A little before five I walked out of my bedroom to the hallway where Nonna was waiting. My white dress moved prettily as I walked, modestly brushing my knees. “Bellisima,” Nonna smiled and ushered me forwards, embracing me lovingly and kissing my cheeks. We strolled down the hillside to Sam’s grandmother’s arm in arm, the beauty of living in a small town, no transport was needed. As we approached the doors flew open and a rabble of people pulled us inside. I was hugged and kissed from every direction. All of Sam’s family were there, plus a few friends I had made during my time in Pisciotta. A large spread of food was placed on the far side of the room. Everything from antipasto to roasted lamb was up for grabs and Nonna had made my favourite deserts, tiramisu, and zeppole. There was also a fully stocked bar and leaning against it, holding a champagne flute in one hand and a flower in the other was Sam.
I made a beeline for him, hugging and kissing people as I went, he was amused. “The guest of honour has arrived!” I took the champagne from him as he took me in his arms. He had not changed, or showered before the party. He still wore the white linen shirt he’d peeled off on the boat, and he still smelt of us. I smiled to myself, thankful for the reminder. He raised the flower to my nose, the smell was intoxicating, my heart stuttered. “You look so beautiful, Ana.” His piercing green eyes burnt into mine and I could not look away as he bent and kissed my lips, gently and chaste. I was quickly pulled away from him, forced to wander the room chatting animatedly with my new friends and family. But I could feel his gaze all evening. I was highly aware of him watching me intently and could not help the blush that kept spreading up my neck and cheeks.
At dinner I insisted on sitting between him and Nonna, not wanting to be away from my two most important people for another second. Nonna held my hand as Sam’s uncle gave a short speech in broad Italian that I didn’t entirely understand but seemed very heartfelt. At the end of our meal, Sam gave a toast. We raised our glasses of Limoncello and drank to my quick return and a prosperous future. Nonna wished me the best of luck in my studies at university. My stomach flipped and I froze the glass on my lips. I still hadn’t told Sam about university. I was going to wait until I returned to England and found somewhere to live first. I felt a squeeze of my thigh and turned to find Sam staring at me quizzically. I shook my head and shrugged. He seemed to accept my nonchalance as Nonna simply making a mistake about the art classes I would be taking. I sat back in my seat and tried not to appear flustered.
The rest of the evening was a blur. I was right about me seeing very little of Sam. I was introduced to the family of friends and passed from person to person like I was the entertainment. As the night wore on I no longer felt Sam watching me, I looked around the room but had no sight of him. I panicked, thinking maybe he had left without saying goodbye. I made an excuse, said I needed to use the bathroom, and snuck out of my party. Out in the hallway I saw steps leading out onto a terrazza. Sam and his Uncle were speaking in Italian, sipping their drinks, and looking out over the hillside.
As I approached his uncle turned around and spotted me. Smiling almost paternally he hugged me and went back into the house. “I knew I wouldn’t see much of you tonight. I’m saying goodbye to all these people. How do I say goodbye to you?” Sam spun around and was in front of me in an instant. I was taken back by his forceful kiss but it soon morphed into passion and I gasped for air against his lips. He pulled back and took my face in his hands, “You don’t.” I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against his.
After a few minutes I heard someone calling me from inside. Taking my hand he guided me back down the stairs and rejoined the party. He remained silently at my side for the rest of the night, a quiet storm in a room of celebration and happiness. As the hours got late and the guests had whittled away to select family members a sadness filled my heart. I embraced Sam’s grandmother and told her how grateful I was for her kindness and how I loved her as if she were my own grandmother. She shed a tear but soon batted me away, insisting that crying was silly as I would soon return to visit them again. Before I knew it I was pulled away from my new family by Nonna, urging me to head home to bed, ready for my early start the next day. Sam was roped into helping with the cleanup, he managed a small kiss and a promise to get in touch soon before he was dragged into the kitchen to clean dishes.
* * *
I was quiet on my walk back to the apartment. Nonna did not force me into a conversation, but silently walked with her arm around my waist, soothing me in silence. Back at the apartment I went straight to my room and changed out of my dress. The small leather book was sitting on my pillow. I took it in my hands and stroked the cover, almost overcome by the temptation to open the pages and see what Sam had written. But I managed to refrain and slipped it into the pocket of my hand luggage instead, ready to leave with me in the morning. I checked my emails and my phone but there was nothing from him.
Our parting had seemed so rushed and unfinished. I knew it would be like that but I thought we would find a way to talk before I left. I needed to know where this was going. I needed to know what his plan for returning to England was. I was leaving Italy without the answers, and the thought terrified me. So much of my life was unknown. I only hoped things would settle soon and I would be able to finally get on track with the life I had wanted for so long. After sitting on my balcony for another couple of hours, trying to close off my mind and stop the anxiety building within, I crawled under the bedsheets and began to doze.
At some point, I must have stirred. I sat up with a start and stared around the darkened room. The clock said 2 AM. Out of the darkness I heard a scraping below my window followed by a thud and a scrabbling of shoes against the stone side of Nonna’s apartment. I ran to the balcony as Sam appeared, panting and hauling himself over the railings surrounding my window. I took his outstretched hand and pulled him hard as, with one last lunge, he swung his legs up and landed feet first on the terracotta tiles.
“Sam? What are you do-” he grabbed me and slammed our chests tightly together. His breathing was ragged as he kissed my lips fervently. Blood pounded in my ears, his teeth caught my pouting bottom lip and his thumbs teased my hips. As he pushed me through the balcony doors and toward my bed my head spun and I desperately grasped at thoughts and reason. When his fingers found the hem of my nightgown, knuckles scraping roughly against my thighs, I snapped into consciousness. “St-Stop!” I shoved hard against his chest and caught my breath as he paused and stared at me with pained eyes. “We need to talk!”
He kicked off his shoes without taking his eyes off me and flexed his bare feet on the wood-panelled floor. He walked over slowly, reaching out hesitant fingers until I nodded and allowed him to wind them into the hair at the back of my neck. He brought our foreheads together and sighed. I breathed in his warm breath. “No talking. No goodbyes, not tonight. Please?” His voice was full of melancholy and I felt my heart begin to crack.
I turned my face and gently kissed the smooth skin at his wrist, his fingers gripped my neck a little firmer and heat spread across my cheeks. My breathing stuttered and he firmly pinned my hips to his, a low groan sounded deep in his chest, and against my stomach I felt him pushing through his trousers. Strong hands were suddenly lifting me under the back of my thighs. The items on my dresser crashed to the floor as he sat me on its edge and hurriedly pulled the nightgown over my head. I tugged desperately at the belt between his hips and he pressed himself into my hands, making me shudder, running his teeth along my jawline to nibble at my earlobe. I paused, desperately trying to hear any sign of Nonna stirring over the sounds of our panting, but all was still in the apartment except our chests, rising and falling heavily.
Sam tore his clothes off and stood gloriously naked between my knees. I unclipped my bra and threw it unceremoniously to the floor. His lips were immediately on my breast, teasing and pulling me gently. I gasped loudly and arched off the dresser pushing my chest into his touch. I felt his arousal brush against my hip and took him firmly in
my grasp. He let out a small cry and thrust himself into my fist. He parted my legs desperately and positioned himself at the apex of my thighs, waiting.
I stared, open-mouthed, into his heated green eyes and nodded, tilting my pelvis toward him. He pushed into me, hard and fast, frantically trying to lose himself. My cries were muffled by his lips and his sighs, my hands tangled in his thick hair. I could still taste tiramisu and Limoncello on his tongue, the salty tang of the ocean was still on his skin. Almost too soon I felt my body stiffen, winding tighter and tighter as his pace quickened. My legs shook, my toes curled and my fingernails dug hard into his buttocks. I felt him quiver and dug my nails in again, urging him forward harder. Then the explosion detonated in my abdomen, and he was crying out my name, holding tightly and buried as deeply inside me as he could be.
The night was silent and the humidity was wet on our skin. I breathed in his scent, my head limp on his chest, he smelt like the heat and the sea and of us. I wanted to remember that moment for the rest of my life. The moment I realised just how much I loved him. I didn’t say it. Neither of us spoke a word as he carried me toward the bed and placed me gently on the sheets. He kissed my forehead and I felt myself drifting, exhausted from the emotional day and post-orgasmic sedation. I wanted to say so many things, but instead, I slept.
Chapter 9
As the first few rays of sunlight hit my face from the open shutters I startled awake and threw out my hand to feel nothing but the mattress beside me. I looked around the room, other than the crumpled sheet I saw no other sign of Sam’s presence from the night before. I padded over to the bedroom door and peered down the dark hallway. The apartment was quiet except for the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. It was 5 AM. My head was foggy, fighting through my sleepy haze and a mild hangover from the previous night’s festivities. I felt I had almost dreamt my early morning visitor, but peering over at my desk I noted the perfume and makeup still scattered on the floor. My balcony doors were still wide open, a keen sea breeze blowing the voile curtains into the room. I pushed passed the fabric and peered out on to the empty patio. Sam was nowhere to be seen.
After staring out at the sun rising slowly over the horizon, a mixture of sadness and fear growing inside me, I rushed back into the room and searched for a note. We had barely spoken at all last night and this morning he had left without a word, I thought he surely would have left a note. But on closer inspection there was nothing left on the surfaces of my room, nothing amongst the sheets or under the pillow. I almost ran down the hallway to search the coffee table in the living area and the dining table in the kitchen. There was nothing. He hadn’t said goodbye.
I was filled with an unease that turned my stomach over. We had left so much unfinished, so much unsaid. He hadn’t told me when I would see him next. He hadn’t told me he loved me again. I wondered if maybe it was just his optimistic nature. That he already knew it wouldn’t be long before we were together again so it didn’t occur to him to say a proper goodbye. But the flashbacks from the night before ran through my mind like a movie reel, his reluctance to talk, and his desperation. The direction of my thoughts panicked me. I suddenly felt as though he had been saying goodbye without using his words. Before the panic fully set in I heard Nonna open her bedroom door and walk through the apartment. I ran out into the hall, freezing mid-run in front of her, unable to speak.
“Ana, what on earth…what happened?” I threw myself into her arms as the first sobs burst from my chest. She pushed me down onto a futon like an invalid and rushed into the kitchen. She returned shortly after with two large cups of coffee and handed one to me. I sipped gratefully and tried to stem the flow of tears running down my cheeks. “What happened?” She repeated. I put my head in my hands and choked through my words, “We didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Not properly anyway.” Nonna tutted and stroked my arm soothingly.
I didn’t tell her Sam had snuck into my room earlier that morning. She would not have been impressed. But I did tell her that the last time we had been together it had felt as though he was saying goodbye for good. Once again Nonna waved a dismissive hand at my fears. “That boy is head over heels with you, Tesoro. He is probably just eager to join you in England. You will see him soon enough, just you wait.” She wiped her thumbs under each of my eyes and kissed my cheeks. “Now stop this foolishness. Finish your coffee and get dressed. The taxi will be here soon.”
Nonna came along in the taxi to drop me off at the station. We hugged and cried some more. I promised to visit again soon, suggesting Christmas, or easter if things were too busy over the winter holidays. She said she would arrange my ticket, and have my room waiting for me. Before the train pulled out she took my face between her hands and kissed my cheeks. “Now go,” she waved me away, “become the artist I know you were born to be.” I watched her through the window until the platform was out of sight. I wished Sam had been there to say goodbye, but Nonna’s parting words lit a tiny flame of hope deep inside me and for the first time I felt excitement more than fear at the prospect of starting the new chapter of my life. With one last, wistful gaze across the Italian landscape I closed my eyes and dreamt of the future I had never before believed was possible.
* * *
At the airport I checked in my excess baggage and found a seat in a quiet corner away from the steady stream of fellow passengers. I rifled through my backpack and took out my laptop to take advantage of the free WiFi. Sam and I had exchanged email addresses the day before to save our phone bills. I knew he wouldn’t email for a few days while out at sea, but I hoped that maybe he had chosen to send me something after he had left this morning. I opened the emails and scanned the top ten listed since yesterday, mostly junk mail and marketing. There was nothing from Sam. There was however a message from my mother. She said that Nonna had informed her of my flight details and she would be picking me up from the airport to bring me home.
I hadn’t been thinking about returning to that house. I never factored in that I would have to return to where my father was, for at least a couple of nights until I gathered my things and left. I hoped there wouldn’t be a scene. I hoped I could keep to myself. I didn’t think I had the strength to fight with Papa anymore. The light above my gate turned green and my flight was called to board. I shut my computer with one last furtive glance at my inbox, tucked it under my arm, and approached the gate.
Once seated in the window seat of the small plane I slid the MacBook back into my backpack. The little leather book peeked out from the front pocket. I removed it and held it tightly in my lap during takeoff, stroking the spine until the air hostess handed me a drink and some snacks shortly after the seatbelt signs turned off. Sam had told me not to read the book until I was back in the U.K so that I would know he was coming back for me. I was no longer on Italian soil, and I was heading to a place I no longer considered my home. I needed the comfort of his words. I needed to know everything was going to work itself out.
I looked surreptitiously around the cabin. The seat next to me was empty, nobody would be reading over my shoulder. I untied the leather strings wrapped around the cover and opened the binding to the first page. It was a journal of sorts but not a journal of words. Except for a small date and one or two sentences on every other page there was no other writing. The pages were instead filled with micro sketches, some in pen, some in pencil. I could tell further through the book there were also small paintings in watercolours. The date on the first page was at the start of the summer, before our first disastrous meeting.
There was a watercolour of an empty beach, a storm forming on the distant horizon. A pencil drawing of an abandoned, wooden dingy. A few pages in Sam had sketched a self-portrait. It was a staggering likeness but so different from the man I knew. His eyes were dark and sad, worry etched on his forehead. The next painting showed a cliff looming over the ocean on a stormy day. The silhouette of a man could be seen diving into the air, seemingly unaware of the dizzying height of the cliff and his impendi
ng impact with the water that would surely end his life. The image disturbed me. The date marked in the corner was the day before we had met.
Turning the page again the tone of the images changed. The previous works were not devoid of emotion, quite the opposite in fact, but they were cold and showed nothing more than the anger and bitter loneliness the artist must have felt surrounding him. The paintings now seemed warm and inviting, they gave me a sense of hope. I recognised a small charcoal sketch of a girl speeding down a cobbled street on a bicycle. A prototype almost of the painting Sam had revealed to me. There were sunsets and sunrises from the viewpoint of the roadside near the art shack. There were pencil, pastel, and charcoal sketches of the profile of my face, an ear and long neck marked only by the curl of dark hair against alabaster skin.
The final page was in watercolour. A close up of my face from neck to forehead, staring directly at the viewer. My eyes were large and animated, a nervousness was evident in my jaw and the way I bit my full lower lip, a blush of pretty pink bloomed across each cheek. Across the corner of the opposite page there were two words scribbled in Sam’s elegant hand. “The Muse”. I closed the book and held it close to my heart. It was the single most beautiful gift he could have given me. The gift of seeing myself as he saw me. And for the first time in a few weeks I felt the glow of hope bloom in my chest. I knew I would see him again.
My Heart Lies in Pisciotta Page 7