‘Hand-cut potato chips, fried in Impastino’s extra virgin olive oil, dressed generously with crispy parmesan crumbs and lashings of freshly shaved black truffle. Plus thyme sprigs from the garden.’
While she hadn’t arrived on the terrazzo with an appetite, Francesca suddenly found one. ‘And what will you be eating, eh?’
She loved to watch him throw his head back when he laughed. He had done it a few times since his arrival; enough times now to register that it was a rare sign of his genuine joy and release, of elation and letting his guard down. To see him do it now made her want him even more.
Through a cheeky, squinted eye, he said, ‘You’ll be my dessert.’
A bolt of adrenaline shot through her middle, stockpiling between her legs. ‘Alessio!’
‘You complaining?’ He nuzzled her neck, pressing a kiss to her collarbone.
‘Assolutamente no!’
With both arms he lifted her from the ground and tossed her over his shoulder, eliciting a fit of giggles. He gave her bottom a tap, and even through the fine layer of her simple linen dress, she felt the warmth of his hand on her skin. The adrenaline morphed into delicious throbbing tingles.
Will we actually watch any of the film?
In the moment it didn’t matter to her if they did or didn’t. Seeing him go to so much trouble for her, to stage such a sweet and thoughtful evening for them to share . . . Well, that was prize enough.
Alessio carefully sat her down on the lounger and, taking her feet one by one, he pulled off her sandals, setting them aside. ‘Signorina Fiore . . .’
‘Sì?’
‘Vino bianco? Vino rosso? Acqua?’
Francesca grinned into her palm and took another look at the irresistible gourmet popcorn, then said, ‘Bianco.’
Alessio raced to the bar fridge and produced two pre-poured glasses of white wine. He returned to her side and passed her one. ‘You would have broken the spell if you’d chosen the red or water.’
Francesca’s sultry chocolate eyes simmered. ‘You are the magic here.’ She proffered her glass and they clinked.
Alessio took a sip then turned to face the screen, with Cinema Paradiso’s opening frame still frozen on the sheet. ‘We are actually going to watch this. I had a sneak peek at the trailer on YouTube and I’m sold. Move over.’ He kneeled on the lounger and sat all the way back, pulling the two bowls of snacks and his wine with him. ‘Come here.’ He beckoned her with an inviting flick of the chin, and she complied.
Gathering her hair as best as she could with her free hand, Francesca said, ‘I hope you take your cinema with a side of curls. They might get in the way.’ She snuggled in beside him, immediately allowing her curves to mould against his form.
With eyes that suddenly filled with deeply concerned sincerity, he said, ‘Your curls are never in the way. They are never too big. Or annoying. So please stop talking about them like that.’ He caught her chin and tilted it to the sky so he could trap her gaze. ‘Please. I think they are beautiful. And you . . .’ He stopped for a second, and Francesca could feel the thump of his heart reverberating through his torso, pressed so closely against her side. ‘You are beyond any kind of gorgeous I have ever come across in my life. Inside and out. So please never sell yourself short.’
Francesca felt everything shift. The sun. The moon. The stars. The pull of the ocean’s tide rippled up through her, sending her blood rushing to her head, only to recede and leave a delicious light-headedness in its wake.
Nothing between them could ever be the same again. Because she didn’t want it to be.
‘Ale . . .’
‘Francesca.’
She turned and tucked her legs under herself on the lounger so she could face him. With the back of her hand she caressed his cheek, and he returned the gesture, nuzzling into the warmth of her delicate skin. ‘You’re a very generous, caring man. Hearing you say that means a lot.’ She felt her cheeks warm. ‘Thank you for always being so open with me.’
‘It’s just how I am.’
‘I know.’ She smiled. ‘I appreciate it. And I appreciate you. You are the most delicious man to have ever set foot in my life. Ever. And I don’t say that because of the snacks.’
He chuckled softly. ‘You’re more than welcome.’
Francesca leaned in and the two shared a long, passionate kiss, her curls falling across her shoulders on cue. For the first time ever, she didn’t fight them. She let them dangle by her cheeks, sure Alessio would be feeling them tickle. The moment was liberating. Freeing.
And wrapped in that tender, familiar embrace, their legs tangled, their arms knotted securely, they watched Cinema Paradiso together under the star-studded summer night sky.
It wasn’t until Francesca’s favourite scene – the epic sweeping closer in the dark cinema, a film reel churning out the hypnotic montage of black and white censored kissing scenes to the sound of Ennio Morricone’s iconic, incredibly fitting musical score – that Francesca had a realisation.
