“Not like an oonie,” he said.
A beat or two passed between us, and then we both busted out laughing.
“Why didn’t you tell me!” I said when I was able to breathe.
“This is my first time on land here,” he said. “I’ve never travelled for pleasure before.”
Whenever he used that word,pleasure, my lower belly clenched in anticipation. It was so fucking sensual coming from his mouth.
“You pick things for us to do, and so do I,” he went on. “This was your pick.”
Of course—a detail of our arrangement.
“Okay.” I sighed. I gave a quick glance at the beach. “How do you feel about…nudity?”
He grinned, but it wasn’t friendly. “You want to go naked.”
It didn’t sound like a question, but I answered as if it was one.
“No,” I said, and meant it. “Not here,” I tacked on. Because being naked on a secluded beach with him…that I could get down with. He said living meant getting dirty. Sand would cover a bunch of crevices.
“Right response,” he said as he took my hand and led me back to where he’d parked the Vespa. It was easier to maneuver on the narrow and winding streets. “You belong to me,” he said in Italian this time, and there was no doubt a warning swam below the surface of his words.
3
MARI
As with my food likes and dislikes, I was starting to test the boundaries of my adventurous side—or find out if I even had one.
The biggest adventure I’d ever had was New York—keeping myself alive. I had no time to get to know myself. What I liked. What I didn’t.Who I was deep inside. My surface had become hardened to the elements. My battle shield was worn and nicked.
After I’d found Capo, he’d given me the gift of time. The freedom to discover who I was.
What had I’d thought when I’d first stepped foot on Italian soil?
New York had become a battleground I’d survived for too long. Every sound was a war cry. Every season gave reason to run and hide, some unknown element coming at me. Every smell was bloodied. Every sight was someone fighting to live.
Italy,Italia, was the promised land after the long and grueling fight.
The theme was continuing in Greece, and the longer I was away from it all, the more I could feel my shell starting to soften. To change.
Was it pathetic that at age twenty-one, I had no idea whether I liked meat or seafood better? (I was still deciding.) Or whether I would rather stay on the yacht and watch whatever nature had to offer in terms of scenery, or jump from a cliff and glide down?
I tried not to think too hard on the circumstances of my life, because there was something I hadn’t realized before. It’s easy for memories of hard times to come back in the good, but it’s so hard to remember the good times in the bad. Maybe because once I had a chance to breathe, I was still looking over my shoulder, waiting for my old shoes to slow me down while life crushed me like an insignificant bug.
It was like having zero and then having a million in a blink. I had no problem with money, or Capo spending his on me, but it was an adjustment. I kept having to remind myself that I had all the things I needed. Water. Food. Shelter. Life was going to be okay.
Even during the hardest times, I never told myself that to make myself feel better. I just…did what had to be done and went on with it. How the fuck was I supposed to know if everything was going to work out? It was a pleasant thought, but in the middle of a battle ground, all I could think about was strategies, next moves, and keeping not only my flesh intact but my soul.
Glancing at the man next to me, at the wheel of the boat, I wondered how he managed to survive it all. How he came out of the other side beinghim.He had his shit together, even if I could see the mosaic pattern of his shatter—how it was put back together like a scene in a church, lead lines, like silver streams of hardened blood, outlining his edges.
What would he tell me if I asked him? Not about mending his own life but my own.
Focus on what the struggles taught you—who you became because of your struggles. Keep the past close like an enemy,but don’t allow it to control you. Keep today open to what’s to come. And the future—leave it there. No one can predict it. We can only live each day.
Yeah, I could hear him saying that. Maybe I didn’t know if I liked steak or seafood better, or how adventurous I was, but what I did know was this: I was a fucking survivor. I could take care of myself, and had before, even if I had come out of the war of my life scarred.
The boat seemed to hit a dip and I rocked, instinctually holding onto Capo’s shoulder to keep me steady. He glanced at me from the side of his eye, and I thought about taking my hand away after we steadied, but I decided not to. His skin was hot from the relentless sun, and even with the wind breaking against our bodies, I could smell him in the air. He was intoxicating.
