one in the family-run place waiting in the lobby. She didn’t want any gossip and her landlords were always pestering her—in a teasing sort of way—about finding and marrying an Italian man. She did not want to give the impression that she had achieved the former, because the latter was never going to happen, she kept reminding herself. This was just fun until her return to Canada. She and Sandro had both agreed that love was not to be trusted and not in their future.
“This building is lovely, an old Roman home converted into apartments, I see.”
“Yes, exactly, and you can rent them by the night or by the month at very reasonable rates. My little room has a kitchenette, bathroom, a TV, internet, and bedroom area all for 480 euros. I would say that is pretty good.”
“Are you joking? If it is clean on top of it, you have yourself quite a find here.”
“It is clean.”
Sandro followed Sigrid up to the first story of the building and into the room on the right of the landing.
“Benvenuto,” she said. “Welcome to my home away from home.”
“This room is very nice!”
“Not the luxury you’re accustomed to, I am sure.”
“It is fine. As you say, it is clean and it has everything, including a bed.” Sandro gestured behind the screen, set up to give the appearance of a bedroom, though the place really was a studio. He lifted an eyebrow at Sigrid.
“Can I get you something? Wine in a Tetra-pak?”
“Dio! I will have to fix that. I promise to bring you a case of my family’s best white.”
“So that’s a no? Would you like some herbal tea?” Sigrid turned to her kitchenette and began searching her small cupboard with her back to Sandro.
“I want one thing only,” he said, putting his arms around Sigrid from behind. He nuzzled her neck and pushed his hands up under her shirt and coat. “I wish for us to get undressed and see how much weight that small bed of yours can take.”
And that was exactly what they did, until dawn broke.
“I want to enjoy you and for you to enjoy me,” Sandro announced, as he parted Sigrid’s legs with his hands and buried his head between her legs, using his tongue with exquisite precision and pace. Her reaction was so intense, so strong, that he wondered if her times with him were the only ones where she had enjoyed such ministrations.
“Did this fool Doug never do that for you?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Well, I mean, he tried, but he just wasn’t…I mean he wasn’t that good at it. That sounds mean to say, but the truth can be mean.”
“Ma che stupido.” If this woman were my woman, thought Sandro, I’d be making her scream in delight day and night.
Sandro put his weight on top of Sigrid, lifting her legs over his shoulders this time and thrusting with full force inside her, pumping in and out with increasing speed until both of them collapsed. It was only a matter of minutes before he was ready again, commanding Sigrid, “Get on top.”
She straddled him and he held her hips, pushing her up and down, reaching up and tweaking her nipples, pulling her close to him and licking and biting them as she moaned and repeated his name until they climaxed together. She collapsed on top of him and then relaxed at his side, slipping into a reverie.
“Dio!”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, cara, I did not mean to wake you, but…”
“You didn’t quite wake me, just a jolt. But what’s wrong?
“We did not use any protection. That is what is wrong.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry. Don’t worry. I’m on the pill. I didn’t tell you before, I mean I thought it was better that you use a condom that night back at the restaurant.”
“Of course, yes.”
“I should have told you tonight, sorry. I just didn’t want to ruin the moment with a discussion.”
“No, no, it is fine. The moment was worth my brief panic just now. As long as there is no danger of conception.”
“None.”
“I am surprised, though, that you use the pill. You did not stop when your engagement was ended?”
“No, because I knew I was coming to Rome, and I knew there were a lot of good looking men here and that’s what we North American women are all looking for in Italy. Right?”
“Oh, you are teasing me!”
“A little bit.”
“I guess I asked for that.”
“I would say so.”
“Okay, stop smirking! Now let us get some sleep.”
Sigrid slept soundly until she felt her hand being placed on Sandro: he tutored her in how he liked to be touched and stroked, as he came to pulsating life. He took her head in his hands and moved it down toward his legs. “Only if you want to, cara,” he said.
“I want to.”
And she did, touching first the tip with her tongue and then circling and finally taking him fully in her mouth. He began a slow rhythmic movement, back and forth, as his breath grew heavy and Sigrid moaned, experiencing a sense of power she had never known.
Sandro stopped her, though, before he lost control and pulled her face up toward his, flipping her over and placing a pillow under her hips. He positioned himself behind her and took her from behind, filling her quickly, knowing they were both close to completion. He pulled her hips into him as he came, crying out and jerking several times till he was spent.
They fell asleep again and at 8, Sigrid’s alarm clock sounded.
Sandro looked at her with sleepy eyes. “We should get out of this small bed, which I am amazed has not collapsed. Remember, today we take a number of items out to the animal hospital.”
“I know. I want to. But let me make you some coffee first and you can shower.”
“Let’s save time and we can shower together. And then I’ll take you out for breakfast.”
“Do you think that is a good idea, I mean, us showering together?”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
In the shower, Sandro began rubbing Sigrid’s breasts with a soapy washcloth, then moving it between her legs. “I need to get you nice and clean, cara, so we can start all over again.” Instinctively, Sigrid arched her hips toward Sandro and tried to clasp her legs around his back, but he pulled back.
“Okay, sorry,” she said, “I am being too demanding, I think.”
“Not at all. There is no reason I cannot give you more pleasure, but I am in the mood for something different. Turn around, now.”
Sigrid did as she was told and Sandro held her firmly in place with his left arm, while using his right hand to find the sweet spot between her legs. He placed two fingers inside her, mimicking the motion of lovemaking, and used his thumb to rub her rosy bud. Oh goodness, why doesn’t this man believe in love? His fingers and thumb and the fact that he was licking and nibbling her neck as the hot water fell on them overwhelmed both of them, as she felt his seed spill on the small of her back. When she was finished, he removed his fingers and placed his right arm around her, too, holding her tight.
“Cara, I think we need some fresh air, wouldn’t you agree? I mean, as fresh as air gets in Rome.”
“Yes,” she said, though she would have stayed inside with him all day had they not made a commitment to the animal hospital.
Once dressed, they headed out for breakfast and this time, in the lobby, they ran into
her landlord and his wife. Sigrid made the requisite introductions in Italian, more than a little mortified at what they might have heard last night, or even this morning, and wondering what they must think of her.
She wanted to rush Sandro out and away from them, but suddenly remembered she had to confirm with the Palumbos when their next English lesson would be. “Just wait here,” she said to Sandro, standing just outside the front of the building. She ran back in and was met with two of the biggest, most knowing and satisfied grins she had seen since coming to Italy.
“What?” she said, defensively.
“Nothing Signora Sigrid,” said Signor Palumbo, smiling. “We are happy for you, that is all.”
“Yes,” said Signora Palumbo, winking away, just like the ladies at the Torre Argentina cat shelter had done. “We can tell you two are matti, crazy for each other. When you first came to Italy we were afraid you would always be so serious. Now you are smiling. This is good, yes?”
“Well, yes, of course,” stammered Sigrid. “Anyway, can I see you tomorrow for your lesson, at, say, 11 a.m.?”
“Ma certo!”
* * * *
Sandro took Sigrid to a nearby café for an Americano and a pastry. “Now that is a great breakfast,” he said. “None of those cereals and eggs you Americans eat.”
“Canadians!”
“Fa lo stesso. It is the same thing. Isn’t that also what Canadians have in the morning?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t. Usually I just have fresh fruit and coffee.”
“Brava. You are healthy, but a bit too skinny still.”
Oh man, talk to me baby.
“How about we get our Vespas and get back to the restaurant,” he continued. “I think we will have to make at least two runs to get everything to the animal hospital for the auction. It will take us the better part of the morning.”
“Andiamo!”
The morning was joyous, festive, and Sigrid found herself looking at Sandro differently. She was physically intoxicated by him, yes, but she realized that she loved talking to him, she loved hearing his stories, loved watching his kindness toward his staff and his respect for his father.
Back and forth they went, securing in place various items to Sigrid’s Vespa and Sandro’s Vespone for transport. Shortly before noon they had delivered their final donations off at the animal hospital to a most grateful staff. “With this,” beamed the chief veterinarian, “we will be able to make enough money to provide some pro bono care for people who love their pets but cannot afford expensive veterinary bills. We should also be able to purchase an ultrasound machine, something we are lacking. x-rays aren’t always enough. Thank you both so very much.”
“Thank you,” said Sandro, “for finding Pinot a good home. “How is he doing?”
“Perfetto. Bianca, the young technician who adopted him, says he has taken over her home like a true cat. Everything there is his.”
“As it should be,” said Sandro.
Back at the restaurant, they found their work was not yet done. Giuseppe was sitting on the patio waiting for them. Next to him were two huge bags of cat kibble. “For the Torre Argentina ladies,” he said. “Would you two be so kind as to bring them on your bikes?”
“Certo, papà.”
And so they did, with the gattare, the cat ladies, again winking at Sigrid. They already had her married off to this man, this man with whom she was having a no-strings-attached, sex-based holiday fling.
The next few days went on in a similar manner. Sigrid tutored her landlord and his wife in preparation for their trip to New York and spent her nights with Sandro, usually in her small bed.
“I can’t wait till my father goes up to Tuscany so we can stay at the apartment again and I can get you back in a decent-sized bed. Just imagine what I could do to you there.”
“I imagine it all the time!”
On December 22nd, she no longer had to imagine. They spent the night in the bed where they had first been together. Sigrid was still daydreaming about it, re-living every delicious moment as she and Sandro drove up to Tuscany together in the Lancia on December 23rd.
Chapter Seven
“Italy has truly beautiful countryside, wouldn’t you agree? Sigrid?”
“Hmm? Sorry—what did you say?”
“Italy has beautiful countryside.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Where has your mind wandered off to, cara?”
“Oh, I was just thinking about last night.” She smiled.
“Stop that! Don’t get me thinking about it or I’ll have to stop the car in the forest somewhere, throw a blanket down and ravage you right there.”
“That sounds okay.”
“You are silly. There are wild animals in Italy, you know, and not just the men.”
“Understood. We’ll have to wait till we get to your family home, then.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, before Sandro said, “There’s something I need to tell you. My mother is very old-fashioned, not like my father. So we will have to sleep in separate rooms.”
“Oh, of course. My mother would be the same way. And what our moms say goes, at least in their own homes.”
“Thank you for saying that. I know it might seem silly, because I am in my mid-30s, but my mother knows very little about my romantic past. She still thinks I’m waiting for the perfect woman to marry.”
He shook his head. “But don’t worry, Sigrid. I’ll find ways for us to be together.”
“Oh, will you?”
“Promesso.”
The drive was beautiful, but slightly nauseating with hilly, winding roads and steep climbs galore. The steep descents weren’t much better. Italians sure loved building towns on hilltops—must have come in handy when barbarians were at the gates, waiting to maraud, thought Sigrid.
“You don’t really like being in cars for long periods of time, do you?” asked Sandro.
“What gave it away? The fact that I am clutching the dashboard, the fact that my knuckles are as white as can be, or the fact that I keep reaching for a bag just in case I get sick?”
“I think all three give it away. Also, the fact that you are turning green might be an indication. Yet you love the Vespa?”
“You know, it is interesting. I’ve thought about that a lot. I could be on a motorcycle for hours, but not in a car. It is counterintuitive, of course, because you are far safer in a car with a seat-belt on and all that, then you ever could be on a motorcycle or Vespa. But I think the difference is that in a car you feel boxed in, restrained, contained.”
“So you like your freedom, just as I do?”
“Well yes, but…”
“But what?”
“Nothing.” Sigrid thought better of finishing her sentence, as she had wanted to say, “Yes, I love my freedom, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want a romantic and sexual commitment. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love a future with you and only you.”
Saying that would have ruined the just-over-a-month they had left together and she wasn’t going to do that for anything.
“Well, don’t worry, we are almost there. Actually, our home is not far from Florence, so perhaps after Christmas we can take our Vespas into the city.”
“We can take our Vespas there?”
“Yes, as I said, it isn’t far and then once we get into Florence, they are easier to manoeuvre into parking spaces and around the galleries than a car. You will love it. The city is stunning.”
“I’ve read that people faint and go crazy there from all the art. The beauty overwhelms them. It’s called Stendhal Syndrome.”
“I have never fainted from the beauty of Florence, but maybe Italians are immune.”
You’re immune to way too much, buddy, she thought.
Sandro manoeuvred the Lancia off the main road and onto a path with overgrown greenery on both sides until they reached an imposing stone wall with a metallic gate for a door. He opened his window, pushed in a code, and the gate opened. Wha
t Sigrid saw was most definitely not what she expected.
“This is not a capanna,” she said, quietly.
“No, that is just a nickname.”
“This is a castle or a…”
Sandro laughed. “You Anglos and your castles! You think everything is King Arthur. No, this is not a castle, nor a palace. But it is an old estate that my family bought five generations back and renovated. They bought the vineyard around it, as well. So it’s a, I don’t know, an estate I guess. Is it a mansion, maybe?”
“A mansion would be more like something in the city,” corrected Sigrid.
“Okay, English teacher. Then an estate.”
“Yes, and it is beautiful.”
“But for me it’s just a house, it’s my home, the place where I was raised.”
The front door of the house had a simple Christmas wreath—cranberries and tiny silver acorns interlaced with greenery—and once inside, Sigrid appreciated the classy understatement of Italian holiday decorations. There was nothing garish like in the homes or the malls back home, no tinsel, no Santa’s sled or a blow-up Rudolph or Babbo Natale. Just some garlands on the elegant banisters, ribbons and sprigs of holly here and there, and a tall fir decorated with only white lights and a delicate angel on top in the main sitting area.
At least, Sigrid thought, I hope it’s the main sitting area. I hate to think there’s another that is even bigger and more elegant. Sigrid reflected with dismay at what she had packed for her Christmas with the Tottis. She only had one nice dress and one pair of dress pants and one silk blouse. Everything else was casual.
“What’s the matter, Sigrid?”
Sandro, as usual, read her mind.
“I don’t think I have the right clothes for this place. When I heard ‘Christmas in the countryside,’ I thought of Christmas in the countryside, a rustic sort of place, the country. Not a palace. Okay, it isn’t a palace, but I only have one nice dress, two nice outfits in total. The rest are casual clothes.”
Sandro shrugged. “Don’t worry. You will be fine. Wear the dress at all of the dinners here, and when we go to church, or my mother will kill you.”
Amore and Pinot Grigio - a Guido la Vespa Christmas Tale [Guido la Vespa] (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) Page 7