“I don’t know if that’s a wise idea, right now,” is all he says and the conversation moves onto the weather as the wind picks up, a wall of clouds gathering above the sea.
I’m three espresso martinis down on our stroll back to the cruise. Thankfully, the barman brought us olives and bread so I’m not too tipsy, just a little light on my feet.
The yacht is docked until early evening so there’s no rush to get back. That said, small, warm droplets of rain keepsplattering on my arm and face. Gus looks up and sticks his tongue out like a child trying to taste the rain.
I snort. “How old are you?”
“Mentally or physically?”
“Age doesn’t work like that.”
He grins. “Oh, it does. We already know you were born fifty-two.”
“I haven’t aged a day since birth.”
“Come on, let’s get back before we get soaked,” he says.
At that exact moment, I swear I hear someone shout “Gus!”
We both pause in our step, looking over our shoulders. Tension runs through his fingertips laced with mine. I don’t like it, I want to protect him from that feeling.
“ITISHIM! IT’S GUS!” an American woman shouts again.
Gus squeezes my hand and begins walking briskly towards the narrower lanes of old buildings near the port.
“What do we do?” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.
“Stay calm.”
“Ok. But what doIdo if they catch us up?”
“Just stay nearby. And follow my lead.”
“Should I call your team?”
“No,” he says too sharply before calming himself and saying, “Please don’t do that… If you do, I’m going home. And I’m not done with this yet.” The look he gives me makes my blood fizz. Although I’m certain he means he isn’t done with the holiday, part of me,the deluded, romantic part, wants it to be about us.
God, I hate that part of me. She’s so irresponsible.
A deep mix of fear and excitement rips through me, probably fuelled by the adrenaline of escape but maybe not, maybe it’s something else. Maybe I’m in more trouble here than I know.
As the footsteps behind us get louder and quicker –fuck, how many of them are there?– we get faster too. A half walk, half jog, my ankle hissing in pain.
There’s a deep, grumbling from the dark cloud that’s breezed in over the city and, as if out of nowhere, the heavens open. A cloak of rain sweeping over us like a paintbrush.
The dry city streets aren’t designed for this much water, and before we even reach the end of one alleyway, narrow, whizzing streams of water gush either side of us.
The footsteps don’t stop though. We’re still being followed.
Another crack of thunder and Gus is pulling me towards a house with a covered door frame. My hair sticks to my shoulders, my hat floppy with the weight of the rain. There’s barely any shelter at all, so he positions himself so that his large frame is keeping me dry, his back and head still being drenched from the downpour. But he leaves enough space between us as if he’s being cautious of not overstepping again.
The next move is yours…
I appreciate it. I don’t like it.
I fist some of his t-shirt in my spare hand and tug him closer, pulling him off-balance, his chest pressing me into the door. His head drops, his gaze flicking between my eyes and lips, his soaked hair, dripping onto my forehead and running down my nose.
One drop finds its way to my lips and instinctively I lick it off.
