by Sunniva Dee
“Anywhere. India. Hawaii.”
“On such short notice? And plus those are long flights for a weekend.”
He laughs softly. “I forget my girl isn’t used to traveling.”
“I’m used to traveling.” Lie.
“Would you come along if we were close to home?”
I chew on my lip because there’s this smile that’s trying to break through. I’m considering it, a weekend away from the Valley, from my mom and her crazy ideas, from the house and all of my jobs. This coming week isn’t the hardest, actually. I could rig it. My heart palpitates like I should get checked.
“Phew,” I say, and he shakes his head at me.
“You’re such a thinker. Let go for a moment, Savannah.”
“Okay. Yes. I’d go if it were closer to home.”
“Santa Barbara it is then. I’ll have my PA make the arrangements.”
“Ciro! No, wait a second.”
He does, brows sinking over his eyes in suspicion. “Waiting.”
“I’ll do it if you send me the poem.”
“It’s not a poem, and it’s a no-can-do. Gotta get off, babe. Lunch break’s over, and it’s back to the grind. I’ll be booking us a resort next.”
“Wait! Wait. Recite it to me again.” My voice is desperate, and it confuses both of us. “Sorry, I mean— I just really liked it, and I want to think about it. I can’t think about it if I don’t remember it.”
“You liked it?”
Out of nowhere a lump starts to grow in my throat. I think I’m just frustrated. I’ve never felt this way about a man. He’s too good to be true. Too far away. I have this hole in my chest filled with emptiness and longing because he’s not here. If only I had those words after he logged off.
This is PMS. That’s what it is. God. “Yeah, I like it.”
“And now you’re sad?”
“No. It’s just. Gah, I gotta go.”
“Savannah!”
I pause and press a finger to my eye so I don’t tear up. “Yes?”
“I’m back late tomorrow night. Okay? It might tip over midnight, but I’ll be back. Thirty-six hours. Can you do that for me?”
“Do what?” I let out a choked laugh.
“Hang in there for thirty-six hours? I miss you too.”
Shit. He’s so perceptive. And kind. And wanting everything good for me. I should look into medication that can temper my reactions so that I act like a normal person.
“Of course, no problem,” I manage.
“I’ll come straight to your house. No, even better: go to my house. Wait for me there. Two-four-four-six-eight-one.”
“What?” I sniffle.
“The code to the gate. The same code works on the alarm system to the house. I’ll give Mrs. Brandt a heads up you’ll be coming.”
“Oh god.” The tears come anyway now. I wobble-smile, and his responding smile blows into a grin.
“Damn, you’re adorable. Is that a yes? Will you and Princess, both of my girls, be there when I come home tomorrow night?”
“Probably,” I half-snicker. “You might have two girls in your bed when you arrive.
“No, no,” he mock-chides. “No dogs in my bed.”
“Sorry, I can’t make that kind of promises.” I tilt the lid of my laptop backward so I show only the underside of my chin. “You’re not the boss of us.”
“Savannah?”
“Uh-huh?”
“I have to go, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“But check your messenger in a few.”
I do. And what I find is a recording of his voice. Deep, melodious, and unhurried, he recites,
Gold-hearted heart-fillers
Conquer detached worlds and morale-killers
Frail but strong
Beautiful but real
She chases my truth and devours my love.
I have red lingerie stuffed into the overnight bag waiting in the back of my beetle. It makes me giddy and impulsive at Mintrer’s. Frieda and Charlotte both know of my plans, and for once, they have the same reaction: eye-rolling.
Usually, I’m not in charge of much after-work cleanup, but of course tonight was the exception. Relieved, I finally leave work at eleven forty-five, and my pulse rises with my ascent on Hillside. I’m glad nighttime in the Valley doesn’t involve traffic. If it did, I wouldn’t have been keying in the code to the funkis bunker only fifteen minutes later.
Lights shine from the living room, and the porch lights are on. Maybe he asked his housekeeper to leave it like that for me? Or maybe he always leaves a few lights on for Princess. My heart lurches as I think that’s probably it.
A single, deep bark greets me from upstairs. I call out Princess’ name, and she replies with a happy whine. I take the stairs in a few strides, and she greets me with sloppy kisses and loud complaints. Then she flops to her back to show her pink belly.
She’s nothing like Mr. Dakapoulos’ little yappy dogs. This here is pure love and generous chubby muscle. I nudge her stomach with my nose, sweet-nothing-talking her, and she lets out happy-sounds of her own.
“We need to hurry, sweetie. Let’s go.”
She scrambles along with me, nails sliding across the bamboo floor. We make our way to the master, where the bed is beautifully made, fresh red linens stretched with that fluffy down comforter on top. I smile a little, drawing them to the side.
My watch shows twelve fifteen. He can be here at any moment. I want us both to be in bed when he comes. I stalk into his bathroom, peel off my work clothes, and stuff them into my bag. Then, I take out the red lingerie, the color of passion, and leave it on the sink while I dive into his rainforest shower.
I cover my hair so it doesn’t get wet. It still looks nice. Then, I turn on five shower heads at once, leaving myself in a three-minute heaven of steam and rushing water. Coconut shower gel. I know he likes it. I wash myself down there too though he loves my flavor. I purse my lips, embarrassed at the thought.
Next, I’m out of the shower, drying off with Princess whining at me from the open door. “Shh, he’ll be home soon, okay?”
Princess wiggles her tail in agreement, hips following suit.
Coconut oil. I’m getting fancy lately. Is that how everyone becomes when they have a boyfriend they can’t stop thinking about? This oil is for the body. If you put on just the right amount, it disappears into your skin, leaving it smooth and supple and mouthwatering. I lick my arm after applying it, and nod. “Yep, it tastes sweet,” I tell Princess, who jerks her head back playfully.
Car. Outside. Oh no! Too soon. I laugh out loud, brush my teeth so quickly I can’t possibly have gotten rid of anything. As I switch off the master light and stumble-run to the bed, Princess bounds for the window. She does her single bark, then wiggles her entire butt like she knows it’s her daddy.
As the front door opens quietly downstairs, I tiptoe to the bedroom door, shut it, and grab Princess by the collar. “Shhh.” I even lift a finger for emphasis, crossing my mouth with it in case she prefers sign language. Next, we’re both in bed, under the covers. She whimpers, objecting to this wild plan. I suppress a laugh.
The door opens silently. Then it closes again, but I hear no footsteps moving toward me. I open my eyes and realize he never came in. He must have forgotten something. I hear my heart in my ears. I bite my lip, more nervous by the second. What’s he up to out there?
The shower runs in the guest bathroom by the stairs, and I puff an exhale. Adrenaline kicks in, working me up. A thought at the back of my mind suggests that maybe he saw me and decided to sleep in the guestroom. A bigger, more reasonable thought tells me he’s cleaning up after the flight and he doesn’t want to wake me up.
The room is so dark with all the lights off that I barely see his silhouette sneaking toward me minutes later.
I get the flight instinct, the one reminding me how I’m crushing Status Quo. Next thing I know is he’s assaulted by Princess, who does not have an inside voice with her daddy.
“Princess,” he chuckles, his voice a whisper. “Shhh. Calm down, girl. We don’t want to wake Savannah.”
Princess doesn’t give a shit, and neither do I.
I reach out, finding smooth skin and a waft of fresh pine. As soon as he feels my fingers on his back, he falls down over me, crushing me into the mattress with his hips against mine. I laugh breathlessly, and he kisses me without words.
His body jerks while he kisses me. It takes me a minute to realize what he’s doing until I hear the telltale thump of a Pitbull girl hitting the floor.
“God you’re delicious,” he murmurs. “I’ve missed you. Lovely, lovely Savannah.”
“I’ve missed you,” I purr, and then he’s under the sheets and there’s only one reality that matters in the whole world. Ours.
10. PLEASURE & HAPPINESS
We’re here. Ciro’s arms are laced around me, watching the ocean over my shoulder. I hunch it upward. Light stubble tickles me and makes me smile.
“You’re so perfect.”
“I’m going to end up conceited if you don’t stop.”
“What’s the problem? You’d be the hottest conceited bitch out there,” he says, and I break out laughing. He squeezes me close. I don’t think life could be any better than the two of us standing on this romantic balcony of the Santa Barbara Castello.
Palms wave on both corners of our sphere, which is terracotta-tiled and stucco-white, with a wrought-iron glass table and stuffed recliners. Behind us, our room exudes understated luxury, a self-assured style with the interior design palette of a pro. Earthly, creamy colors going toward sunny.
“All I want,” Ciro says, “is to spoil you. I want your eyes to cross with happiness.”
“Ha!” Because what do you say when aqua-greens are steady on you and flecks of golden excitement materialize in them?
“I don’t do cross-eyed.” Yes, I’m a comeback pro.
“It is not in my nature,” I add to really dig my grave.
“No? Tell me about your nature then. I want more. And more and more.” His lips trail up my throat until he finds my earlobe, and I shiver.
“I brought you here because I love this place,” he says when I don’t answer.
“You’ve been a lot of times?”
“A couple. It was a while ago though, and the Castello deserved a second chance. Everything you could possibly want should be available to you here. Do you like it so far?”
There’s a bubble of happiness quivering at the top of my chest. I need to stop it from taking over. It feels dangerous, like I’m losing my connection with the ground. It doesn’t stop me from confessing that I adore this place too.
“I mean, look at the view.” I raise a hand ominously and draw the horizon while the sun makes a spectacle of itself by lowering slowly into the water.
“I know.” His voice vibrates against my spine. For a second, I allow myself to consider everything the world could possibly present to me, and how, of all things, it made someone so amazing fall into my lap.
There’s a knock on the door.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispers, and I bob my head.
In seconds, the sun drowns, and the moon conquers the night. It shines now, from the embers left behind by the sun, and his groupies—the stars—twinkle to make him look his best.
Ciro returns, panther-silent and barefoot. His hand goes out in front of me, a beverage in an elegant glass extended.
“I wanted to celebrate tonight. These four days without you have felt like weeks, and I hope it wasn’t as bad for you as it was for me.”
He lets out a chuckle. “Okay, if I’m to be honest, a small part of me wants you to have suffered as much as I did.”
“Oh no worry. I missed you so much.” I lean the back of my head into his chest. “What is this? Champagne?”
“It is. You like champagne, right?”
“Sure do.” I’m glad we’re still facing the ocean. I can’t imagine my overly enthusiastic grin looking better from the front.
“Baby girl,” he coaxes like he’s heard my thoughts. “Turn to me.”
I swing slowly, feeling his arm lower to my waist. I link around his neck, but I can’t meet his gaze. I hold my drink high instead and we clink glasses.
“Real crystal?” I say.
“Is it? Sure got music in it. Pi-n-n-g,” he mimics. Then he kisses me. Languid strokes of his tongue against mine, lips and moisture until my breath tightens and his exhales work with mine. When he pulls away, he’s winded.
“Cheers, boyfriend.”
He glides his nose up mine and finds my forehead with his lips. “Fuck. That’s the best thing I’ve heard all month.”
Ciro angles our heads back, side by side, chin to chin, mouth to mouth. Through semi-open eyes, I watch him lift his glass above us. The fizz of champagne meets both of our lips, and he seals us around it all. I smile, sputter, gulp. It comes out of my mouth, dripping down my chin and onto his white shirt. He laughs.
“You’re not exactly a pro at this,” he tells me.
“I’m not a pro at anything.”
“At love you are.”
“Whatever you mean by that,” I say.
“You’re intoxicating.” He kisses droplets of champagne off my chin, my throat, and moves down my neckline.
“Let’s try again.” Suddenly he has us leaning against the front wall of the porch, my head back against his chest and my mouth meeting his in some Cirque-de-Soleil knockoff. His glass is empty and on the ledge. He appropriates mine and extends it above us, ready to let go into our joined mouths. My stomach quivers with humor.
“Ciro! That you up there?”
The shout is out of place between the stars and the moon and the champagne. I’ve got a small river snaking down between my boobs. Ciro lets go of my mouth to stare out over the parking lot below us.
“Hey. Yeah.” His hands tighten around me. He swings me toward him so that I lean against his body while his attention remains on the convertible below us. Five people. Three women, two men, all in party mode.
“It’s me, Marko!” one of the guys screams like we’re on the tenth floor instead of the third. “Is that Silk with you?”
“No.”
“I had some serious flashback there for a second,” the other guy shouts equally loud, causing the girls to titter. “Same hair and figure. Ya know. How long has it been?”
“Not long enough,” Ciro says with me tensing in his arms. “Guys, we gotta go. Have fun, all right?” I twist my head for a glimpse of his face. In the moonlight, its planes are smooth, but his eyes have gone freezer-still.
“Yeah, dude! The lady you’ve got up there, she’s not just work, right?”
One of the girls guffaws drunkenly. “Ciro would never bring work to the Castello. Have fun, guy-guy. May love destroy the shit out of youuuuu!” she screams, and everyone hollers and waves before they round the corner to the parking garage.
We’re quiet afterward. Ciro’s arm is warm around me as he leads me back into our room. The moon still shines out there, but there’s something tempered about it now. He lowers me to the bed. His eyes know where my mind is, with a girl named Silk.
My stockings were bought for this getaway. I let him roll them off, his fingertips blunt and heated. I need him on me. My thighs open when he sinks down and buries his face into my neck. Strong arms burrow under my body and lift me. We entwine. We revel in our yin-yang.
“I’m sorry.” His apology puffs against my skin, soft and warm and sad.
“Who was she?”
“My ex-wife.”
I could get up. Sit by the window with some distance between us. Ins
tead I crush him closer. She was before me. We’re good as long as her memory isn’t in his veins.
“Are you over her?”
He moves my knees back and makes them touch my boobs. He watches me in the quasi-gleam of the moon. He’s blue. I’m blue. We look like magic, and when he lowers over me, we become magic.
“Hey, boyfriend?” I ask sweetly, eyes as big as I can make them, which is pretty wide. I personify the Pacific. Here’s to hoping nine-o-clock breakfast light does me justice.
“Yes?” His head slumps low over my hand, kissing every knuckle. Eggs and bacon rest on a seashell-adorned plate on the nightstand. A caffelatte, same pattern as the breakfast plate, teases next to it. Ciro only sees my hand.
“So, you know how I’ve told you about Matthew in high school?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve told me not very much about your exes. Like Silk, for instance. Feel like sharing?”
Ciro’s exhale is long. It reaches the bottom of his stomach, and like everything else about him, it causes my hormones to riot.
“Silk was a fellow performer. She came into the biz about five years after me. I was established, but she, she was this new fresh blast of air rushing through my genre. People wanted to work with her. She won the debut actress of the year award.” He waves his hand in the air quickly, fending off my questions. “Not an award you’ve heard of. No SAG or Oscar. But it’s a big one at our level.”
He shifts the breakfast tray to the night table. Our bodies roll, and I’m on my side with him next to me. His mouth finds the crook of my neck, and a hand strays down my hip. Kneads, massages, and finds the inside of my thigh.
“Silk and I got to know each other at a release party. We started hanging out and found that we had things in common. Troubled pasts, for instance.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Five years or so?” He thinks before he says it, and I find that I’m happy he doesn’t give me a full-on, down-to-the-hour countdown.
He toys with me, sliding himself against my opening. I let out a moan. It’s the strangest thing to be made love to while your boyfriend recounts a past relationship. It’s hard to concentrate when—