“You have nothing to apologise for,” she told me and then her face hardened slightly again. “See you next week!”
And now I’m standing on the steps to her Belgravia office, feeling the late summer sun on my face and trying to determine how I feel, aside from exhausted.
Relieved, I think. Proud, possibly.
“How did it go?” A voice snaps my head to my left.
It’s Marcello.
My delighted surprise quickly fades to a feeling that is just as sweet and happy. Of course, Marcello is here.
“I thought you were working late today,” I say.
He shrugs and kicks off the wall he was leaning against to stand opposite me. “Chloe said she’d lock up for me. She owed me.”
“And you knew I’d be here because…”
He slides his arms around my waist. I’ve come to learn that it’s impossible to be in close proximity of Marcello and not have him touch me. I will never complain about this fact. “You think I don’t look at the calendar you share with me?”
“Hmm.” I place my hands on his chest, which is Marcello’s perfect combination of hard and soft under his plain white T-shirt that smells of coffee, fresh bread and butter. “That was to help you know my routine so you could figure out one for yourself.”
“I know but I pressed some buttons and somehow I now get reminders for all your appointments.” He shrugs and gives me that face-splitting smile that lights up his warm brown eyes. “And only you would put in the address, phone number and website for an appointment in your calendar.”
“I like to have all relevant information to hand.”
He pulls me against him. “I like having you in my hands,” he says into my hair. Then he leans back. “But seriously, are you okay? Your eyes are a little puffy.”
“I think you’re being generous.” I smile. “I sobbed my heart out.”
He looks taken aback for a second. “In a good way?”
“I think so.”
“Thenbravo.” He pulls me into his body again. “Bravissimo.”
“I’ve never told you this,” I say into his shoulder. “But I love it when you speak Italian.”
“Then I will do it more often,” he says and releases his hold again. When he pulls back this time, he brings his hands to my face and rubs atmy cheeks as if to wipe away any last trace of the tears I just cried. “Più bella cosa non c'è.”
“What does that mean?” I’ve heard him say that before, although I can’t remember exactly when.
“That there's nothing more beautiful than this. Than you.”
Air seems to fill my whole body in a rush, making me feel like I could just float away into the blue sky above us. But then Marcello’s arms move down to my waist and he pulls me against him again, groin to groin.
“So what do you want to do now? Back to yours and watch another 1990s movie with now very obvious bisexual undertones?”
I pull back slightly. “Huh?”
“Just me then.” He smiles, and it’s so goofy and devastating at the same time.
“Actually, I think I want to go to the gym.”
“The gym?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to do a big session. Just use my body. Sweat a bit. Feel the burn.”
“Baby, I can give you all of that, and more,” he says, grabbing handfuls of my backside.
