“Okay ... and why are you covering your eyes?”
“Um ... the ... the light bothers me. I have a little issue with the tear duct in my right eye, and it burns when the light hits it at a certain angle.” Yes, of course, and what other nonsense should I throw at him now?
“Maybe you should see an ophthalmologist. Lasers work miracles.”
“You’re right. I’ll make an appointment for September.” I’ll make an appointment, all right—with a psychologist. “Anyway, I think that pretty much does it for today; let’s go back. You’re probably tired and want to shower ...” And at the wordshowera still frame of him reappears in my mind, in the courtyard of the annex, shirtless, rinsing himself with the hose to the soundtrack of “You Sexy Thing.” Why wait until September? I’ll call the psychologist tomorrow.
“A shower sounds great. Let’s go!” Michael unties D’Artagnan, leaps onto him with the agility of an Ascot jockey, and holds out his hand to me. “Come on, get up.”
“I like walking,” I say, before I can even formulate an intelligible sentence.
“All the way to the estate?” he asks me, confused.
Listening to myself again, I process the idiocy of what I’ve just said. Miles of dusty hills? What was I thinking?
The fact is, right now, the last thing I need is to have my body pressed against Michael’s on horseback.
“I don’t know if D’Artagnan can carry us both. You know, he’s getting up there in age ...”
“Foliero rides him, and he’s well over two hundred pounds.” He waves his hand, inviting me to join him. “Come on up. I know you don’t want to be a damsel in distress, and you would never let me trample your girl power, but I’m not offering out of chivalry. It’s because ifI go back without you, they’re going to think I murdered you and hid your body.”
Too bad—a bit of chivalry would have been nice ...
“If you don’t do it for your own feet, do it for my criminal record. I don’t know any good lawyers in Italy.”
I squeeze his hand and grab the pommel with my other. In a second, I’m on D’Artagnan’s back, my back resting against Michael’s chest and ... Oh my God, it’s even worse than I thought!
25
Michael
“Hey, Elisa, relax,” I say. We’ve been on the horse for all of ten minutes, and she’s stiff as a board.
“I’m afraid of falling. I don’t feel safe when I don’t have the reins.”
“Am I that bad? I thought I was doing pretty well.”
“No, you’re very good. I’m the one who’s a bit of a control freak.”
I put my left arm around her waist. “Is that better?”
“It’s better if you hold the reins with both hands.”
I carry out the order reluctantly. Right now, all I want to do is hold her close and bury my face in her hair, which, after she has slept, has escaped from its bun and now falls softly over her shoulders. And those shoulders! Defined and tanned, just waiting to be bitten.
Similar thoughts have been crossing my mind—and not only my mind—since this morning, surprising me each time my imagination takes another leap forward.
Before, when we were riding through the vineyard, I couldn’t take my eyes off her breasts wrapped in that tight top, bouncing up and down to the rhythm of the horse.
Then, after lunch, with her sleeping on me, I started to think I might kiss her. It would have been so easy, her lips were just a breath away from mine. All I had to do was turn my head. When she put herhand on my chest, I almost did it ... but then I didn’t. I closed my eyes and recited all the principles of economic theory from Arrow to post-Keynesian thought and fell back asleep.
Maybe it was for the best, because she doesn’t seem to be on the same wavelength as I am. Or maybe she’s just more lucid.
Listening to her talk about viticulture surprised me, I liked it and ... I don’t know how to describe this, because it’s the first time it’s happened to me. I didn’t understand a thing she was saying, and yet I still wanted her to keep talking.
“Are you still seeing that guy from the bakery?” I ask her out of the blue.
“Elmo and I were never seeing each other,” she replies with a shrug. “I only went out with him because Mamma made me. I can barely stand him.”
