If Michael hadn’t had his fair share of driving big bikes back home, his own now parked in his parents’ garage in Colorado, he would never have accepted Matteo’s generous offer. Even then, he’d done so with reluctance. Problem was, the guy did have a point. Feeling the power of the bike as they wound their way toward the coast, or a hot bus ride with a myriad of other sweaty passengers? When he thought of it that way, the choice was simple. He’d thanked Matteo and made arrangements to pick up the bike early on Saturday morning.
With a backpack on his back filled with food and drink for two for the day, plus a picnic blanket rolled up in a tight sausage and fastened to the top of the bag, Michael powered the Ducati and revved the engine. Its sound pulsated with his own beating heart. He could not believe he was taking his future wife out on their first date. Everything within him soared with gratitude.
Thank you, Father. You’re so good.
He pulled up at the address Alessa had texted him. Nice building, quaint courtyard. He had so envisaged Alessa living in a place like this. He parked in a shaded spot and cut the engine. Leaving the backpack, helmet, and leather jacket—compliments of Matteo—on the bike’s seat, he hurried up the steps to Alessa’s apartment and knocked.
“Un momento.” Her voice drifted through the door.
Michael ruffled his fingers through his hair to give it some lift. Probably sat as flat as a pancake on his head thanks to the helmet. Hearing her footsteps near, his pulse increased.
The door swung open wide, and Michael caught his breath before a smile stretched across his face. “You look…bellissima.” If she was going to ride on the back of the motorbike, she’d have to change though.
Holding on to the door, Alessa leaned against the side and eyed him—down and up.
Michael forced his gaze to remain on her face.
A smile tugged the corners of Alessa’s mouth. “Sembri molto prestante.”
He remained rooted on her doorstep, bewildered. What had she just said? Come in? Go away? You look terrible? Presentable?
He’d have to google that phrase later or pluck up the courage to ask her what it meant.
She beckoned with her hand. “Come. Come inside. I’m almost ready.”
“Am I too early?” He should have checked the time before knocking. Of course he was early—he’d traveled here on a red-and-black Ducati, not a bright orange ATAC bus.
She shook her head. “No. Well, maybe just a little.” She squeezed her thumb and index finger together to indicate just how early he had been. “But it’s okay. Would you like a coffee before we go? We’ve time. We’ve got the whole day ahead of us.”
He followed her into the kitchen, impressed with the little he saw of her apartment. “Espresso?” he asked.
A musical giggle drifted toward the high ceiling. “You are becoming quite the Italian, aren’t you, Michael Young?”
He shrugged. “Learning to blend in, I guess.”
“Don’t blend in too much. I might just like you the way you are.”
Good thing he wasn’t eating anything, or he might’ve choked. Did she really just stay that?
Alessa brewed a cup in her espresso machine then handed it to Michael. “Sit.” She gestured toward the kitchen table then plunked a jar in the center of the table. “Biscotti?”
Michael nodded as he eased into a chair. Why was she being this sweet? Had she doctored those snacks with something? Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he lowered one hand into the glass casing and wrapped his fingers around three long biscotti. He balanced two on the tiny saucer, retaining one.
Once she’d brewed a second, Alessa sat down opposite Michael, her long brown legs on one side of the round table just in his line of vision. Was this his life a few years from now…maybe a couple of bambini crawling and running around? Warmth filled a spot in Michael’s stomach that had nothing to do with the sip of hot liquid he’d just taken.
He dipped the biscotti into his coffee then took a bite. Something unexpected burst flavor over his tongue as he chewed and swallowed. “Hmm, are those bits of cherry inside?”
Alessa smiled and nodded before sipping her coffee.
“These are so good. Where did you get them?”
“I made them,” she proudly announced.
His eyes stretched wide, and he almost choked on the biscotti. “You bake?”
“Surprised?”
“Pleasantly.”
Alessa finished her espresso and rose. She rinsed her cup and saucer.
Michael hurried to her side to dry the crockery. He placed the cup in the saucer and set them next to the espresso machine. They followed the same routine with Michael’s empty cup.
When they were done, Alessa reached for the drying cloth in Michael’s hands. As she did, their fingers brushed against each other. Whoa! He glanced at her. By the look in her eyes, she’d felt the electricity too.
Without a word, Alessa averted her gaze and hung the cloth. She leaned back against the counter, eying Michael’s jeans. “Did you bring a pair of shorts with you? You’re probably going to get hot on the bus in those. The mercury promises a scorcher today.”
Michael’s gaze roamed her own outfit—a burgundy, off-the-shoulder miniskirt with the daintiest flower pattern on the dark-colored fabric. Yes, he was the type of guy who noticed the tiny details. On her feet, she wore a pair of white casual slip-on sneakers. Pity to mess with all that she had going on there, but it would only be temporary.
He offered her a nervous smile. “Um, I think you’re the one who will need to do a little rearranging of your outfit.” He held up a hand as her eyes narrowed and her brow creased. “Not a lot though, and only for a while. You can stay exactly as you are, but you’ll need to pull on a pair of jeans under that shirt…I mean skirt. And if you have a leather jacket, it would be wise to wear that too.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Are you joking with me?”
He shook his head. Without thinking, he grabbed her hand. “Here, let me show you so you’ll understand.” He rushed outside to where he’d parked the superbike.
Alessa clasped her hands to her mouth. “Wha— No way! Is that our ride? No crowded bus ride with perspiring tourists?”
Before he could answer, she slid her leg over the bike.
Michael inched closer like a mother hen guarding her chicks. He didn’t want the Ducati to topple over and Alessa to get hurt, but he was ashamed to admit, he wanted the bike to get hurt even less.
“Wow! Is this yours?”
He sighed. “I wish. Although I do have something similar back home in the States.”
“So where did you get this? Did you steal it?” She giggled. “Seriously, if you were so against riding the bus, we could have gone on my scooter. Although the bus had been your idea in the first place.”
“What? And risk having to wear that ridiculous pink helmet?”
Oops.
Her smile vanished. “How do you know my second helmet is pink?”
“I…um…saw Sienna put it on before you left Hope Center on Sunday night.” Hopefully she’d leave it at that, and he wouldn’t have to venture down the path of questioning her about her whereabouts on Tuesday night. After all, it had nothing to do with him—even if they’d had a date planned only four days later. They weren’t exclusive. Yet. In fact, they weren’t anything yet, and he had no doubts that Alessa would be quick to remind him of that if he rocked the boat.
“Of course.” Slowly, she slid off the motorbike. She straightened then turned, her gaze fixed on him. Her lips thinned and tiny lines formed on her forehead once again. “But…why would you think it was ridiculous? Why would you have an issue with its color? Unless— Have you been Facebook stalking me?”
“What? No.” He actually hadn’t. He rarely went on social media. There wasn’t time in his life for that.
“Then what is your problem?”
He’d have to come clean. He’d have to raise the subject he’d spent four days convincing himse
lf he wouldn’t go near.
“On my way home from the sports center on Friday night, I took a path past the Trevi Fountain. I happened to see you…uh…giving a ride to a…man.”
“Are you jealous, Michael Young?” Alessa pouted her lips, making them fuller and more kissable than ever. She took a step closer, and Michael clenched his fists lest he slide his arms around her waist and draw her into his embrace, into his kiss. Just like he’d done so many times in his dreams.
“No... Yes… Maybe…” She’d reduced him to a blathering idiot. “It’s just— It was rather amusing to see a pink helmet on a male. Ridiculous, like I said.”
By now Alessa stood so close, their noses almost touched. She gazed up at him through lowered lashes as she brushed her palms over his shoulders. “You mean you wouldn’t wear my spare pink helmet if I asked you to?”
As she puckered those lips into another pout, Michael drew in a shaky breath. This woman was going to be a handful, but no doubt a fun one. “For you, I’d wear one that looked like a disco ball.” He chuckled. “But only if it’s what you wanted me to do.”
With her smaller backpack of beach necessities strapped to Michael’s chest, and his picnic backpack on her back, Alessa held on tight around Michael’s waist. She loved the feel of her arms around him, of leaning into the curves with him and the Ducati—pure symmetry in motion. The knowledge that he was hers for the day lifted her spirits.
Could be like that till death parts you.
What? Where had that line from the traditional marriage vows snuck in from? She pushed the thought aside. She was here to enjoy the sand, sea, and sun for the next couple hours. That’s all.
Her sister’s words came to mind. Promise me you’ll go out with Michael once, and get to know him.
Hmm, she knew exactly where that line of thinking had come from.
Sienna…
Still, she had to admit that it felt pretty good holding on to Michael Young. And she would enjoy the feeling while it lasted.
All too soon, Michael drove down the Riviera Zanardeli where a continuous row of cream beach houses with sea-green roofs lined the pavement. Beyond that, a golden beach was stippled with turquoise umbrellas and bronzed sun worshippers. Then an aquamarine ocean stretched to the horizon followed by a cloudless blue sky.
Alessa breathed the ocean air in deeply. She didn’t get out of the city nearly enough.
Michael indicated that he would look for parking farther down the road. Finally, he stopped where the beach had narrowed and the crowds had thinned. White sails dotted the ocean this side of the riviera, and a high cliff, overgrown in greenery, marked the end of the strand.
Perfect.
They climbed off the bike and headed for the beach. Soon they’d rented an umbrella and had their picnic blanket and towels spread across the soft, warm sand. Alessa toed off her canvas shoes and dug her feet into the soft grains for a few moments. Ah, that felt so good.
With her bikini already on beneath her clothing, she stripped off her jeans then discarded her dress, suppressing a giggle at the memory of Michael thinking it was a shirt. She dug in her backpack for her tanning lotion and handed the bottle to Michael.
“Would you mind?” She lay down on the towel, offering him her back.
She watched over her shoulder as Michael squeezed a blob of white cream onto his palm. He rubbed it between his hands for a few seconds. “Just to make it a little warmer so it’s not too cold against your skin.”
Thoughtful as well as talented, good-looking, well-built, and a list of other attractive qualities. He truly was the ultimate package.
Michael’s hands touched her skin and she caught her breath.
“Too cold?” he asked.
She shook her head and lay back down, her body tingling at his touch. She was in big, big trouble. At least, her heart was. She could look after herself. But her heart… Exactly why she’d guarded it since she was a little girl. No man after her father would ever get the chance to break it, or her.
But she feared that Michael Young might just have found the key to open that guarded jail cell and set her heart free.
Michael swallowed hard as he covered Alessa’s back, shoulders, and legs with—he glanced at the bottle—mineral sun. Her skin was already a beautiful shade of brown, so he wasn’t sure she needed much more sun. Maybe coming to the beach wasn’t the best idea, especially with her in that bathing suit.
Michael wiped the excess lotion on his shoulders and face. Hands behind his head, he stretched out on his towel next to Alessa. Warmth seeped through the soft fabric to his back, while the sun toasted his stomach. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were already closed. He hoped she wasn’t asleep.
“Can I ask you something?” he ventured.
She peered at him through half-open eyes. “Sì.”
“Back at your apartment, you said something to me in Italian…sembri molto something.”
“Sembri molto prestante.”
“Yes. Sembri molto prestante. What does that mean?”
She laughed and pushed up onto her elbow, resting her head in her hand. “Has it been bothering you all this time, Michael?”
“To be honest, yes. I wasn’t sure if you were swearing at me, welcoming me—”
“It means, ‘you look very handsome.’”
“Oh.” Well how about that.
Silence descended between them for a while. Finally, Alessa broke it.
“Can I ask you something?”
Somehow he knew that even if he’d said no, she would ask anyway. He propped himself up on one arm. “Sure, fire away.” He leaned his head against his shoulder as he waited for her to speak.
“You said you’ve been to Anzio before— Why did you come? Another date? Another girl?”
“No. Why? Are you jealous, Alessandra Rossi?”
“No... Well, maybe just a little.”
He longed to lean over and show her that she had no reason at all to be jealous, that his heart belonged to her alone.
“You’re the first girl I’ve taken on a date in Italy. In fact, you’re the first girl I’ve dated in a very long time.”
“Well, we’re not dating… We’re on a date, that’s all. Big difference.”
For now.
Alessa sat upright. She leaned forward to their food backpack tucked at the bottom of the blanket, safely under the shade, and grabbed a bottled water.
“Would you like one?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
She threw the bottle to Michael and dug in the backpack for another. She cracked the lid and took a long drink before turning back to Michael.
“So, why did you come to Anzio then? Bunch of guys, hanging out on the beach? Trying to pick up girls?”
He laughed. “Nothing like that at all. Keith and I caught the bus through here one day to see Sicily-Rome American Cemetery.”
“There’s an American cemetery here? In Anzio?”
His eyes widened. “You’re a tour guide and you didn’t know that?”
“I know Roma, very well, thank you very much. I just can’t know all the sites of Italy. There’s too many.”
True.
“Well, how about I be the wealth of knowledge for about a minute.” Dramatizing his tone, he said, “It was the year 1944, when British and US forces landed in Anzio to liberate Rome from the Germans.” He paused, his throat thick at the memory of the seventy-seven-acre treed park, neatly cut green grass lining the earth beneath the thousands of white crosses that had been erected as a memorial to the dead and the lost. “Nearly eight thousand Americans are buried in the American Cemetery. M–my grandfather was only four when his father died in that fierce battle.” Maybe that was why Italy had always been dear to his heart. The blood of the Youngs had been spilled on this soil. One of those unnamed graves was for his great-grandfather.
Inside the memorial chapel, on the white marble walls, he and Keith had found Grandpa Young’s name and rank engraved among a m
yriad of soldiers that had died or gone missing.
Alessa reached for his hand and held it in hers, a sheen in her blue eyes. She blinked. “My country owes your country, and you, a debt of gratitude. Grazie mille.”
She didn’t move her hand, and he didn’t mind. “Is that why you felt the need to come to Roma to be a missionary here?” she asked.
“Perhaps. But God had laid Italy on my heart for many years. Finally, I gave up my day job to work full-time for the Lord.”
“And your day job was…?” She cocked her head to the side, her auburn locks cascading down her arm.
“I am, or rather I was, a software engineer for a huge global IT corporation.”
“A computer geek, in other words.”
He chuckled. “Exactly.”
“No wonder you never dated…really.” Alessa’s laughter melded with his.
So now she knew his story, or at least part of it. But what had brought her from the Tuscan hills to Rome? Wouldn’t the tranquility of the area she grew up in be more idyllic than living in the bustling city? Although some people did simply prefer city life to the country. His vocation, on the other hand—like Alessa’s—demanded he be in the city. That was where the bulk of hurting, lost people lived.
Still, Alessa had made the choice, and he couldn’t help feeling there was far more to her story than met the eye.
Dare he ask?
Alessa pulled her hand away and stared at him. She’d never expected him to ask her why she’d chosen to live in Roma instead of Tuscany. She couldn’t tell him the real reasons that had led to the decision she’d made.
She jutted out her chin. “Why not Roma?” A little defensive. She softened her tone. “I mean, it’s a beautiful city with incredible architecture, which I happen to love. The opportunities are here.”
“There aren’t tours through the country?” Michael questioned.
“Of course there are, but— I like it in Roma. This is my home now.”
She shoved to her feet and held out her hand to Michael. “Are you coming in, the water looks amazing, and I’m so hot.”
“So am I,” Michael said. “Just look at the sweat dripping from me.”
Those Blue Tuscan Skies Page 39