I looked up at the moon, which was shining over the warm waters of the calming sea. Dante said something and Giulio’s expression changed. As they exchanged a few words, I could see they were tense. Giulio shook his head and pulled his hand away from Dante, who looked up and saw that I was watching them. He stiffened, and there was something cold in his eyes. It sank into my skin, below it, making me uncomfortable.
Instinctually, I sought refuge in Lucas, who squeezed me tight and kissed the crown of my head. As I breathed out, a sharp hissing pierced the night, and a bright trail rose and ended in an explosion over our heads. As the fireworks began, I silenced the anxiety that was growing in me.
I let myself be embraced by my favorite scent.
By the perfect hug.
By the man who was making everything I’d thought impossible come true.
40
The next few weeks were a blur.
Just as in Spain, August 15 is a national holiday in Italy. There, they call it Ferragosto, and it coincides with the Assumption of Mary, which is a huge deal for the Italians. There are processions, parades, concerts…
Lucas wasn’t working that day, and he said we should go to Positano, which was only about twenty minutes by car from Sorrento. They call Positanothe city of staircases, and my knees soon discovered it wasn’t just some random nickname. Still, it was precious, wedged between sky and sea, vertical, with houses clinging to the mountain over the Gulf of Salerno, looking stacked one atop the other.
The view was incredible. It was like a dreamland.
We ate a curry risotto in a restaurant on the terrace of a hotel with incredible views of the coast. Then we spent the afternoon wandering the maze of streets and squares, walking through archways, looking in the stores of craftsmen and soap and limoncello makers that stretched through all the different neighborhoods.
As night fell and the lights turned on, I had the feeling I’d been transported elsewhere. A film set. We found hidden squares, shadowybalconies with fig trees, secret stairways. And wherever we turned, we were watched by dozens of cats strolling along the tops of the walls.
We decided to have dinner in a place called Franco’s Bar. We sat on the patio, waiting for the fireworks to start. On Lucas’s lap, with his arm around my waist, I saw the sky light up and felt the solitude I’d always known my whole life vanish. It was that simple, that easy.
We went home not long after the show ended. We were tired, but we were also happy.
When we pushed open the front door, we could hear music playing out back. We found everyone sitting around the table on the patio except for the kids, who were sleeping on the wicker sofa, covered by a blanket. The adults were arguing about something and seemed to have split into two sides.
“What’s going on?” Lucas asked.
“We’re having a debate about first love,” responded Angela, who was wrapped in her husband’s arms. “Julia says your first love is always the most important, the most intense, the most special.”
“Because it’s new, and you’re discovering things, and you never forget it,” Julia butted in.
“Whereas I think ‘first love’ is just a fancy name we give to our first sexual impulses. You’re young, you’re innocent, and you confuse love with arousal, you feel that urge for sex like butterflies in your stomach,” Roy said.
Julia chided him. “Easy with the scientific words: ‘impulse,’ ‘arousal.’ You sound like a dictionary. I swear I could choke you sometimes.”
Instead of responding, Roy simply raised an eyebrow and grinned.
“I think your first love is the most important, too,” Iria said. “It depends on your experience of it, of course, but still, it marks you forever, and it has an effect on every relationship that you have afterward.If that person hurt you, you’ll be more cautious about opening your heart next time. But if it was happy, then you haven’t built up any defenses. You know what I mean?”
“Not really,” Blas said. “Because unless I’m mistaken, I’m your first and only love, and yet you sound like somebody who knows all about the subject.”
“There’s no way you actually believe that,” Iria said mirthfully. Blas looked shocked, and she laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “You really are an idiot,” she added.
“I think first love is overrated,” Lucas said.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and he fingered the ice cube in his drink.
“Do you now?” Catalina asked.
He nodded. “The last love is the one that counts. The person you choose to stay with.”
He glanced over at me and grinned enigmatically, and I shivered, hugging my arms to my chest.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
