Alexander
Setting the charcuterie board on the table, I adjust the lantern, shielding the flame from the evening breeze.
Cecilia is still finishing her shower. Since we had a late lunch, dinner will be simple: a few bruschette and a board made of the best this region offers. Paper-thin prosciutto di Parma, blackGaeta olives, thick wedges of pecorino, and mozzarella di bufala so fresh it was delivered this morning, finished with figs and honey.
Moving to the edge of the terrace, I rest my hands on the stone and look down at the cliffs. We’re at the villa in Arienzo my family rents every summer. I extended the lease the moment Cecilia told me about her trip. I wanted her to see this place before she left.
Our villa sits at the end of the private road, the highest house. There are no rooftops above us or neighbors pressing in from either side.
“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” Cecilia says from behind me. “I don’t think I’d ever get used to this view, even if I lived here.”
Turning, I find her in a vintage-rose dress with long sleeves, a modest neckline, and a slit along her left side that rises high enough to get a reaction out of me. It fits her perfectly.
Her hair falls over her shoulders in loose waves, touching the curve of her chest.
“Yes,” I murmur, my eyes traveling over her as I move closer.“Mi togli il fiato.”
She laughs and shakes her head, knowing it isn’t the view of Il Mar Tirreno or Positano at night taking my breath away.
With a smile, I kiss her. Then I take her hand and lead her to the table, pulling back her chair. Cecilia looks across the terrace, taking in the lanterns I lit around us. I raise the volume of the outdoor speakers, the music no more than background sound.
Over wine and simple food, we talk about everything except what waits for us beyond this night. Tomorrow afternoon, we return to Pisa. She’ll have one more full day there. And the morning after that, she flies back to New York. But in my mind, her leaving is not an ending.
Leaning my head back, I look up at the sky, full of stars.
“All these days together,” Cecilia says, her voice a murmur, “I’ve noticed you look up at the sky a lot.”
I smile when I turn back to her. “My father... He was obsessed with history and astronomy. He even tried to teach me the constellations. These days I can barely name any beyond the obvious, the easy ones.”
Lifting my eyes again, I continue. “I’ve always been drawn to the vastness of it. To something that feels so close... and yet impossibly distant.”
The way you once were, I think.
Then, looking at her now, I add in a hushed voice, “The tattoo on my arm... it’s for him.”
“Oh.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wondered if it meant something.”
I nod. “It’s Scutum. It was one of his favorites because of what it stands for. Defense. Protection. A place of safety. He used to say family should be exactly that: choosing your people. Protecting them by becoming the place they call home.”
Touching the ink on my left bicep, I explain the rest. “I got the tattoo not long after he died. The shield came first. And I added the shadow and the small points, like stars, around it after my mother passed.”
Cecilia laces her fingers through mine. “It’s beautiful. And the meaning behind it even more so.”
She lifts my hand and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. My heart stumbles as I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her wrist, holding her gaze.
While we eat, we make plans for tomorrow: Naples in the morning, then Pisa only hours later.
Recognizing the song playing, I rise and pull her up with me.
“This song always makes me think of you,” I murmur near her ear as the blended voices of Andrea Bocelli and Edith Piaf fill the night with La Vie en Rose.
I start the track again and pull her closer, one hand resting at the small of her back, the other keeping our fingers laced over my heart as I guide her into a slow sway. When the chorus comes, I speak the lyrics to her, meaning every word.
And then I lean in and translate them into her ear, tracking how she reacts to every line... her body moving with mine, her breathing changing.
“When she holds me in her arms
When she speaks to me softly
