As I walk toward him, I’m remembering every kiss we’ve ever had—the day we met, the wedding, the airport in Amsterdam. I’m thinking about how badly I’d like to not simply walk toward him but walkintohim, hard, so that we are pressed against each other, close enough that he could easily wrap a hand around my jaw as he kissedme.
He glances up and then his eyes rake over me, head to toe. If he were anyone else, I’d say it looks like his thoughts are similar to mine.
“Wife,” he says softly as I reach him.
“Good afternoon, husband,” I reply. My voice is too silky, too soft. It’s pathetic. Perhaps we should just fuck to get it out of the way.
Outside, the streets are full of tourists and pop-up markets, and I see now why Lars said we’ll be doing a lot of our filming early in the day…getting through this mess with a camera crew would be tough. I can smell the sea from here, even if I can’t see it. The air is damp, the sun is hot, but there’s a gentle breeze tempering all ofit.
I weave through the crowd, which is hemmed in by tall butter-yellow buildings on either side of the street and head in the direction of Via Aniello Califano, where today’s shoot will begin. Theo hovers close as we walk, his hand on the small of my back, glaring so ferociously at a man who steps in front of me that the guy goes wide-eyed and scuttles away.
He doesn’t question how I know where I’m going this time, and it hits me that he wasn’t entirely wrong in London, when he said I’m not incautious. I’ve studied every itinerary for the show thus far. I’ve looked up the maps and the history, and I’ve set multiple alarms so that I don’t miss a flight. A small shiver runs over my skin. It’s almost as if I’m an entirely different person than everyone thought. Than even I thought.
We turn another corner and suddenly the Gulf of Naples is spread out below us like a gift. I glance at him, expecting to see wonder in his eyes. But he barely seems to notice the view.
“I remember who Brian is,” he says. “The idiot who was texting you. Your father hated him.”
My tongue prods the inside of my cheek. “Don’t start bringing up my dead father to guilt me about my love life, okay?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m not. I’m just pointing out that Brian was a knob long before the passport incident, so you shouldn’t still be with him.”
“I’mnotwith him,” I say, exasperated. “He texts me when he gets home late and he’s drunk, and I remind him I’m married, okay? That has, thus far, been the extent of our correspondence since our nuptials, but I don’t really owe you an explanation when you aren’t explaining anything to me.”
He frowns. “How the hell wouldIexplain your relationship with a guy who stole your passport?”
I glare at him. “You know that’s not who I’m talking about.”
He pushes his sunglasses farther up the bridge of his nose. “Not every story is mine to tell, Rebecca. That’s why I’m notdiscussing it. And the fact that you’re continuing to correspond with a man who clearly doesn’t deserve your time is bizarre.”
“Look, haven’t you just had someone in your life that you keep going back to? Someone who’s convenient? And then you try to end it and date someone normal and that goes even worse?”
His jaw locks, as if I’ve struck a nerve. “How could it go worse than a guy who stole your passport?”
He has a point, but at least Brian was interesting and his weirdness was the sort I could live with. “I’d end things with Brian and try to date his opposite,” I reply after a moment. “I’d go out with someone boring and responsible—”
“Like me.”
I grin. “You beat me to the joke.” Although…Theo might be responsible but he definitely isn’t boring. Every time he growls my name or looks me over with that thing in his eyes, I’mweakwith how not boring I find him. “Yes, boring and responsible like you. And it’s awkward and dull, but I keep telling myself it’s better than Brian, even though it isn’t, and then the guy ends up being incredibly weird.”
“Weird how?”
I glance around us to get my bearings, then head down the hill toward the water. “The last guy I dated while Brian and I were on a break was a lawyer. Not a single tattoo. Kept trying to get me to start an IRA. You’d have loved him.”
“Was the weird part the lack of tattoos or the fact that he was gainfully employed?”
I elbow him. “Those aspects weredistasteful,yes, but the weird thing is that when we were finally about to hook up, he said—”
“That he wanted to wait for marriage.”
“No. He said, ‘I want to put it in your butt.’ ”
Theo stopped walking entirely. “What?”
“He said he wanted to put it in my butt,” I repeat. “Which was troubling on two levels. One, because we hadn’t even slept together yet and he was already pushing for anal. But two, that he was otherwise such a goody-goody that he couldn’t bring himself to use the wordass.It was like being graphically propositioned by a ten-year-old boy.”
We start walking again. I’d expected him to laugh—I personally find the story amusing—but instead he’s silent for a long moment.
“Did you let him?” he blurts suddenly.
