He clears his throat. "Over there is good."
Abruptly, he releases me, moves a few steps away, and stretches both arms to the side. The warm light of the morning sun softens his features.
I would love to photograph him just as he stands amid nature, exuding that Italian Dolce Vita spirit that captivates everyone.
"If you give me your camera, I can check the settings," he offers.
I hand him the device and watch as he adjusts the knobs and takes a few test shots. The surroundings grow brighter around us, the green of the vine leaves begins to glow, and I even imagine I can smell the earth more intensely in the gentle breeze.
Suddenly, he looks up at me. "Are you ready?"
Reaching for the camera, I let him direct me to a specific spot. All at once, he is standing behind me.
"Do you see how the rows stretch over the hill in front of us?" he asks in a hushed tone, as if in awe of the sight.
I nod. I can't speak. Not when I feel his chest so close to my back. And especially not when he leans forward to have the same perspective as me. His cheek is so close to mine that I feel the warmth of his skin.
"The upper edge of the grapevines is the baseline for your picture," he explains softly. "For a good photo, you need to crouch down."
His legs gently touch the back of my knees as I lower myself at his pace.
"Stop." His hand finds my upper arm. Warm. Gentle. "Can you see it?"
I blink hard because I can barely see anything except him. "Yes."
He wraps his arms around me from behind and reaches for my hands, which hold the camera. He guides them upward.
I stare, mesmerized, at the frame that appears on the display. Between the grapevines, gently lined up in the image, individual rays of the morning sun gleam. Bright circles with a rainbow-like shimmer seem to appear out of nowhere, enchanting the scene in a way that defies description.
"Perfect," he whispers and guides my finger to the shutter button.
Yes. That's it. Perfect.
I can barely hear the soft click because I feel like I'm about to lose myself. With Vico so close behind me, it's as if he's catching me. I should stop it, but I yearn to let go and surrender control to the fantasy in my mind.
Life is meant to be enjoyed, my inner voice whispers suddenly.
I don't want to pretend anymore.
I just want to be.
So I close my eyes, lean against his chest, and sink to the ground. All my tension melts away. His scent is like lilac. His voice, a lonely playing cello. I breathe in his presence, and a new world emerges behind the flickering light on my eyelids.
It tastes like oranges.
A contented sigh escapes my lips.
Something moves by my ear. "Tell me where you are."
There is longing in the song of the cello. The world turns blue.
