“I am afraid something will happen to it.” I shrugged.
“Do you walk around this earth?” he asked me in Italian.
I did not know where he was going with this, but I played along. “Sì, I do.”
“You are the most priceless thing to me, yet you walk around. Why should a piece of jewelry be more precious than you?”
I did not have an answer for that. I shrugged again, going in a different direction with the conversation. “I do not want to be responsible for losing it.”
“You won’t. You’ll give it a chance to shine. To experience the warmth from the sun, the icy cold of winter, the smoky tinge of autumn, the breeze in spring. It’s fucking safe on your hand. Fate says so.”
I used him as support as I took off the thong sandals and stuck them in the bag. I closed my eyes to the sun, to the feel of tiny particles underneath my feet, as warm as the sun, exfoliating my skin. I felt…newly born again. “This is so nice,” I whispered in Italian. “So nice.” I dug my feet in deeper.
I opened my eyes, moving the sunglasses to my head. Taking in the breathtaking beauty that surrounded us without a filter.
Azure water for as far as the eye could see. It rushed in and out, and I stepped closer to it, allowing it to steal the leftover sand on my feet. It felt…incredible. Cool enough to bring relief, but not cold enough to make me think twice about diving in. My skin craved the water, the clean, soft feel of it, while the sun showered us in oozing warmth from above.
The sky seemed to mirror the water. It was bright blue, white clouds meandering as slowly as we were.
In the distance, mountains covered in emerald foliage towered, perhaps considered an entity to all below them on this island.
The palms rustled in the breeze, and the scent of the products Scarlett had given me drifted from my skin and hair. It seemed natural here. At home. In harmony with the heat and the cool look of the water.
The water.
My husband wore his sunglasses, staring at me, and when I looked into his eyes, looked past the darkness shielding him for me, I knew what I would find. A color that only God could have created, the same as this Pacific Ocean. No wonder I was able to always get lost in them. I could drown in them.
I moved closer to him, taking his hand, and he brought mine to his mouth, kissing my fingers. “You smell so fucking good,” he said, breathing me in, moving to my wrist, and then going further up my arm. “Like sniffing a coconut.”
I pulled at his hold when I realized where he was headed. My arm pit. “Mariano Fausti,grossolano!” I laughed, then moved my foot when something tickled it. Another one of those crabs. “You say this is called a fiddler crab?” I let go of my husband, and my knees hit the sand. I set the camera up and took my first picture.
“Yes!” I shouted, sending the little urchin scuttling for safety when I glanced at the screen. I was not sure where the mini sea creature was off to—perhaps burying itself in the sand. However, I got the shot. I stood as quickly as I went down, Mariano’s hand on my arm to steady me, and showed him the picture on the camera.
“Good job, Annie.” He pulled me in and kissed my temple.
Another creature, a lizard, darted across the sand—oh no, it seemed as if it was going after the fiddler crab. I would have taken a picture of it, but I was too slow. I would catch it next time. The same fiddler crab? I was not so sure. The food chain was at work. However, I was no expert when it came to the lizards of the island and their diets.
Still, I beamed at my husband. “I love this! I love that your mamma was so thoughtful to send all these things.” I lifted the camera in explanation. The thought of the cameras made me think of the new book he had received and why he was so choked up about it. However, I decided not to bring it up then.
We were only just starting to explore. The island was open and free. Endless, it seemed, as was our time. I continued to take pictures as we walked deeper into the island, closer to thick foliage, where a path would lead us into a…tropical forest.
A humungous crab on a tree caught my attention—a coconut crab, Mariano called it. I had him flex his muscles next to it as I took the shot. I kept the frame of the camera from his head to his waist. I asked him if we could eat the crab, and he told me no. Hesaid the meat could make us sick, and more than that, some of the islanders believed it held spirits.
“No eating Francesco, then,” I said. “He might have been an angry person in this life and,Madonna mia, not evengrappawill help us with the digestion.” I made the sign of the cross.
Mariano blinked at me before he exploded with laughter. My grin faded when he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to the side of a tree. A herd of wild horses tore down the beach, their hairs whipping in the wind, sand flying beneath their powerful hooves.
The herd stopped for a second, playing around with each other. I smiled, thinking of my family in Wyoming, slowly taking the camera to my eye and snapping a few pictures. I turned the camera some and caught a black horse nuzzling a white one, their snouts almost making a heart, the way they were placed together.
There and then gone.
However, I had the shots.
Ortheshot.
I would frametheone and add it to ourbure.
“This is such a cool place, Mariano,” I said, our hands locked as we took a left and began our adventure deeper into the tropical forest. Bright birds chirped above our heads, and small critters, as Atta called them, seemed to whisper to each other on the sandy floor beneath our feet.
