Spring In Sicily (Escape To Italy 4)

by Melissa Hill

  Kate watched one older couple contentedly.

  The man, hunched over from age, removed his gray cap to reveal a wisp of waspy, thinning hair. He reached for his partner, a woman of equal age and stature, and guided her slowly out to the floor where they danced as they must have twenty, thirty, maybe even forty years before. Cheek to cheek, they swayed, not even whispering a word - both sets of eyes closed firmly as if they were picturing another scene from when they danced years before.

  A twinge of guilt overcame her as she remembered her first dance with Ed at their wedding. She could almost feel him cupping her back with his large hand, guiding her to the center of the empty floor. When their song ended, he dipped her dramatically back with such ease and poise.

  And at this moment, now at the Taormina club, she couldn’t help but wish he was there with her, dancing like this couple, too full of memories and moments to care about the present.

  Martha noticed the pained look on her dewy face. As Olivia and Marco slipped off to the bar to gather the drink orders, she asked her new friend, “Are you all right?”

  “Just thinking about my husband. I haven’t heard from him since yesterday when he was too busy to talk. He never called me back, and he hasn’t answered the phone yet.” She felt a bit foolish to be talking about her marriage problems.

  Martha placed her hands tenderly on Kate’s.

  “That’s too bad. He’s the one missing out though, not you. There were so many things my husband missed out on, when he became too wrapped up in life—first moments with the kids, day trips to visit our friends, opportunities like this… But, in the end I guess it’s the quality of time spent, not quantity. While it is amazing to have a partner to share things with, sometimes, it’s best to be our own companion.”

  Kate nodded, understanding her words. She was her own companion here in Sicily, and it was time to start enjoying and loving herself.

  Suddenly, the music switched over as an oldie, a popular American dance song came on.

  She grinned as she tugged on Martha’s hand.

  “Well, since you and me are own companions tonight, we might as well partner up on the dance floor.”

  Chapter 13

  “Marco, look.” Olivia tapped on her companion’s shoulders attempting to gain his attention. She pointed at Kate and Martha as they jumped and spun around on the dance floor. Their careless, uninhibited dance moves had gained attention as both young and old infectiously joined in around them.

  Olivia laughed as an older man dressed completely in white reached for Martha’s raised hand and spun her body into his. Martha dipped her head back and laughed as she greeted her new partner fearlessly.

  Kate had also gained the attention from several young Italian men, but she continued to dance by herself, her black dress blowing in the breeze as she twirled and dipped to the rhythm of the music.

  “They look happy,” Marco shouted over the music, handing Olivia the drinks. He led her back to their table near the exit. Compared to the stuffy interior and the shuffle of sweaty, youthful bodies, the terrace’s nearly empty chairs and tables were a relief.

  “So, what did you order me?” She stared at her orange-ish red drink with orange rinds floating near the top.

  “Negroni. It’s like a burnt orange gin martini with a twist. It’s my favorite.”

  “If this is your favorite, then what are you drinking?” She glanced at his pale pink drink.

  “Bellini, of course. But actually, I though if you did not like yours, we could always trade. The bellini is a little more gentle.” He eyed her laughingly.

  “Gentle?” She pretended to be taken aback, “I’ve had sauki with samurais and whiskey with the Irish. I can certainly handle this.” With that, she lifted her glass to her mouth and carelessly sucked back the liquor. The gin was sour and almost tart and her face puckered in reaction and she coughed a bit into her hand.

  Marco laughed at her as he spun his glass in his hand.

  The music slowed to a melodic waltz.

  Martha and Kate bounded from the crowd, shaking with laughter and excitement. They found their chairs next to Olivia and Marco as they continued their conversation. “—he didn’t speak a word of English, but I’m pretty sure whatever he was saying to me wasn’t exactly romantic!” Martha’s face was a bright pink as she raised her champagne to the sky “To Taormina men!”

  “I will certainly toast to that,” chimed in Marco meeting her glass with his own.

  “Olivia, are you going to dance? I’ll join you once I catch my breath if you like?” Kate panted a bit, not even turning to face her. She was focused on getting back onto the dance floor.

  “I’m really not that much of a dancer actually. I once broke my foot in a disco in Thailand. I prefer to sit back and watch.”

  “Well, that’s unacceptable,” Marco insisted, “you have to dance.” He gently yanked at her arm till she could no longer protest.

  She glanced back at the others, unsure of what to do; Martha shooed her away and Kate just smiled, knowingly.

  Olivia turned her gaze up to Marco. “I’m really not much of a slow dancer either,” she said, feeling like she was repeating herself. “I’m not even sure how to do this.”

  Marco stood arms-length from her, towering over her petite frame.

  “Just take my hand,” he said. She tentatively offered hers, and he lifted it shoulder level, pulling her slightly towards his deceptively muscular frame as they headed back out to the dance area.

  Swaying together to the music, his hand went around the crook of Olivia’s back as she could feel his body moving tenderly and slowly. Her right hand found its way to his chest, and she mindlessly toyed with the black buttons on his shirt.

  His head arched down to lean on the side of hers. She took in his scent, warm and sweet, almost like a mixture of ginger and exotic fruit. His hand felt rough from years working in his trade, yet it wasn’t any less soothing as they fell into a trance.

  “I was thinking about our conversation earlier at the park,” he said softly into her ear.

  “Mhmm” she whispered, not fully paying attention to his words.

  “I’ve decided that it isn’t my favorite place anymore.” Olivia glanced up at him, unsure of why he was suddenly bringing this up. “You are. I mean, I want you to be. I want you to be my place.”

  The two came to a stop, now standing at the far corner of the stone-tiled floor. She looked back at him, releasing her hand from his chest. “I don’t understand.”

  “Can you stop looking, stop searching for your perfect place?” He lifted her chin to meet his eyes as he bent down a little to be face to face to her. “Olivia…” Marco’s mouth met hers, gentle and firm. He grasped both arms around her waist making for an impossible escape, yet she didn’t struggle. Her own arms twisted around his neck and into the soft brown threads of his hair.

  After a long few seconds, the lights and the sounds of the thundering feet on the tile knocked her back into reality.

  Marco instantly sensed the change as well, as she moved away from him, taking two steps backwards.

  “I know that it is very soon. I know that you have a life, a job on the other side of the world, but I cannot let you leave tonight without asking you to think about it. Please?”

  “I … uh, I have to go. Tell the others I’m feeling ill, okay?”

  She spun around on her heel, leaving Marco standing alone on the packed dance floor. The crowd formed around him, sucking him into the scene of Taormina as Olivia made her escape out of the club and back onto the stone steps leading to the villa.

  The starry evening and the lanterns from the streets, broke through her whirling thoughts and confusion, guiding her home.

  Chapter 14

  The following morning, Kate once again woke to the sound of silence.

  No phone call, no email pings, nothing. But for whatever reason, she wasn’t perplexed or upset over it.

  Instead, she took it as a sign that life
was as it should be. Plus, after a night like hers, she was grateful to be without interruption to process the raging headache and dizzy spells that overwhelmed her.

  Moving a bit slower than usual, she went about her morning routine, and joined the rest of the class downstairs.

  Martha was assisting Isabella with the pastry recipe they had made the day before, while Olivia was wrapped up on the couch, typing away furiously on her laptop. She briefly registered Kate’s presence and went back to her determined work.

  “Buongiorno!” Isabella greeted Kate excitedly at the entrance to the kitchen. “It’s certainly good to see you out and about. Martha has told me all about your night on the town.”

  Kate looked down and laughed lightly at the flour-caked handprint Isabella had left on her shirt. “Can I help with breakfast?” she asked.

  “Of course! Olivia learned how to make the Sicilian version of Bloody Marys, and Martha is making the briosce. You can make the eggs in a tomato sauce. Simple recipe, but it’s tricky.”

  She went to the bowl in the corner of the room where a stack of brown eggs sat. She then had Kate follow her into the pantry where she stored all of her homemade tomato sauces and pastes.

  “How do you know which one is which?” Kate asked. “They all look the same to me.” There had to be over a hundred clear jars full of red, chunky sauces lining the walls of her back room.

  “Easy. I try them.” Isabella pulled out a spoon from her apron and slowly began tasting each sauce, one by one. “I make these in the winter with my grandchildren. They each make two or three of their favorite recipes. Sometimes I write their name on the lid, but it wears off and I have trouble remembering who made what.” About a quarter of the way through, she stopped, grabbing the one she had last tasted.

  They returned to the kitchen where Martha had just placed her pastries in the oven. Both women gathered round as Isabella showed them the proper way to crack an egg, and the right temperature to cook sunny-side up. Once the shape of the egg started to take form and the white was showing, Isabella gently added spoonfuls of blood red sauce. Adding diced peppers, onions, and a bit of feta cheese, she expertly flipped the egg over with such ease the others let out a small gasp.

  Kate took over the next one. Following each of the steps, she mimicked Isabella’s movements and instructions precisely. But when it came time to flip, she hesitated nervously and the egg slipped off of her spatula and back onto the pain making a chaotic mess of vegetables, yolk, and sauce.

  Defeated, she turned towards the chef unsure of how to proceed.

  “No problem. We’ll scramble this one.” Isabella walked her through the steps to puree the egg mixture without burning.

  “Even in our messiest mistakes, we can find beauty.” The chef handed Kate a fork and encouraged her to try a taste of the scrambled egg. The sensation of the runny egg was marvellous as it mixed with the spicy, peppery flavor of the sauce. All Kate could do was give her food a giant thumbs up and she attempted to swallow.

  The rest of the women joined in around Kate’s station, not bothering to sit at the communal table. The briosce finished soon after and Isabella retrieved the remained of yesterday’s gelato. Olivia’s Sicilian Bloody Mary was the perfect follow-up. For Kate, breakfast was enough to awake her from her stupor and put her back in the real world.

  Olivia however, was in her own little world, oblivious to all that was around her.

  The night’s romantic twist with Marco had her reeling. Sure, she’d had flirtations and even boyfriends while traveling. But none had been serious. No one had certainly ever asked her to stay or to even consider it. There would be promises to write, some video chats, and even gift exchanges, but eventually the long distance relationships would unravel, leaving her in a mess of emotions.

  But what Marco had said last night was completely different. He wasn’t asking her to travel with him in mind. He wasn’t asking for a long-distance relationship, a couple of phone calls here and there. He was asking her to stay here in Taormina. It was a proposition that terrified and, suspiciously, excited her. Especially as he had been so forthright and so honest, given what little time they’d spent together. I want you to be my place.

  She had spent all night going over his words, and most of the morning going through her work, analyzing her last steps as she traveled.

  She made a pros and cons list, and wrote late night emails to a couple of trusted friends. She even opened up her secret travel journal, a notebook in which she kept of all of her true feelings regarding her life on the road. Instead of glossing over the bad or making it more editorial or readable, she put it out on the line. And what Olivia read was saying that while life on the road was a joy, there was obviously something missing. Maybe that piece of the puzzle was someone special, someone with whom to share that joy?

  Chapter 15

  As the breakfast lesson finished up, and Isabella gave the women instructions to be back by 3pm for dinner, the women dispersed to their afternoon activities.

  Kate and Martha planned on shopping some of the boutiques in the town. But for Olivia, hunting for new dresses or a pair of shoes was nowhere near what she had planned on doing.

  She instead rushed out of the villa and towards Taormina in search of Marco’s glass shop. She had found the address online, but navigating the streets was much more difficult than she had considered. She jogged past the medieval fortresses and cathedrals full of picture takers and tour guides and past the children playing football in the narrow, shadowed alleyways.

  Eventually, she found her street and instinctively took a left. She sped up as she spotted the sign for Marco’s glassware shop, almost running to the entrance.

  But the doorway of the red and white store was locked.

  Olivia knocked loudly, hoping that someone would hear her.

  Her heart deflated with each unanswered knock. “Marco?” she called out, frantically looking into the shop. “Marco,” she called out again. Still no reply. A crowd of nosy Italian men and women gathered around her, all curious as to the strange tourist shouting at the empty shop.

  And then, she heard the door heave and the chains unlock. A tired, haggard looking Marco answered. She ducked under his arm and inside.

  “What’s wrong? What is it?” He guided Olivia to a row of red chairs in the corner of the gallery. She hadn’t even taken a second to look at the beautiful glass wares and sparkling vases. She was instead fixed on Marco. He was wearing a dusty rubber apron and gloves. His work pants were frayed at the bottom and his gray shirt was tattered and full of paint and acid marks.

  “You were working—” she said, in the midst of catching her breath, “I shouldn’t have—” Olivia shook her head in irritation with herself, feeling silly and childish. What on earth had possessed her?

  “It’s nothing,” he insisted. “But what is wrong? Why are you here? I thought that after last night, you would—” Marco couldn’t finish his words. Instead, he took to his knees in front of her. He removed his gloves and placed them next to her. His hands cupped Olivia’s as she fidgeted with her thumbs.

  “I didn’t run from you because of what you did or said. I ran from you because … I was afraid. I ran from you because when you kissed me, I felt something I have never felt before. It’s the reason why I never want to run again. I don’t want to run from you Marco. I want to stay here and give this a shot.”

  He stared at her, stunned and apprehensive. He looked about the room, unsure if she was a figment of his imagination.

  But Olivia couldn’t wait any longer.

  She took his scruffy face into her own small hands, cupping his jaw and cheekbones. His hair ruffled in her fingertips. Bending forward, she kissed him with such urgency she could feel her own heartbeat rush to her head. Not letting go of their embrace, Marco scooped her up by the waist and picked her small frame off the chairs and into his arms. Her feet could only float above the tiled floor.

  There they remained the rest of the morning, t
ightly coiled, neither daring to move.

  * * *

  The outside world wasn’t oblivious to the new couple. Kate and Martha, amidst their shopping trip, had stumbled upon the quaint shop.

  Recognizing the name above the door and recalling what Marco had said before about his line of business, they quickly deduced who the owner was. And by the looks of what was going on inside, the owner didn’t look too prepared to open shop today.

  “Oh to be young and in love again,” Martha sighed as she and Kate moved onwards.

  “It certainly reminds me of Ed and I when we were that young and naive.” A tinge of sadness spiked Kate’s words. “But I guess it all wears off eventually.”

  Martha stopped and faced her. “No, honey, it doesn’t. The feeling may change, and yes, it may diminish. But that essential feeling, that feeling of tenderness and wanting doesn’t just disappear overnight. To break down true love… well, that would take much more than a couple of fights.”

  “Did you and your husband have disagreements though? Did you ever feel him slipping away from you?”

  “Of course, every married couple does. I felt like our relationship was slipping away many times, especially when money was tight or our children took too much of our time and energy. But we would always find one another in the storm, eventually. Even if it took months, sometimes years. The other one would be there—the answer to all the questions.”

  “Did I tell you why I am here - in Sicily?” Martha shook her head as Kate continued. “We can’t conceive. We can’t have a baby and it is my fault. My body doesn’t want me to have a child, and Ed, well, he can’t handle that. We’ve been trying everything, treatments, even considering surgery, and nothing. Now all he wants to do is break away from me, and all I want to do is run to him.”