He leans forward and places a hand on my bare leg to steady himself as he reaches his other out to fill my glass. When he leans back he doesn’t remove it. Instead, there is a gentle squeeze.
He yawns again and holds his glass aloft. “To Sicily?”
“To Dad?” I reply, looking back at him, glassy-eyed.
“To Nicky.”
We sit in silence for a moment, finishing our wine. My nervous energy is off the charts.
I wriggle myself up, stretching out my neck. “I’m going to use the loo.”
I head into the bathroom to pee and wash my face and then reapply my low-key makeup. I take a moment to quietly tell myself to be cool. To be calm. To try to just sleep.
I remind myself that nothing can happen. Nothing should happen. And that I need to keep a lid on my rocketing emotions. Nothing good will come of it. I take a deep breath and return to the cabin.
But Leo is already asleep.
17
THE NIGHT ISrestless. I dream about Leo. I dream we’re running through the narrow alleyways of Catania. Then I am alone with Leo at Nicky’s. He is kissing me against the bar. As I slip my hand in between the buttons of his shirt and touch his warm skin, I feel the hard form of his muscles under my fingers. His shirt is softer than it should be. A soft, silky cotton. His chest flexes and I hear a breath in my ear as I reach my head forward and kiss the edge of his jaw once. Twice. Three times, before he pulls his head back.
I can feel his fingers trailing up my bare legs, leaving an electric fizzling in their wake. His hand, rough and large against my skin, reaches my thigh just at the edge of my shorts and stops... I hear myself moan. My hand moves down the lines of his chest, to his stomach, which hardens under my touch. I reach the waist of his pants now, and my hand skims under the bottom of his shirt until I make contact with his skin and pull at the waistband of his pants. I moan into his ear, moving closer to him, lifting my leg up and hooking it around him.
I am hungry for Leo. Starved. I want to reach down, fartherstill, but just as I start to move, I feel a hand on my wrist and hear, “Olive,” whispered gently in my ear. “You’re dreaming.”
And then I’m on a boat, and Leo is sailing the boat, but I want to get off. He can’t hear me. I shout to him. “Leo.
“Leo!”
I wake with my heart racing, feeling a sense of urgency. Did I just shout his name? Did I wake myself shouting his name? I roll over and put my hand out, but Leo isn’t there. It’s still dark outside. Or just coming to sunrise. It must be around 4 a.m.
Confused, delirious, I fall back asleep.
The first sense that brings me back is the sound of water running in the bathroom. Then it’s the smell of cheap, burned coffee.
Leo emerges a few minutes later, holding two paper cups.
“Hey, sleepy,” he says, with an intimacy that makes my cheeks flame.
“Hey,” I reply. Groggy. I clear my throat. “What time is it?”
“Six,” he says.
“Did you sleep okay?” I ask, wishing he was still beside me. With the warmth of his body gone, all that remains is the dent in his pillow.
“Um... sure,” he says, in a careful way that makes me uneasy.
“I was dreaming a lot,” I say, aware, now, of the stickiness of my skin and the clamminess of the sheets.
“Youwere,” he says quietly, putting the coffee on the dresser next to me.
“Shit,” I mutter.
I look next to me; the blanket wall is now bunched at the foot of the bed, the duvet covers twisted almost into a spiral. Like a tornado has raced through. I raise my hands to my head and I start to cackle.Laughter and deflection are the only way to deal with my embarrassment.
“Oh no. Did Iactuallyclimb the wall and ravish you?” I point to the remains of the blanket wall.
Leo shakes his head slowly, a slight hint of a knowing smile on his face. “I’m afraid you didn’t get that far, Olive.”
