Benito lifts his head, climbing back on top of me, kissing the tender spot between my collarbone and the base of my neck. I fumble with the buttons on his pants; he takes the note and pushes them down hiships. I reach for him through his boxer briefs and he moans. He nods toward the nightstand. “Condoms. There should be condoms in there.” He starts to reach for the top drawer but looks back at me. “Should I—?”
“Yes,” I say, deciding I don’t want to know why he knows where all the condoms are stashed in the house at this exact moment. “Obviously.”
He grins. Once he’s situated, he eases himself into me and I run my hands through his hair. I’ve fantasized about this moment so many times that I feel the need to take stock of my surroundings to convince myself it’s really happening. The softness of his hair against my fingertips, the edges of his legs flush with mine, the heat of his body like a blanket over me, the squeezes of pleasure pulsating deep inside me. It’s real. He’s real.
Benito stops suddenly and locks eyes with me. “Is something wrong?” I ask.
He plants a delicate kiss on my lips. “No,” he says, and it sounds like relief. “Nothing is wrong.”
Chapter Fifteen
I wake up the next morning to sunlight pouring through the window and an empty bed. Benito snuck back to his room reluctantly hours ago, and I wish I was still tangled up in him. I open the curtains and inhale the view. With the morning fog lifting off the water like steam, it’s an even more ethereal sight than the day before—if my body weren’t still tingling after last night, I’d be worried this has all been a part of an elaborate, extended dream.
“Izzy? Are you up?” I hear Giac from the other side of the door. I snap back to reality and open the door. Giac’s lips glide into a snide smile when he sees me. “Someone had a rough night.”
I fling my hands to my head and walk into the bathroom. My hair is a mess, all askew with no discernible part, and my normally beachy waves have turned into a chaotic, tangled mess. I splash water on my face and try to work out the knots with my fingers. Giac finds my brush on the counter andhands it to me. “Bless you,” I say, and run it through my hair until it no longer resembles a lion’s mane after an aggressive hunt.
“There’s breakfast on the terrace,” he says.
“Of course there is.” I head toward the door, but he is still staring at me with a foxlike grin on his face. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head and laughs.
“Shut up.” I playfully hit him on the shoulder. I throw my robe back on over my pajamas and we make our way downstairs.
“Buongiorno, Isabella.” Raffaello greets me on the terrace with a double air-kiss and I cringe to notice he has an extra pep in his step this morning. The table from last night is adorned with pastries, bowls of berries, and freshly squeezed juices. When I sit, a server pours me a fresh cup of coffee.
“Isabella,” Raffaello begins, “I hope you weren’t too put off by my colleagues last night. They meant no offense, they’re only excited about their work.”
I stopped thinking about the events of last night somewhere between Benito’s lips and his tongue, but now a pulse of nervous energy courses its way through me with the memory of it all. “Not at all,” I say, because if we’re going to rehash some portion of last night, I don’t want it to be dinner. “I apologize if I made it contentious.”
Raffaello claps his hands together. “Nothing wrong with a little spirited conversation. I’m sure you’ll agree.”
I nod. “It’s kind of my love language.”
The doors to the terrace swing open and Anita and Sutton walk out. Both their cheeks are rosy and sun kissed, and Sutton sets a loaf of bread down on the table. Anita flings her arms around Raffaello’s shoulders and kisses him on the cheek. “We were able to acquire the honey you like, my love,” she says, and I have to consciously stop myself from rolling my eyes. Anita and Raffaello have yet to make any sense to me as a couple, though stranger pairings have occurred.
“I love mornings in Como,” Sutton says, stretching her arms to take in the sun. “Is Benito still not up? I was surprised he was snoring when I left, given that he’s such an early bird.”
“I’m sure he’s exhausted after last night,” Giac says with a knowing look toward me.
I nearly choke on my Nutella-filled cornetto. “We all are. What a great party. Thank you again, Raffaello and Anita, for having us.” The words churn out of my mouth so quickly and chaotically that everyone is now staring at me with bemusement. “Giac, we should probably head back to La Musa soon, no?”
Giac shakes his head. He is enjoying watching me squirm way too much. “I am in no rush.”
“Such an American sensibility to always be on the go,” Raffaello says with a wave. “If you are going to live here in Italy, Isabella, you cannot always be thinking about what’s next.”
“Don’t be condescending. She’s adjusting.” Anita waves her hand at Raffaello and I’m glad to knowshe doesn’t allow herself to completely roll over and adhere to her husband’s every wish in his presence.
Raffaello takes her hand and kisses it. I want to retch. “No, no. I mean no offense, Isabella.” He’s said this so many times the words have lost all meaning. “I want you to feel at home in our country. I do.”
“I’m with you, Izzy,” Sutton says, delicately stirring a sugar cube into her coffee. “The Italian way of life is perfect for a vacation, but I’m meant to live at a faster pace.” She points her spoon at Raffaello. “And you’re one to talk, Mr. Workaholic.”
“There’s a difference between working hard and never being able to slow down and enjoy life. I enjoy life’s pleasures as much as I can.”
I’ll bet you do, I want to say.
The terrace doors open and Benito walks out to the patio. He’s in those soft gray pants from the first night we spent together and a plain navy T-shirt. He rubs his eyes sleepily and my heart does a somersault when I notice his hair’s still askew from where my fingers ran through it. “’Giorno,” he says, meeting my eyes first and smiling.
