“God, Sora. I do too,” Nico says, repositioning so he can roll a condom on. His hips are heavy against mine. With his knee he gently nudges my thighs outward and then he lowers himself so he’s settled in between me. My hips tip up, begging him for it. His eyes search mine, stormy and wild. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been surer of anything,” I say, and it’s the truth.
Nico emits a slow rumbly moan as his chest presses down onto mine and a moment later I feel all of him. My breath is shallow and ragged as I enter the most euphoric haze. All I can think about is how this feels right. I’m clutching tightly to Nico’s back as he curves into me. The intensity builds until we both tip over the edge, and it feels like falling.
I know that, in this moment, I do not want to be anywhere but here. Making love with Nico, just as the sun fully emerges over the horizon, like we’re the only two people in the entire world.
CHAPTER 43
I lie there with myhead on Nico’s chest, feeling it rise and fall with every breath. His fingers comb through my hair, tracing tingling trails in my scalp. I’m in the clouds—happy and rapturous and light, another unexpected experience that’s taken my breath away. This great love that I had been waiting for was right in front of me, in the only place I wasn’t looking. While this trip hadn’t turned out at all how I expected, it has exceeded every possible expectation.
I sigh dramatically. “So this must be about the time it happens, then. Just tell me, will it be poison? Or will you immobilize me with chloroform and then dump me into the sea?”
“What are you talking about, Sora?”
“I thought it was obvious. My murder?”
Nico rolls his eyes. “You’re still on that, huh.”
“Always.” I grin, then plant a sloppy kiss on him. “Though there’s still one pressing matter we will have to address.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Someone is going to have to let Lorenzo down easy. I think he was already planning our wedding.” I put my finger on my nose. “Not it.”
Nico scoffs. “He’ll be just fine.”
“You mean I wasn’t the love of his life?” I feign shock.
“He has a new love every hour.”
“Ouch.” I giggle as I hold Nico’s pendant in my hand. “What does it mean?” I turn the gold disc over, trying to decipher the images.
“It’s Saint Peter. Patron saint of fishermen.”
“Well, that’s very fitting.” I inspect the opposite side. “What’s the key that is engraved here?”
“He was also known as the locksmith—they say he holds the key to heaven.” Nico bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks. “I’ve always liked that. It’s a reminder to always lead in kindness, to help others. It’s my compass, of sorts.”
“I love that.” While my exposure to religion mostly consisted of jumping on my grandfather’s back as he knelt for his morning prayers on our living room carpet, I appreciate the way Nico pulls inspiration and guidance from it.
His phone lights up the small cabin with a barrage of notifications. He groans, stretching out his arm to pick it up. “I’m sorry, this isn’t normal. Something’s happening.”
“It’s totally fine.” I lie there as Nico scrolls through his notifications.
“Sora…” Nico’s brow creases.
“What’s wrong?” But instead of responding, Nico flashes his phone screen to me. He has TikTok pulled up to a video with over 1.2 million views.
The video starts with Sailor Carter’s bright, perfectly contoured face. Over it, the text:24 HOURS AT THE SANTA ANGELICA IN SORRENTO. My heart stops. I had almost forgotten the favor I called in. The video opens with a shot from behind, Sailor swinging open the French doors of her room and sashaying out onto the balcony in a robe that hasSANTA ANGELICAprinted on the back. That wasn’t there before, but I got it done just in time from a local embroidery shop down the street. Her breakfast is waiting on a table, a spread of fresh fruit, pastries, and breakfast meats and cheeses, along with a glass of orange juice and grapefruit juice and a large French press of Italian coffee.
“Enough with the cookie-cutter luxury hotels,” Sailor says. “We have officially entered the era of boutique, personalized stays. When I go on vacation, I want toescape. I want to be pampered. I want to immerse myself in the culture of where I am. And guys, I found the most perfect place on the Amalfi Coast. A literal hidden gem.” Sailor leaves her room and picks up a book from the take-one-leave-one table, then spends some time reading it down by the pool as she lounges under a lemon tree.
The video cuts to Nico’s mom’s garden. It’s bursting with produce: tomatoes clustered on the vine, rows of basil, bell peppers dangling from their stems. Sailorwalks through the aisle of the raised beds, her fingertips skimming the leaves. She plucks a tomato from the vine, placing it in the basket she’s carrying, then grabs a bunch of basil.
I grab Nico’s wrist. “Oh my God, Nico,” I whisper, because I don’t want this dream to vanish.
“You can even take a cooking class with the owner!” Sailor adds as the video transitions to Nico’s mom stirring a gigantic pot of bubbling marinara sauce. She’s adorable and charming, bashfully grinning as Sailor throws an arm around her shoulder. Sailor taste-tests the sauce from a wooden spoon, exaggerating a chef’s kiss into the camera.
