I look down at the sketches that are now piled in my lap. I could do more, but I did get a decent amount done. I inwardly weigh the pros and cons and send off my answer before I can talk myself out of it.
What do you have in mind?
My imagination hardly has time to hit the gas before he texts back:
Are you in the mood for a swim?
12
“It feels like we’re sneaking in,” I whisper, slowing my pace until I’m almost standing still. Matt takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, urging me forward with him. Lucky for him, I’m so distracted by the gesture that I just keep walking.
“We’re not sneaking in,” he assures me. “Dino gave us the passes so we would use them.”
“I know, but no one else is here. The pool is probably closed.”
My eyes scan the surrounding area and there’s not a soul in sight. When the pool gate opened after Matt scanned his card, I half expected an alarm to sound and a net to drop. But nothing happened and here we are. I’m sure an armored car and Italian SWAT is on the way.
“Closed to everyone else, but not to us.” He brandishes the key again with a confidence I wish I had. I know the passes are meant to offer us VIP perks, but this just feelstooVIP.
“It’s so fancy, though. Uncomfortably fancy. I’m not in the right tax bracket to be here.”
“No one is going to ask for your W-2s.” Matt looks at me then and really takes in my uneasiness. “But if you don’t want to stay, we can go. There’s plenty of other things we can do tonight. We can have dinner somewhere. I know a lot of good places.”
I seriously think about taking him up on his offer. The idea of a late-night swim seemed amazing when he first suggested it, but now that we’re here on hotel property, it feels more like I’m sneaking into a rich neighbor’s backyard.
I try to predict if Matt will be disappointed by my wanting to bail, but then we round a corner and I have an unobstructed view of the outrageously opulent Borelli pool. It’s too beautiful to be real. Straight out of a movie. Oval shaped and expansive, it seems untouched. Lights illuminate the water from the inner lining, casting a misty brightness that makes the water appear crystal blue and sparkling. And just like that, my worries dissipate, and I instantly wonder how I can best explain to Matt that it’s both physically and emotionally imperative for me to play mermaids in this pool.
“Disregard what I said,” I mutter. “I’m in. I’m all in.”
I walk determinedly forward, now being the one to pull Matt along withme.
Looking around, I take in the breathtaking grounds. Mature landscaping hugs the perimeter of the pool area, giving it plenty of privacy. Picture-perfect lounge chairs are lined around the pool itself, each pair with a blue umbrella set between them. The surrounding greenery is storybook lush. Matt said the land once belonged to the mother of Emperor Nero.
We stop to stand a few feet from the water’s edge, and Matt flashes me a roguish smile.
“Are we doing this?” he asks.
I quickly nod and Matt seems pleased, reaching down to pull up his gray T-shirt and drop it to the ground. My eyes follow it, watching as the shirt falls to the preserved stone deck before trailing up his body. As handsome as Matt is fully clothed, Matt shirtless hits different. As in, let-me-spontaneously-whip-open-a-folding-hand-fan-to-establish-a-breeze different. He’s muscular in all the right places, looking effortlessly strong and toned. His pants are next to go, revealing a plain navy bathing suit that’s just shorter than American board shorts and it is now imperative that I look away lest I begin to ogle his hypnotic runner’s thighs.
“What do you think?” he asks, drawing me out of my gawking state.
“What?” I reply, trying not to sound flustered. “What do I think of what?”
“Of the pool. It’s nice, right?”
I vigorously nod. “Yeah, absolutely. Very nice.” Needing to busy myself, I place my bag down and pull off my loose-hanging summer dress to reveal my sleek, burgundy one-piece. It’s well made, comfortable and highlights my curves—the bathing suit trifecta of victory.
“How strong is your cannonball game?” I ask. Matt looks over at me, and I try to hide my satisfaction when he pauses before answering as he takes in my state of undress, seeming a little dazed.
“I’ve always been more of a pencil jumper,” he eventually answers. “Minimal splash. Olympic quality.”
I just look at him for a second. I think I substantially miscalculated his weirdness levels.
“Right,” I reply. “Freestyle it is. Three, two, one!” We take off running toward the pool and leap into the air at the same time, cannonball/pencil jumping to the best of our abilities. We resurface a few seconds later, smiling and gasping as we wipe the water off our faces. I dip down low in the water, making sure neither of my boobs opted to go for a night swim of their own after my too-enthusiastic jump. With my top half present and accounted for inside my suit, I let myself drift backward through the water.
“I can’t speak to our splash results but I bet our jump techniques were excellent.”
“I’d be shocked if they weren’t,” Matt agrees, pushing one of his hands through his now drenched hair.
