Luci started chattering again while I controlled my hyperventilating and did this by sipping my Amaretto. Eventually, I got myself together enough to join the conversation; I finished my drink, Luci hers, Sam his sparkling water and Sam said it was time to call it a night. He escorted us both to the pavement, got Luci a taxi, deposited her in it and she was whisked away while waving.
Sam waited until he had me in the Lamborghini and we were on the road for the twenty minute drive back to the hotel before he asked, “Well?”
I took in a breath.
Then I said softly, “As we suspected, it’s bad Sam.”
“How bad?”
“Bad as in, if there is any possible way that you think she’d agree to professional grief counseling, she should start immediately.”
Sam was silent.
Carefully, into the void, I asked, “How did Travis die?”
“Assignment,” was Sam’s short, uninformative answer and my mind harkened back to them talking earlier, something I completely forgot about and since I was not supposed to have heard it and he didn’t know I did, I couldn’t ask if Travis’s assignment was official or if, perchance, it was unofficial and further if, perchance, Sam was also taking unofficial assignments which, frankly, scared the beejeezus out of me.
So I said nothing.
This time, Sam broke the silence. “How do you know this?”
“She’s lamenting the three hours she played a game with him the first night she met him, wishing she had that time back. Regretting her decision to try and make him dance. She remembers every word they spoke to each other that first meeting and can recite it and she told me the most important words she’s said in her life are, ‘I do’. And last, she said that the future is always bright until one day, suddenly, it turns black.”
“That’s bad,” Sam muttered.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
Sam sighed.
I remained silent for awhile.
Then I asked, “Should we ask her to come to Parma with us tomorrow?”
“I’ll think about it, baby,” Sam answered quietly. “But I think I need to call her father tomorrow. Vitale is worried, we’ve talked. She listens to him. I’ll tell him this and see what he says.”
“Okay,” I said softly, Sam reached out, took my hand and pulled it to him.
I thought he was going to hold it and he did but first he lifted it to his mouth and brushed my knuckles against his lips before he dropped it to his thigh and muttered, “Grateful for that, honey.”
For a second, I didn’t speak. For a second, the whisper-soft touch of his lips on my knuckles, the sweet way he did it, why he did it, grateful to me for talking to a friend he was worried about, took that moment to burn in my brain.
Then I whispered, “Not a problem,” and squeezed his hand.
He squeezed back.
I kept my gaze steady out the windshield and thought of Travis Gordon being impatient with the lushly attractive Luciana’s game, walking away from her and when she ran after him, asking, “Done with that shit?”
That was so Sam. In fact, he almost said the same thing to me when he thought I was playing a game.
And Sam was so big, so strong, so powerful, so vital, I couldn’t imagine him suddenly being none of those things and instead nothing but gone.
So I sucked in breath through my nose and remembered my promise to Luci not to waste a second.
Fifteen minutes later, my promise was put to the test when we were standing outside my door, Sam slid my key out of my hand, opened it and held it open for me to go in. He followed me, threw the key on the table by the door and stood there.
I was walking in, pulling my purse off my shoulder when I noticed and looked back at him.
“Come here, Kia,” he ordered gently.
I threw my bag on a chair and walked to him, head tilted in confusion.
When I made it to him, his arms slid loosely around me, he tipped his chin down and he said quietly, “I’ve been pushin’ and today, I see I pushed too hard. I’m gonna give you some space tonight. You get up, call me and I’ll meet you for breakfast before we go.”
I stared up at him.
He bent his neck and kissed my nose.
My nose.
“Sleep well and have good dreams,” he whispered, gave me a light squeeze, let me go, turned, opened and walked through the door.
I stood there while he did all that except, when the door started closing, I caught it, moved into it, leaned into the hall then asked Sam’s departing back, “You’re leaving?”
He stopped, turned and looked at me.
“You need space,” he informed me.
“Don’t tell me what I need, Sam. Only I know what I need.”
He held my eyes.
I leaned further forward, stretched out an arm and grabbed his hand.
That was all I had to do.
In half of one of his long strides, he was at me, crowding me and I was back through the door. Then he bent and, with a small, surprised cry, I was over his shoulder. The door clicked shut and in five strides Sam tossed me on the bed.
Then he followed me down.
* * * * *
Eight hours and forty-five minutes later…
Sam and I walked into the dining room together holding hands and, when his eyes caught sight of us, dropped to our hands then back to my face, I didn’t have to speak Italian to translate the maitre d’s look of pure, unadulterated glee.
Chapter Eleven
That Means Somethin’ to Me
Five days later…
It was mid-morning and I was at the pool waiting for Sam to finish working out so I could make the big move from the pool to the beach.
This was the way our days were rolling out: up (make love), breakfast, I would go to the pool, Sam would go to the hotel gym to work out or take to the streets for a run. Then Sam would shower, come and get me (this was an added or alternate making love time slot) and go with me to the beach. In the afternoon, we’d find food and since Sam would be d-o-n-e, done with lying around at the beach, I’d shower, we would jump in the Jeep he rented and explore.
On our first day there, I learned Sam was not a lying around on the beach man, he was an action man. Although I was a lying around on the beach gal, it was cool he was an action man because exploring was fun. It was also cool that, even though he was an action man, he gave me my time by the pool and beach and he did it without complaint.
It was a nice compromise, something I’d never experienced before in my life. With Cooter I did the compromising, I didn’t know what it was like to have a fair dose of what I wanted before I gave in to what someone else wanted.
It felt good.
And, with Sam, giving in wasn’t giving in, as such. Giving in led to some great times.
For instance, we found a tiny, awesome fishing village set in a spectacular bay while we were exploring. We got there late afternoon and stayed there well into the evening because the open taverna where we had dinner had a band that was killer, Greek music, lots of clapping and, in the end, dancing, though, Sam didn’t dance, but an old guy pulled me up and I had a blast.
We also found the cave where Zeus was born after driving up a hair-raising mountain road that was totally worth it once we climbed further up the mountain on foot and then climbed down to Zeus’s birthplace.
We also found another beach, which was the best seeing as it had absolutely nothing built around it at all, you had to trek to it and it was pure and beautiful and so relaxing, regardless of the fact that we were not the only ones there, even Sam was happy to hang.
And the best part of Sam winding down and hanging was that a lot of the time he did it, he did it lying on his side next to me in the sand, elbow in the towel, head in his hand, chest on display, talking to me quietly. Or he’d roll to his back, pull me up on his chest and run his fingers through my hair while we talked quietly. Or he’d get to his feet, pull me to mine, guide me to the sea and we’d drift around, my
legs around Sam’s hips, my arms around his shoulders, his hands at my ass, him treading water or floating and we’d again talk quietly.
After our explorations, except when we stayed at the fishing village, we went back, found dinner then wandered to an open air taverna, had drinks then we wandered back to the hotel and had a different kind of fun that wasn’t relaxing until after its culmination.
In other words, Lake Como wasn’t heaven.
Crete was.
It was perfect.
No dramas. No rushing out of restaurants like the fraught heroine in a romantic comedy. Just sun, beautiful vistas, relaxing beaches, exploration, being together and discovering each other.
The only thing that marred this was, without a variety of things to pull our attention away from each other, such as grieving friends, new acquaintances and the aforementioned crises, it was beginning to unsettle me that Sam couldn’t relax.
It was definitely part Sam being an action man and not content to wile away the hours doing pretty much nothing.
But it was more.
He seemed aware and alert all the time, like he was when we had our first dinner together. He was into me, giving me his attention, listening to me, talking to me but even as he did this, he scanned, he observed, both our surroundings and mostly the people in them.
I tried to tell myself this was a leftover from being a commando, trained to be aware of every nuance of your environment so you were not taken off-guard.
But he’d got out of the Army ages ago and we were in Crete, not Afghanistan. Sure, there were always a variety of dangers anywhere you were but, unless we were behind closed and locked doors to our rooms, this was Sam’s constant state.
And I’d overheard what I overheard Sam and Luci talking about and, try as I might, I couldn’t un-hear it. Sam didn’t mention it. In fact, he continued to be open, honest and communicative but… not. I freely mentioned him being an ex-commando, usually in a teasing way, he’d grin, smile, even laugh. But he wouldn’t share.
Maybe he thought I knew, considering I’d internet stalked him, it would stand to reason that I’d read the book about him (which I had).
But as our time together wore on, as I learned more about Gordo and how deep their connection was, but only through fun stories of what men got up to when they were carousing, not war stories; as I learned about his brother Ben, but only amusing stories of brothers getting up to mischief and not how he was lost or how Sam felt about that; and absolutely nothing about his time or activities in the Army, why he got out, anything, it became less about him thinking I already knew (when I couldn’t possibly) and more about him keeping things from me.
And, considering a great deal of the time we shared included intimate moments and quiet conversations where he guided me through stories of Cooter, what Cooter had done, how I’d felt, why I’d made the decisions I’d made and Sam had gone to great lengths to assure me my behavior was perfectly natural, my decisions were rational based on my circumstances, my actions were understandable considering they were self-preserving and I shouldn’t beat myself up about them, it was clear he was not shying away from deep, meaningful, revealing conversations.
They were just all about me.
On this thought with my sunglassed eyes trained on the waters of the pool, my cell beside me rang. I picked it up and looked at the display seeing it said “Paula Calling”.
I was surprised, it was way early at home. I was also freaked because it was way early at home.
I flipped it open and greeted, “Hey, honey.”
“Problem,” she announced, sounding frustrated.
Oh man.
“What?”
“Well, the other person bidding on that unit at The Dorchester upped their offer by ten K. Ten freaking K! Again! The text just came in. Just now. You made your last bid two days ago and they’re texting me at the five o’clock in the freakin’ morning!”
I closed my eyes.
I had been on the phone quite a bit since our last full day in Lake Como. These conversations included chatting with Celeste who was making it clear our relationship was not going to die after I left Lake Como (for which I was thankful). They also included chatting and texting with Luci, who was making it clear she was intent on building her relationship with me right along with Sam even if she and I were in different countries (again with the thankful part). And they also included talking to and texting Paula about The Dorchester unit.
I’d made five thousand dollars more than asking price on my house in the end, which was awesome. I had my deposit. Paula was sorting all the mumbo jumbo. I was ready to roll.
But even though the housing market had been stagnant (or worse) for over a year, not only did I do well on the sale of my house, now I was in the bidding war to end all bidding wars to get that unit.
A unit I hadn’t even seen.
I’d finally offered asking price, thinking that would end it. They’d countered with ten K more. At Paula’s suggestion, I’d countered with five thousand more. Now they were countering with ten thousand more.
That meant The Dorchester unit would go, currently, for twenty-five thousand more than the list price.
That was insane.
But I wanted it, my house was sold, once Paula sorted the mumbo jumbo we would close then I’d have no home, not to mention I had the money.
I had no clue what to do.
I opened my eyes and informed Paula of this fact in those exact same words.
“It’s all about how much you want it,” Paula replied. “There’s nothing like The Dorchester anywhere around. The only other condo unit is totally not as cool or well-kept as The Dorchester and it’s all the way out on Six which is, like, at least a fifteen minute drive from Kroger and that’s not during rush hour. But it’s way cheaper and I know they have several units on the market. You could go for a house but you said you don’t want to deal with a yard. You could move out of Heartmeadow but then I’d have to kill you. So, really, how much do you want it?”
It wasn’t just that.
Sure, I had bunches of money but if I kept throwing it around, I wouldn’t have any at all. And I’d quit my job before going on vacation, not because I didn’t like who I worked with, just that I never liked what I was doing, as in, at all. It bored me stiff and I had a new chance at life, so I decided I’d go for it, whole hog. I had thoughts of going home from my vacation and going to school, getting a degree or learning a vocation. I just had no idea what degree I’d get or what vocation I’d learn. I’d quit dreaming years ago, I never imagined I’d have this opportunity and not only that, but the sky being the limit. Heck, I could even go for a master’s degree, become a lawyer (not that I wanted to do that), pretty much anything.
The plethora of choice I suddenly found myself confronted with as to which life path I wanted to explore was too much.
I was supposed to be sorting all this out on vacation but instead I was spending all my time cavorting with a hot guy and using all my headspace thinking about said hot guy.
Shit.
“I need to think about this,” I told Paula but I didn’t need to think about it.
I’d never bought a house. Cooter and his parents dealt with everything when we bought our house.
But of the things I’d learned about Sam, I knew he had bought several.
I didn’t need to think about it, I needed to ask someone with experience what I should do.
Paula cut into my thoughts.
“Right, think. You need to process, call. You want to counter or back out, text. But whatever you do, don’t do any of it for three hours. I gotta crash. This Heartmeadow real estate heat up is draining me dry. I haven’t had a commission in three months, now I got so much going on, I can’t keep it all straight. I need sleep and I need to give my man a break from this shit. When that text came in, swear, babe, I thought he was going to throw my cell out the window. You know how Rudy likes his beauty rest.”
Rudy didn’t like his beauty re
st, Rudy totally crashed after giving Paula the business, something Paula referred to as Rudy needing his “beauty rest”. She’d shared this with us (repeatedly). She thought it was adorable. Then again, Rudy, Paula also shared (repeatedly) was energetic so after a session he’d have to crash and, the way she described it, anyone would.
Apparently, but not unusually, Paula had got herself some that night.
Though, this reminder highlighted that Sam was even more energetic than the most energetic encounters Paula had described, he was five years older than Rudy and he was always up before me or he fell asleep after me.
Interesting.
“Yo, babe? Are you in a Crete coma or are you with me?” Paula called and my head twitched as I came back to the conversation.
“Sorry, honey, I’m here and can do, three hours, no sooner, you’ll hear from me,” I told her.
“Okay, babe, and while you think, remember you’ll be home soon. The Dorchester isn’t the only place. Who knows what’ll open up? We can go to viewings; you can stay with Rudy and me or your Mom and Dad if you don’t find a place before you close on your house.”
Hmm.
No.
Or, more accurately, hell no.
That was not going to happen.
I loved Paula and Rudy and they had a kickass guest room but they were semi-newlyweds that acted like newly-newlyweds. It was cute, in small doses. Being a bedroom over, probably not so much.
And I loved my Mom and Dad but if I was under my mother’s roof, she would insist on feeding me. I’d been a married woman with my own house for seven years and I had not once provided Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners for my family. This was Mom’s domain. She taught me how to cook but she was not only a taskmaster and drill sergeant, she usually ended up shoving you out of the way and taking over, especially if you did something she thought was crazy, like, say, drain the grease from browned hamburger before dumping in the spaghetti sauce. She went ballistic when I did that, shouting, “That’s where all the flavor is!” I had a hot guy who was way into my body the way it was, I didn’t need to gain seventy-five pounds and lose him.