by Diana Fraser
He trailed his finger down her cheek, her neck, pausing on his downward movement, to briefly caress the dip at the base of her throat. “Here goes…”
Ursula’s breath hitched, and her eyes fluttered closed as Demetrio’s words caressed her every bit as effectively as his hands.
* * *
Later that night, after a long, protracted and delicious dinner, Nonna reiterated her invitation for Ursula to continue her stay until Twelfth Night.
“You should stay, Ursula. Twelfth Night is the proper festival.”
“You’ve been more than kind offering me your hospitality over the past week. But I can’t stay any longer. I have to return to work.”
“And your family. No doubt they are anxious for your return.”
Ursula’s smile faded, and she shrugged. “I guess.” She nodded too vigorously to convince Demetrio whose brow was raised in query. “Although they’re all pretty busy.” But her reply appeared to satisfy the rest of his family who turned to watch Carolina sing a Christmas carol.
Demetrio pushed away his plate. “Ursula, if your family are busy elsewhere, what’s to stop you from staying until Twelfth Night, as my mother suggests?”
“I can’t keep extending my stay, Demetrio. I need to return to my life at some point.”
“Then why don’t you make that point after Twelfth Night? I’d like you to stay,” he added quietly.
She escaped answering by the arrival of Marianna and a plate of sweets. As she engaged in conversation with Marianna, wanting to keep her with them as long as possible so she could avoid answering Demetrio, Demetrio’s father called him away. Only then, once the pressure was off, could she relax, and consider Demetrio’s request. They’d gotten so close that afternoon, physically and emotionally, but still there was a barrier between them which she couldn’t imagine being overcome.
Was she reading too much into everything, imagining this whole thing between them? It wouldn’t be the first time that a romance which existed in her mind didn’t mirror reality. What if he was just being polite? She didn’t think she could stand it if he was. Because she was falling for him as surely as if she were tumbling headlong down a steep hill with nothing to stop her fall.
But what had he really said? Nothing more than his mother had said. But then there were the kisses… and more. But, he was a man, and in her experience men’s physical drive had no connection to their emotions. No, she had to stop it now because if she stayed, she’d only fall harder for him, delay the pain she’d feel when they parted. Why postpone the inevitable?
Demetrio returned and sat down. “So, have you thought about it? Will you stay?”
She smiled a bright and breezy smile and stood up. “It’s so kind of you to invite me. But I have to go.”
His eyes narrowed, and he looked away quickly. She rose and took her plate to the kitchen sink and began talking to Marianna. Ursula glanced at him and he caught her gaze. She looked away again quickly.
“Then, Ursula”—she turned to find him standing staring at her with a determined look on his face—“we should return to Florence tomorrow.”
“But I can use the hire car—it’s still in the garage.”
“No, I’ll take you. The road is treacherous at this time of year, and I’ll return in a few days. You’re welcome to stay at my apartment the night before your flight leaves, or a hotel. Whichever you prefer.”
She nodded hesitantly. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he said in the coolest tone she’d heard him use since she’d arrived. She returned to the kitchen sink, only glancing around as he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.
“Demetrio!” called Nonna, after him. “Where’s that boy gone to now?”
Marianna glanced at Ursula who couldn’t meet her eye. What had she done? But she knew. She’d hurt someone who’d offered her nothing but kindness.
Chapter 7
It had been hard to say goodbye to everyone, knowing she would never see them again. Because how could she? They wouldn’t be visiting Sweden anytime soon, and her? How could she return to these wonderful people, and not torture herself with wanting what she couldn’t have?
And if leaving Abbadia had been difficult, the journey to Florence with Demetrio was even more difficult. After five minutes of silence, Ursula cracked.
“I’m sorry, Demetrio. But I couldn’t stay. I just couldn’t.”
He didn’t even turn to look at her. “I understand,” he said coolly, before checking his rear vision mirror and overtaking a truck.
“And what exactly do you think you understand?” She was beginning to feel annoyed. Why should he be irritated that she didn’t do as he wanted? Did he think she was ungrateful, or was he angry he hadn’t gotten his way?
“That you’re scared, of course. Scared to make a decision that could change your life.” He shrugged. “It’s a shame. I’d hoped you would.”
Her anger deflated. That wasn’t how the script had run in her head. “How can I make a decision that would change my life based on a few days with strangers?”
That made him look at her, but the coolness in his glance made her wish he hadn’t. “Strangers? Is that what we are? Even now?”
“No, of course not. But… still, I can’t turn my whole life around, based on a few days. Even if they were a fantastic few days, it would be rash.”
“Risky even,” he added.
“Risky, rash.”
“Plain foolish.” His face betrayed no emotion.
“Exactly.”
“Okay, I get it, Ursula. How about we simply enjoy our last night together? We can go out and meet my friends, and I can meet the friend you were telling me about and have some fun? No strings, no demands. Just nice, simple fun? Yes?”
She sighed. “Yes. Nice. Simple. Fun. I like the sound of that.”
* * *
“Well, this is it.”
Demetrio watched as Ursula stepped into his apartment. “Apartment” was a grand name for something so small.
He was suddenly aware of how homely, how ramshackle his surroundings were. Especially when compared to Ursula. She walked into the room like a white swan gazing upon a muddy duck pond, as if she knew it were possible for someone to live there, but she couldn’t imagine how.
Irritated by the comparison that had instantly sprung to mind, Demetrio went to the kitchen and plucked some cups and glasses from the wooden shelves he’d built.
He followed her gaze around the dark painted walls—the books, lamps and things of sentimental value to him—to the battered brown leather settees with mismatched cushions, some of which his sisters had made at school.
“It’s… lovely,” Ursula said. “So…”
“Homely?”
She turned to face him, alert to his ironic tone. “It’s homely in the sense that it’s a home, but not in the sense it’s plain. No, I was going to say it’s so… you.”
It didn’t reassure him. “Right. Well, would you like tea, coffee or a glass of wine?” He tried to remove the spike from his voice, but knew it was still there by her frown.
“Wine would be lovely.” She sat on the buttoned leather sedan, and ran her hand over the table he’d made from one of his own trees, which had been struck by lightning. “You made this?”
“Yep. I guess it’s pretty obvious. Couldn’t buy something like that, if you tried. And who’d try?” He winced as he turned his back to her. What the hell was he doing? Making light of something that was important to him. He’d poured his heart and soul into that table, deciding not to deepen the colors with oils, but to lighten them to better reveal the grain. It was like looking a tree made silver by moonlight.
“Just about anyone,” Ursula said. “And the way you’ve finished it looks amazing with the retro black leather.”
“Retro?” He grunted. “I suppose it is. I inherited it from a great aunt of mine—my grandfather’s sister, who was an artist.” He indicated a small painting on the wall. “She painted that
.”
Ursula rose to look at the painting. “It’s Abbadia San Alexis, isn’t it?”
The way she said the name of his hometown was beautiful. He walked up behind her, ostensibly to better see the painting, but instead studied the fall of her hair. He’d never seen hair that color before, so pure and vivid. He wanted to touch it. Instead, he thrust his hands into his pockets. “Si. It’s the waterfall in summer.” He pointed to a figure in the foreground. “That’s my father when he was young, with the rest of his siblings. I did the same thing when I was that age. And no doubt my grandfather did, too.”
“I can’t imagine being tied to one place like you are to Abbadia.”
“A tie?” The reverie broken, he returned to the kitchen. “A tie,” he repeated. “Like a shackle, a ball and chain, an unwilling connection.”
“I didn’t mean that.” She turned to him. “A connection is a connection. And your family has it with this land. Why are you trying to twist my words?”
He sighed, set down two glasses and smiled ruefully. “Maybe it’s my turn to be defensive. It wasn’t just the settee I inherited from my great aunt, but this apartment, too. I’ve had it since I was eighteen, built those shelves, brought things into it. Old things, of course.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“I’m sure you don’t really think that.” He opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. When he turned back, she was standing with her arms crossed, mouth stern.
“And why would I say it, if I didn’t think it?”
He looked around the apartment, trying to see it through her eyes. The apartment reflected him and all that he held dear in his life. But it was also an accumulation of other people, other times. He hadn’t thought about it before but, as he looked around, he realized he hadn’t brought anything new into this apartment until now. Until Ursula.
Up till now, he’d been living in some frozen state, stuck in the past, and he hadn’t even known it. He’d accused Ursula of being unavailable emotionally when, all along, he had been, too. It had taken him to look at his apartment through Ursula’s eyes to understand that, while he may have been happy enough before he met her, his life had been a shadow of what it could have been—a shadow of what it could be, with her. He loved her, and he couldn’t bear to let this new-found radiance shine its light away from him.
He placed the glasses on the table, and they sat on opposite sides. A silence descended during which they exchanged awkward glances as they sipped their drinks.
“So… your last evening.” He smiled briefly. “I’ve run out of traditions to keep you.”
She looked away, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. And he didn’t want to know either, in case he didn’t like it.
He jumped up and strode over to the window. “Looks like it’s stopped snowing. It’s forecast to thaw tomorrow. You shouldn’t have any problems flying out of Florence.”
“I have to go, Demetrio. I have to return to my life. It’s not like you need me here. You have your family, your world. Your life is here. Mine isn’t.”
Surely she had to see that he wanted her to stay? He’d practically been begging her not to leave every day since she’d arrived. He’d managed to get a few extra days out of her, but he couldn’t go on asking her to stay. It had to come from her.
“Demetrio?” Her soft voice was right behind him. He turned around and the sight of her blonde hair, even brighter in the reflected light of the snowy world outside, made the breath catch in his throat. The message in her blue, almond-shaped eyes was clear—she wanted something. But what it was he didn’t know, but he was going to find out.
“Tell me, Ursula”—he raised his hand and stroked her silky hair—“what is it you want?”
“Can’t you guess?”
He shook his head, not daring to hope.
“I want you, of course.”
He groaned and reached out and brought her face to his, holding her steady, not wanting her to escape, not yet. But he needn’t have worried. Her only movements were toward him, not away from him.
It was she who lifted her face to his and kissed him. But not tentatively, there was no diffidence in the kiss. She took control, pressing her lips to his with an urgency which surprised him. She always seemed so in control, so calm, that he was shocked to feel the depth of need that lay beneath the surface. He opened his mouth, and her tongue slid against his.
She gasped against his open mouth as she pressed closer. She moved against him, exploring his body with her own, just as her tongue and mouth explored his. Her hands spread over his back and lower, over his behind, pressing him even harder against her.
Their movements quickened, as desire overtook them. She slipped her fingers under his shirt, caressing the bare skin beneath, just as his hands ranged over her body, taking in the curves of her shoulders, the indentation of her lower back and then down to her behind, lifting her against him.
Still kissing, she curled her legs around him, and he carried her to the bedroom. They fell onto the bed, side by side. They lay for several minutes, the kiss broken, gazing into each other’s eyes. He pushed away the hair that had fallen across her face and stroked her cheek with a shaking hand.
She touched his hand. “You’re shaking. Why?”
“I want you so much, I’ve thought about you so much, but I hardly dared hope that you might… ”
“Demetrio,” she whispered, licking her lips, “I’ve just jumped on you, kissed you, pressed my body against yours.” She leaned in and slid her tongue across his lower lip, then pulled back to see its effect. “What else can I do to prove I want you?”
He grinned. “Take off your clothes?”
She raised her eyebrows but didn’t grin back. She rose and pulled off her jersey. Then she began to undo the buttons of her shirt. His eyes moved to each button as she undid it, revealing a black t-shirt. She tossed the white shirt across the room with a stripper-like flourish and turned back to him, hands on hips. “You want more?”
“So long as it doesn’t take too much time.” He swallowed. “Otherwise I’ll be tempted to help you along.”
She didn’t need telling twice. She pulled her t-shirt over her head and quickly shed her jeans, leaving her standing in only her lacy underwear.
She looked endearingly unsure and awkward, which she compensated for by a quick lift of the head.
“Come here,” he said.
And she came, and his lips met hers with a swift, reassuring kiss. As his mouth kept hers busy, his hands slid lower, intent on exploring her intimately. She gasped at his touch.
“Now do you know understand how much I want you?” she whispered into his hair, as her body quivered under his caress.
He nuzzled her neck. “I’m beginning to get the message. But if you’d like to show me further, go ahead.”
She grinned and shook her head as she rose to kneeling and pushed him back onto the bed. “You’re bringing out the worst in me, Demetrio Pecora.”
“Good. Go ahead and show me your worst, and then I’ll show you mine.”
He could feel the bubble of her laughter rise and enter him as she kissed him and he knew that seeing Ursula at her worst would be the best thing that had happened to him in years.
* * *
Much later, Ursula awoke to see Demetrio silhouetted against the un-curtained window, the lights of Florence spread jewel-like before him.
She rose, rested her hand on his shoulder, and leaned her naked body against his. He turned, dropped a kiss on her cheek, and slipped his arm around her hips, bringing her tight against him.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe your absence awoke me. What are you looking at?”
“Nothing in particular. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“You.” He smiled at her. “Me.”
“Two big subjects.”
He turned to her, the cool light limning one side of his body; the oth
er side, dark. In that strange light, she realized how little she knew him—he was half-stranger, half-lover. She felt a tremor of fear flicker through her, and she drew away.
He frowned. “What’s the matter? Cold?” She shook her head but, despite her denial, he reached for the throw on the leather chair and brought it around her. “Come on, let’s get back to bed.”
They lay in each other’s arms in silence for a while, both gazing out into the slowly brightening sky, and listening to the pealing of the church bells which signaled that morning was edging closer.
“Would you believe me if I said making love in Florence on the last Monday of the year is an Italian tradition?”
She half-laughed and shook her head. “No.”
“So no more days to bargain with, then.”
She looked away with studied casualness. “No, I have a busy schedule. I have a lot on.”
“Of course,” he replied, too quickly.
“I have to leave today.” She twisted in his arms to face him. “It’s time, Demetrio. This can’t go on forever.”
The expression in his eyes caught at her heart, as his gaze raked her features—at her hair that he pushed away, at her lips, at her throat, leaving her eyes until last. “Can’t it?”
She swallowed. His words echoed in her mind and hammered against the walls of her firm intentions. “I have a life. I have a job. I have friends, a family. I can’t give everything away, surrender my whole life for a dream.”
“A dream?” He shook his head in confusion. “A dream?” he repeated. “Is that how you see this? Something not real, something ephemeral?”
“Demetrio! How else can I see it? You emerged from the snow to rescue me, you took me to the fire and warmed me, showed me your life. I love your life, but it’s not for me. I’m not of your world. We both have to face the fact that I’m a misfit. There’s nothing for me here.” She waited, hoping against hope that he would say words that would sway her, make her stay. Because without those words she couldn’t risk everything. Not again.
But they didn’t come.