He held the door for me and I slipped in. He went to the other side and took the driver’s seat. I wasn’t sure what kind of car it was. It looked fast, but it was thin in width and somewhat long. It kind of reminded me of a formula 1 race car, but with two seats instead of one. It seemed made to fit down these narrow streets and go fast.
After Luca handed me a scarf for my hair, and I secured it, he took off, leaving Rocco in the dust. Luca laughed a little, but he didn’t bother to speak over the wind. He sang over it—“Nuestro Encuentro”—as he took me on a tour of the island, famous race-car-driver style. Some of the turns were sharp, but he took them without hesitation, even stopping a time or two to brake forbaaaa-ing sheep as smoothly as if he had been going ten miles per hour.
“Driving is like life, ah? It is enjoyable to speed through it, take all the dangerous turns on high, but we must remember to slow down and absorb the best parts of it as well.” He lifted a hand to the view. “Even when we feel the stop is slowing us down and is a waste of time. God does not waste our time. We stop for a reason.”
The reason?
Water as far as the eye could see, white sparks dancing over it from the sun, a bunch of livestock invading the road until they moved out of our way.
The view was spectacular.
So was his driving.
I was getting high off the speed. If nothing else, which I knew was so wrong, the man could handle a fast car, and I understood why he was considered the GOAT of racers.
We stopped for a lemon chiller from my ex-stand after about half an hour, then we explored for another hour or so until heparked close to the church, Santa Maria delle Stelle. He stepped out first, fixing his suit, every eye in close enough radius sizing him up. I could have sworn I heard every woman in the area sigh. Or maybe it was their ovaries.
His attraction went above what the law of nature should have ever allowed.
He opened my door and extended a hand to me. I stepped out, my heels crunching against the ground. I’d decided to keep the scarf tied in my hair, since we were entering church. The island was more casual, since it seemed to be a private vacation spot for this family, but there were still times men dressed in suits and women in formal dresses.
This was one of those times.
I removed the sunglasses and Luca took them, sliding them inside his pocket for me.
Ever the gentleman.
Spots danced in front of my eyes when we entered church. It had been so bright outside, and the church was almost dark. Except for the stained-glass mosaic windows, which bled a kaleidoscope of colors onto the walls, pews, and floor. Flames in glasses swayed with an invisible breath as they lit up a shrine to Mary with glowing light. The air smelled of incense and the sea.
Luca watched me as I dipped my finger in cold holy water, making the sign of the cross, blessing myself with it, then genuflected before I walked down the aisle and chose a pew—the one where the colors reflected the most over it. He did the same, then followed me into the pew. He gave me time to come to my peace, then cleared his throat.
“The ceremony will take place here.”
This was a statement, but I nodded anyway. “Sì.”
He gave me a genuine smile at my use of the Italian response. “You are gifted,” he whispered.
I looked him in the eyes. “So I’ve been told.”
His eyebrow rose at this. “You do not feel it then.”
“I do.” I sighed. “But it’s different from the wayScarlett is. What I’m meaning to say… The ‘gift’ is similar in that it shares the same roots, but somehow our branches are different. Scarlett seems to be overwhelmed by her feelings, and once she makes sense of them, she just knows. I get overwhelmed inside of my head—dreams and words. It’s easier for me to work them out on paper.”
“This is why you write.”
“This is why I write.”
“God blessed you with this talent. I read your book. The criminal thriller.”
I stared at him, probably a clueless look on my face.
He touched my chin. “Do not look so surprised or afraid,Amora Bella.”
I’d heard him call Scarlett “Rosa,” and that was exactly how he’d said my name, like it was a nickname for me meaning, “Beautiful Love.”
“You have a curious soul,” he whispered. “You remind me of my wife in this way. My oldest son’s wife is this same way as well. However, attempt to tame the urge to throw peppers, ah?”
I couldn’t help myself. I smiled.
