“No, they will never allow us to get married. Ever. And I think that would kill me.”
***
Low rumbling voices woke me up, but I rested for a moment before I opened my eyes. I was used to falling asleep on buses, trains, and airplanes; I always savored the moments when sleepiness fended off the unpleasantness of the world.
I wondered, enjoying the dark behind my eyes, why I had dreamed of that scene. It had occurred at the beginning of my last summer trip to my godmother's, before everything had fallen apart. I had almost forgotten about that conversation. It had to be because of Not-Oskar, I concluded.
Not-Oskar. The capsize. Jin Woo. The island.
I sat straight up. My eyes flew open.
Firelight flickered off the worn wooden planks that made up the walls, the fire weakly but contentedly crackling away in a stone hearth of what seemed to be a single room. A small window set high up on the wall allowed a little grey light to shine in from the outside. The rest of the cabin was mostly bare, with only a faded plastic bucket, fire implements, and several bundles on the ground filling the space.
“Good morning.”
I almost swallowed my tongue with my hard inhale. My heart was pounding so hard on the inside of my ribs that I was worried that it would break them. I slowly turned towards the voice.
There are people who look like they are meant to be from a different era. A woman with the little rosebud lips and big, round blue eyes of the Victorian age, or a man who you swore you’d seen on some Soviet propaganda with his wide, strong jaw. This man looked like he had fallen out of some Renaissance painting. His tousled hair was a mess of brown waves, and his eyes were the brightest hazel I had seen, mostly green with a bit of brown thrown in as if whoever made him had wanted to dull the effect, but the brown just highlighted the bright gleam of him. Under his eyes, he had dark circles that were complemented by pale olive skin and cheekbones that could cut. A few moles were scattered over his face as if they were an afterthought, and his lips were so soft-looking that it took me a second to realize that he was waiting for a reply.
“Good morning?” I said shakily.
“I know,” the beautiful man threw a hand over his forehead, “noMoka,so no coffee, nobiscotti, so maybe not a good morning, but, hmm,” he rolled his shoulders, and winced, “could be much worse, I was dead yesterday.”
The pieces came together. I hadn’t seen him properly on the ferry; he’d had his hood pulled all the way up, but he had been sitting next to Jin Woo. This was the man in the ocean, this was—
“Jin Woo’s fiancé!” I exclaimed.
He smirked and sketched a little bow.
“Yes, but I also do have another name, as much as my future mother-in-law hates to use it. Ettore Da Lodi. And you,Signorina? What should I call my savior?”
Ah, Italian, I thought, when I finally placed his accent. His voice was almost musical, and he spoke as if we were sharing some delicious inside joke. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.
“M-mina, Wilhelmina Wright, nice to meet you, Ettore.” I managed to stammer out, sure that I was blushing tomato red despite the brown of my skin.
Ettore leaned forward and, in a swift, smooth motion, kissed both of my cheeks, leaving them practically steaming.
“I must say that we are past that, my dear. I believe we got quite up close and personal yesterday. Thanks for that, by the way,” he said almost jauntily.
The CPR!
“Oh goodness! How are you? You must be aching. Could I see? I hope I didn’t break your ribs?”
As I spoke, I reached forward, hooking my fingers in the gaps between the buttons on his shirt to pull it off, before I froze.
“Sorry, so sorry! I didn’t mean to overstep!” I recoiled and stared at him as he laughed.
“No worries, my little savior,” his mouth twisted up mirthfully, “you are always welcome to tear off my clothes, I know Jin Woo wouldn’t mind if it was you, here,” he grasped one of my hands in his and went to work on his buttons with the other, “see, just some bruising.”
All I could think was, good glorious fuck! His chest was lightly muscled, lean but not bulky, a glorious pale olive expanse. There were some bruises, they were the size of both of my hands spread, but they looked like they were already healing. His skin was more yellow and light green than the deep purple and red of a fresh bruise.
“How-how are you fine?” This man seemed to prevent me from smoothly voicing comprehensible thoughts.
He shrugged his shirt back on, grimacing as he did up the last two buttons.
“We Da Lodi’s are tough.”
“Yeah, but I did CPR, CPR breaks ribs and stuff, are you sure you don’t need to go…”
