I’ve never been to Italy before, and when I received the wedding invitation, my first inclination was that I wasn’tgoingto go. It was so like Olivia and Bailey to expect their family and friends to attend a destination wedding in Tuscany. So likeOlivia to not have a single thought about just how expensive flights and hotels are when you don’t have a famous athlete as your fiancé. I’d opened the invitation and laughed, tossing it to the side and going back to my Chinese takeout. I wasn’t going to go.
But the hundreds of hours of unused paid time off mocked me every time I logged in to work. When I turned on the TV, a program about the Colosseum in Rome was playing. I started idly researching flights, still telling myself it would never happen, but curious all the same. In the end, I’d RSVP’d on a whim, booked a flight at 2 a.m. with a muttered “fuck it,” and asked for the time off of work. My boss had emailed back a time-off approval, granting me two weeks instead of the four days I’d asked for and telling me to have fun.
So, here I am in Tuscany, fun all set to commence the moment I can get away from this damn wedding.
Stripes of orange slash across the sky, promising a beautiful sunset over the summer green of the hills. When I reach the end of the drive, I walk over to a wire fence and drape my coat over the top, leaning on one of the wooden posts to watch. Green and brown stretches out in front of me, the orderly rows of grapes broken up here and there by trees. Only the buzz of insects disrupts the quiet. This is better. No fake smiling for the camera, or introducing myself to people who will forget me the moment I’m out of eyesight. This is what fun in Italy looks like for me—silence and solitude and a beautiful view.
“Hello again.”
Niilo’s voice startles me and I jump in what I hope is a manly, dignified sort of way. I turn to find him a couple paces behind me.
“Hi.”
“Tired of the party?” he asks, taking a step toward me and holding up a bottle of water for a sip. He’s even shorter than I’dfirst thought—probably no taller than 5’6”, narrow and lean in his black-and-white uniform.
“I was tired of the party before it even started,” I admit, making him laugh. I glance behind him, up at the villa. “Are you on a break?”
“Mm,” he agrees, moving to stand beside me at the fence. I force myself to look away from the smooth curve of his neck, and back at the sunset. “Are you with the bride or the groom?”
“Bride. We work together for an advertising company. I’m in sports, she’s in fashion. This is the first time we’ve met in person.” Niilo looks at me, eyebrows raised in surprise and question. I shrug, arm brushing against his. “We’re both remote workers, so we’re at home, not an office.”
“Wow,” he comments. “You must be good enough friends to have come all this way for her wedding, though?”
“I’d love to agree, but, Niilo, I’ve got to be honest—I’m mostly here for an excuse to see Italy.”
He laughs again, sending a pair of dimples and a smile up my way. I’m pretty sure the venue knew precisely what they were doing when they hired this man to work the bar. It takes a lot to put an Italian sunset to shame, but he’s managing just fine.
“You remembered my name,” he muses.
“The name you gave me less than an hour ago? I’m not likely to forget.” Not in this lifetime, anyway.
He smiles, pleased, and takes another sip of his water as he looks out across the vineyard at the sunset I’m supposed to be enjoying. A little hard to care, though, when Niilo is right there.
“You’re from Finland,” I say, repeating the information he’d given earlier. “So, does that mean you live here? Or are you just here for…” I trail off, hoping he doesn’t mind my nosiness.
I’m not a particularly friendly person, and this wedding is far beyond any socialization I would usually partake in. Especially since I know exactly one person here, and her only throughvirtual means. But Niilo is as beautiful and exotic as a tropical bird; it’s impossible to look away and even more impossible to tamp down my curiosity. I want to know anything he wants to tell me.
“Travel. Work. Fun,” he intones, lifting one narrow shoulder in a casual shrug, the movement as fluent as a dancer’s. He takes another sip of water from his bottle before holding it out to me, a question in his eyes.
Gaze locked on his, I take a long drink and hand it back.
