ZALEA | AMALFI COAST
My jaw ison the floor as we drive along the winding narrow cliffside road. It’s just as beautiful as the pictures, if not better, with rows of colourful homes littered along the cliffs, and blue water so bright it almost hurts to look at.
Gabriel slows the car and turns toward what looks to be a discreet entrance of some sort. There’s a sign that says we’re at the Il San Pietro di Positano, and before he’s even turned the engine off, attendants appear beside us, opening my door.
“Buon pomeriggio,”?* one of them greets, already reaching for our two small bags as we climb out. Gabriel hands over the keys without hesitation, as if this is a regular routine, and the car is whisked away before I even register where it’s going.
I glance toward Gabriel. “So much for a spontaneous adventure,” I mumble. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
His smile is pure trouble. “You’re catching on.”
Inside, the air turns cool against my skin, and stone floors swallow the sound of our steps. I look around while Gabriel checks us in, sunlight spilling through open terraces that frame the Mediterranean sea.
“Zalea,” Gabriel calls out to me when I’ve wandered too far.
I join him at the desk where we’re both offered glasses of chilled limoncello while we wait for the staff to check on our room.
“Where are we?” I ask quietly, still taking everything in.
“This is Il San Pietro di Positano,” he says calmly. “One of the best resorts in all of Positano.”
I turn back to him, searching his face like this might be some elaborate exaggeration, but it isn’t.
“Oh,” I breathe. “So…casual.”
His mouth curves. “You deserve exceptional.”
Before I can respond, a staff member approaches, greeting us warmly and gesturing for us to follow. We’re guided through corridors and open-air passages before we descend by elevator, stepping out onto a terrace lined with greenery and stone.
The attendant stops outside a door set slightly apart from the others. “Your Premier Room,” he says, opening the door.
My breath catches in my lungs as I walk into the room. Light pours in from the large windows of the private terrace, spilling over the large linen bed. I pass the bathroom on my way to the terrace balcony, and brace my hands on the railings as the breeze lifts my dress.
“This is ours?” I ask, still not turning around, hypnotized by the stretching sea beneath us.
“For the weekend,” Gabriel says behind me.
I glance back, my heart doing something reckless in my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me we were going somewhere like this? I thought we were going to just find a random Airbnb when we got here.”
He shrugs lightly. “Would you have still come if I had told you I’d planned it all?”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it and I shake my head, turning back toward the water. “This place is…” I pause,searching for a word that doesn’t feel so small. “...ridiculous. In the best possible way.”
He steps beside me, close enough that I’m aware of him. His sleeve brushes mine when he rests his hand on the railing. The contact is brief and probably accidental, but I notice anyway.
“You deserved something unforgettable,” he says.
I glance sideways. “You do realize this is going to raise my expectations for the rest of this getaway, right?”
His eyes shift to mine, amused. “I like a challenge.”
My pulse stutters and I look away before he can catch it. The breeze carries the scent of citrus blossoms from somewhere below us, and I inhale slowly, grounding myself in the moment, in the view, in anything other than how close he’s standing.
I’m still too sore from last night to go again, but try telling that to the slow, needy ache building between my thighs.
“So,” I say, “what’s first?”
His gaze lingers on my lips a fraction too long before returning to the view.
