But you’re not family. She’s a guest and she will be leaving sooner than you think.
I feel cold at the thought. I’ve been doing what I can not to dwell on the fact that Grace’s time at Villa Rosa has an expiration date. There’s no good in counting the days, knowing how fast time will pass you by anyway. It’s a fight that I won’t win.
Soon the kitchen opens and we place orders for our food, sharing grilled eggplant, zucchini, and bocconcini as an antipasto, then moving on to pasta. Grace practically loses her mind over the spaghetti carbonara, demolishing it like she’s starving.
There’s nothing sexier than watching her eat. She does it with such enthusiasm, her face collapsing in pleasure, the same way she did when she came.
Then we take our time relaxing over espressos and then limoncello, before Vanni bids us goodbye.
“Remember, go straight to the theatre,” I tell him. “I don’t want you getting lost.”
The theatre is around the corner, and Vanni has been to Lucca so many times, there’s no way he will get lost. The city isn’t that big, regardless.
“I will, I will,” he says. I can tell from the look on his face that he’s both annoyed and grateful I’m not walking him there. At least I know Paolo is a good kid, and his idea of a good time is studying (or watching Back to the Future, it seems).
“I’ll meet you outside in two hours. We’ll keep the bikes locked up here.”
Vanni nods and takes off down the street.
“Must be nice to be in a city where your kid can do that,” Grace comments, finishing the last of her drink.
I shrug. “Perhaps I wouldn’t let him go in Rome, but here it is okay.”
I’ve already paid the check, so I drum my fingers on the table. “So? Where to?”
She shrugs. “Anywhere would be nice. I guess we have to leave the bikes?”
“No, we can take them and keep his bike locked up here, as long as we don’t leave our bikes out of our sight. Want to take a ride?”
She nods.
I get the attention of the waiter again and add a bottle of white wine to the bill. The wine is to-go. He brings it to me with two plastic cups.
Grace’s brows raise appreciatively. I know the true way to her heart.
Biking through the city streets is a little complicated with the amount of pedestrian foot traffic, so at the first opportunity, we take the path up to the medieval walls again. Last time we didn’t do a complete circle, so this time we go where she hasn’t been yet.
It’s still hot as sin and the shade of the massive chestnut and linden trees aren’t doing much to cool us down. I decide for us to stop, and take a path down that leads to a wide expanse of grass, lined with crumbling ruins on the other side of the city.
“What is this?” Grace asks, getting off her bike once we get to the grass.
“This is history,” I tell her, pushing my bike along. “These are the ruins of bastions. When this was built in the 1500s, they expected Florence to attack. When they didn’t, these old walls became disused. It’s the perfect place to enjoy a bottle of wine.”
Hopefully in private.
We walk along the crumbling walls until we come to a nice spot shielded from view of the main wall where cyclists and walkers pass. I pluck the wine and glasses from the basket on Grace’s bike, then throw our bikes down on the grass and sit down beside each other, backs against the wall.
The bottle is a screw-top, and I open it, pouring it into the cups.
“Cin, cin,” I tell her, raising my wine.
“Cin, cin,” she says, raising hers.
I know I’m staring at her too much, and I know I’m possibly being too much, especially when she told me this morning that she needed space. But to change would be like changing who I am. I can give her space, but I can’t pretend I don’t ache for her.
I finish my sip and clear my throat. “So, this evening. Would you care to model for me again?”
She stiffens. Not the reaction I wanted, but one I expected.
“Tonight?”
“If you’re not writing, but I understand if you are.”
Understand, but I would still be disappointed, no matter how wrong it is to feel. How can she keep her focus on her work when I am here and losing my mind over her?
“Ummm,” she says, staring down into her wine.
“Grace,” I say to her. “You are my muse. I need you.”
Her face softens, her eyes growing wet. Her mouth opens and then closes again. She has a sip of wine, licks her lips. “Look … Claudio.”
And here it comes. The blow. What she was trying to tell me this morning but lost the nerve, perhaps feeling sorry for me because I was too honest about what I wanted, too open with my feelings.
She sighs and looks down at her hands. “I’m … I’m afraid.”
This is news to me. “Afraid?”
“Yes.” She swallows, eyes roaming the field. “I’m afraid that … I’ll lose focus. Not just with the book. That I’ll lose focus on myself. Last night…” She sucks in her lower lip and my dick twitches, dying to have another taste. “It meant something to me. And because it meant something, it changes everything.”
“Maybe it’s okay if everything changes. And I would never let you lose sight of yourself.”
“You don’t understand,” she snaps, then shrinks back. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just … I don’t know myself. I’ve only just begun to discover who I am and what I want. And I’m afraid that … that I’ll throw it all away for you.”
“So that’s what you’re really afraid of? It’s not about Vanni, it’s not about Jana…”
She gives me a wry look. “Oh, it’s about them, too. I’m just afraid that … well, you always talk about how I need to discover myself. Unearth myself. What if I miss that opportunity because I’m with you.”
I lean in close to her, putting my hand on her leg. “But what if I help you?” I whisper. “What if this is something we do together?”
She frowns. “You want to fix me.”
“I want to help you.”
“By fucking me?”
I can’t help but grin. “You don’t think it counts?”
She scoffs and twists slightly away from me.
I give her leg a light squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere, Grace. All I ask from you is to let yourself go. Let yourself be free. You did that last night. Last night you lost yourself to me. It’s okay to surrender sometimes, let the current take you where it needs to.”
She runs her tongue over her teeth and slowly nods, her attention off in the distance. I know I’ve just come on too strong and I wish I could take my words back, but they’ve been said and now I have to deal with them.
Then she gets to her feet, and I realize how much I’ll have to deal with.
“Where are you going?” I ask her.
“I need to clear my head,” she says, walking away. She finishes her wine and tosses the cup over her shoulder. It bounces in the grass beside me.
I watch her for a moment, blindsided. It’s not like Grace to act like this, and the fact that I’m the reason is disconcerting.