Racing the Sun

  “One more,” he says, bringing out his phone now. “For me.”

  And then he snaps a photo just as I’m making a face . . . I don’t know what face I’m making. I feel put on the spot, annoyed but also sincerely flattered that he wants a photo of me on his phone. He nods at my hair. “With the sun behind you like so, you look like an angel.”

  “Not a lion?”

  “You are definitely both, la mia angelo e la mia leonessa.”

  Now I’m really smiling, like a damn schoolgirl.

  Another one of those heady moments passes between us and his eyes crinkle at the corners, softening. It could be from the glare of the sun but maybe it’s something else.

  He clears his throat and looks unsure of himself for a moment. Then he says, “Would you like to get a drink somewhere? At a bar?”

  I nod, feeling absolutely parched. Lubrication is needed pronto, though definitely not between my legs. I don’t think I’ve stopped being turned on by him yet.

  “I know just the place.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Fifteen minutes later, Derio pulls the motorbike up to the side of the Irish bar where Shay works. It’s one in the afternoon so she should be on duty, or at least I hope she is. I’ve been wanting her to meet Derio so she can get to know him and see how handsome he is. I want her to look past all the terrible things that Lenora said about him. Even though I know now that some of those things are true, she didn’t know the circumstances.

  “You’ve been here before?” Derio asks as we stand outside of the building.

  “You haven’t?” He gives me a look that says I should know he does most of his drinking at home.

  Inside the bar, it’s delightfully cool and dark and a bit busier than the last time I was here. The tourists—particularly the day-trippers from the mainland—are flocking in droves to Capri each day. Shay is behind the bar pouring wine for a pair of fleshy, pale women with sun visors and nylon vests but it doesn’t take her long to spot me. She waves enthusiastically, indicating that she’ll be over in a minute.

  “Do you know her?” he asks me as we sit down in a booth by the door.

  “Yeah, her name’s Shay. She’s from New York. She and her boyfriend are like the only Americans on this island.”

  He nods, perhaps considering for the first time that I might have a life outside of his villa. Although the term life is kind of stretching it.

  Shay comes by, beaming at us. “Nice to see you here, Amber.” She looks at Derio and flashes her supermodel grin at him. “And you must be her boss.”

  I groan inwardly, hoping she would avoid the B-word. Derio doesn’t seem to be too bothered by it. He sticks his hand out for her to shake. “The boss. I like that very much. Makes me seem Sicilian, part of the Mafia.”

  “Even better,” Shay says, shaking his hand. A little flare of jealousy rises in my stomach but I swallow it down. It doesn’t help that I’m a sweaty mess and my hair is a rat’s nest at this point while she’s all smooth-limbed and glossy-maned. If I’m a lion, she’s definitely a panther.

  “So what can I get you?” she asks. “It’s on me again, by the way.”

  “No, no,” Derio says. “I’m buying the lady a drink.”

  I snicker. “Thank you, but since when am I a lady?”

  He looks me up and down with a discerning raise of his brow. “Even ladies can get messy once in a while.”

  Shay has an impish look in her eyes as she looks back and forth between us. “So, what can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a beer,” he says. He nods at me. “The messy lady can choose what she wants.”

  “Better than tomato face,” I say under my breath. I give her a smile. “Glass of white wine please, whatever is coldest.”

  “You got it,” she says.

  “She seems very nice,” he says as he watches her go. I’m studying his face closely to see if he likes what he sees. It’s so hard to tell with him.

  “She is very nice,” I say. “I’ve been meaning to hang out with her more but, you know, life duties and all.”

  He licks his lips and it makes me want to do the same. “That would be my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault Felisa left,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t look convinced. He knows all the reasons, and most do involve him.

  Luckily, Shay is fast and comes back with our drinks before we get too depressed over the circumstances. “What are you doing tonight?” she asks us, though I’m pretty sure she just means me. It’s not like Derio and I ever do anything together—well, other than today. And the little swimming trip to the lighthouse.

  “Taking care of the kids,” I tell her.

  “No,” Derio says. “You’re not. Have a night off; you deserve it. I’ll take care of them.”

  I’m surprised at this. “Are you sure?”

  He nods. “Yes. Please, you are young, you need to have fun.”

  “You’re not too old yourself,” Shay says to him with swagger.

  “That’s what I keep telling him,” I say.

  Derio eyes me and then looks patiently at Shay. “Please, Amber would love to come with you and do whatever it is that you wish to do.”

  “We’re just having a little party tonight, live band and everything,” she explains. She fishes a flyer out of her apron and puts it on the table. “It starts at eight. Anyway, see you there. Ciao!” She turns and runs back to the bar where a line has formed.

  “I really don’t have to go to this,” I tell him.

  “You are free to do what you want,” he says. “I can take care of Alfonso and Annabella. I probably should do that more anyway.”

  “Do you think you’ll be more involved with them when you hire the new nanny?”

  He looks at me sharply, like I’ve said the wrong thing. Maybe I have. “I am already as involved as I can be. I am their guardian.” There is an edge to his words.

  That’s not what I meant, I think, but I nod anyway and gulp my wine. It’s so tempting to just finish it off and have another. All the white wines I’ve had in southern Italy so far have been so refreshing, it’s like drinking juice.

  Derio sips his beer and sits back in his chair, his attention now on the bar. He taps his fingers on the table, seemingly agitated. Funny how fast he can switch between moods.

  “Thank you for bringing me here,” I tell him, hoping to coax an easygoing smile and some banter out of him. “I mean, on the motorbike ride. It was fun.”

  His shoulders relax a bit. “You’re welcome. Anytime you want to go for a ride, you just tell me and I’ll take you.”

  Of course, it has to be at a time when the twins are in school. God, it’s almost like dating a single dad. Except he’s not a dad. And I’m not dating him. So maybe it’s not like that at all.

  I’m about to mention maybe going down to Marina Pic-cola sometime because it looks really pretty in the pictures when my eyes zip over to the entrance. Lenora and Utavia walk into the bar, looking for a place to sit to enjoy their weekly Guinness.

  I freeze, afraid to look away, afraid they’ll see us. But Derio follows my gaze and looks behind him just as Lenora and Utavia spot us.

  Oh shit. My awkward-meter goes to eleven.

  They both look fabulously put together—one in silk harem pants, the other in a python miniskirt, both in heels the size of my head. But I’m not so much intimidated by how they look as how they’ll act. Lenora is frowning, already seeming a bit bothered at the sight of us together. Never mind the fact that I really am working for him and she knows this. I guess just being at a bar is making it seem like something more than a working relationship, something more than it actually is.

  “Hello, Amber, is it?” Lenora says, wiggling her manicured nails at me. I instantly think of the horribly chipped green polish I’m wearing at the moment.

  I can only nod and I can feel Derio staring at me in shock, wondering how on earth I know this person.

  “Ciao, Derio,” she says to him, pursing her
lips together into an angry little pout. “I haven’t seen you for a very long time.”

  “Buongiorno, Lenora,” he says to her—rather graciously, I might add. He bows his head. “Utavia.”

  “Mind if we join you?” Lenora asks us, gesturing to the booth. I curse the fact that we didn’t get a two-seater.

  “No, please, sit down,” Derio says so politely, warmly even, that I wonder if maybe there was more to their little date than I had assumed.

  Lenora smiles like the cat that’s got the canary and then says something to Utavia. Utavia runs over to the bar, leaving Lenora with us. She drums her nails on the table and smiles prettily.

  “So, Amber,” she says to me. “Are you still teaching English to Derio’s siblings?”

  “How did you know that?” Derio cuts in before I can answer.

  “She was here one day in the bar. We had a nice chat. It was good to practice my English. I’ve gotten very good, you see.” She bats her eyelashes at him. “She told me she was teaching them . . . What are their names again?”

  “Alfonso and Annabella,” Derio says somewhat quietly.

  “Yes, of course,” she says. “And how are they?” She looks at me with false sympathy. “They’ve been through so much, it must be so hard to teach them, yes?”

  “They’re great,” I tell her, not willing to admit any of the children’s faults.

  “But of course they have that old woman.”

  “No, she’s gone,” I say, and from the daggers that Derio shoots me I know I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Too late now.

  “She died?”

  “No, she just left. I’m the nanny for now.”

  “You are the nanny?” she asks incredulously. She looks at Derio. “And you are on a date with her?”

  “We’re not on a date,” I say quickly.

  “We’re just having a drink,” Derio explains, his voice hard.

  “Well, we all know what that means with you,” Lenora says with a sour laugh. “Of course, it did not turn into much of anything.”

  Derio finishes the rest of his beer in one gulp, obviously wanting to leave. I’m pretty much done with my wine as it is.

  “He hasn’t left the island for a very long time,” Lenora says, jerking her thumb at him while looking at me. “I hope you don’t fall in love with him or you will be stuck, too.” She smirks at him and then says, “But then Amber already knows this about you.”

  Now Derio really wants to kill me. Actually, it’s more than that. Though his jaw is twitching in anger, his dark eyes are filled with hurt. The way she said it makes it seem much worse than it is.

  He gets up just as Utavia gets back to the table with their Guinnesses. “Scusate,” he says. “I must attend to some matters.” He flings some money down on the table and leaves.

  I spring to my feet, grabbing my purse, and run after him just as I hear Lenora calling out, “No use running, he doesn’t like women!”

  Derio is getting on the bike and seems like he’s about to pull away from me. I grab on to his arm and pull at him.

  “Wait!” I cry out.

  He glares at me. “She told you things about me? That I won’t leave the island? What else did she tell you?”

  “I’ll tell you,” I say, “but it’s not a big deal. Let’s just go back to the house and away from here. She’s bitter.”

  “She is a bitch, that is what she is,” he says but he tips the bike over to the left so that I can properly get on.

  “I figured that much,” I say, grabbing hold of him.

  We quickly zoom down the crowded streets past the cafés and fancy shops and soon we’re back at the villa and he’s putting the bike in the shed.

  Unfortunately, now he doesn’t seem to want to talk at all.

  “Everything she said I took with a grain of salt,” I explain.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I would have told you but I met her on my first day on the island, weeks ago, and you and I weren’t really talking like we do now. And I knew it was hearsay anyway.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I could tell that she was hurt because you weren’t interested in her.”

  “That is true,” he says, practically slamming the shed door shut. “Because she’s not a very nice person. She was asking me for weeks to go out with her so I finally did. I used to know her brother.”

  “She thinks you’re gay and that’s why you don’t like her.”

  He stops in his tracks and his eyes nearly fall out of his head. “She thinks I’m gay?”

  I nod. “Yeah, she seemed quite adamant about that. I guess she was throwing herself at you and you weren’t interested.” I don’t add the part about him being too drunk because that does hit too close to home. “She’s really pretty and probably has lots of guys into her, so . . .”

  “She was throwing herself at me,” he says, shaking his head and staring at the ground. “But being beautiful has nothing to do with sex. You have to be beautiful in here, too,” he says, pressing his fist against his heart and then his head.

  That was actually really sweet, though I did use the term pretty, not beautiful.

  “So she’s feeling rejected,” I tell him. “And rejected people do crazy things. I should know. I once turned down this guy at my old job, citing the whole office-romance thing, and he started hiding my lunch every single day. No matter what I put in the fridge, it would be gone before lunchtime. Then my stapler started going missing. It was like watching Office Space, except it wasn’t funny at all.”

  He stares at me for a beat. “Do you think I’m gay?”

  I blink. “Uh.”

  He steps toward me until he’s just a few inches away. I can feel his body heat radiating off of him, intensified by the sun. That citrus smell teases me again.

  “If I kissed you, you wouldn’t think that.”

  Whoa.

  Hold up.

  “I don’t think you’re gay,” I manage to say, my voice more like a squeak. “You were married.”

  He nodded. “I was. We divorced because I changed and she could not accept that. She fell in love with someone else but I was still in love with her.”

  Oh, here come all the things.

  “Are you still in love with her?” I ask, even though it’s totally none of my business and shouldn’t matter.

  He rubs his lips together and shakes his head. “No. I am not. She wasn’t right for me in the end. And I knew Lenora wasn’t right for me from the beginning.”

  So, who are you right for?

  “I am not gay,” he continues, “but she can think that if she wants. I’m just very . . . selective. Especially over who I allow into my life.”

  “It takes time to get over the end of a marriage,” I say softly.

  “Yes, you are right. But how much time is too much? When do you know when the time is right?”

  I shrug, looking away at the lemon trees. “I guess you just know. You go on gut feeling.”

  “And what if you can’t feel anything at all?”

  I look at him curiously. “You can’t stay numb forever.”

  But you can sure as hell try.

  He exhales and fishes out a cigarette. He nods at the front door. “You go inside. Maybe see what we can have for lunch. I’m not sure what you have planned for dinner either but let me know if you need money for the grocery store. I’m going to go for a walk to end of the road, clear my head a little.”

  And just like that, fun time between Derio and Amber is over and we’re back to the employer-and-employee relationship, master of the house and the help.

  I sigh but agree and go inside. I glance over my shoulder at him as I shut the door and see him staring forlornly up at the sky, as if asking for guidance.

  * * *

  Obviously I never end up going to the bar to see the band that Shay was talking about. Instead, I stay at home, looking after Annabella and Alfonso while Derio locks himself away in his office again, doing whatever it is
that he won’t tell me about. At this point I hope it’s something really weird and twisted, like five-hour masturbation marathons to some weird goldfish fetish or a bizarre obsession with bidding on flowery tea sets on eBay. I would take anything aside from what he’s really doing: brooding and drinking.

  So I make dinner—a nice eggplant parmigiana that turns out better than I expected—and then I read to the twins a bit from one of the Harry Potter books, even though they know the Italian versions by heart. Derio never comes to the door when I knock, though he did once yell at me to go away, so at least I know he’s alive.

  After I put the kids to bed, I gather some of the leftovers from dinner onto a plate, pour a glass of water, and put it on a tray. I carry it over to the office and knock loudly.

  “Derio, I have dinner here for you,” I say quickly before he can tell me to get lost. “You should really eat something. The kids actually liked it so I think you should witness the fact that I finally made something appetizing. It might never happen again.”

  I wait a few seconds and then put the tray on the ground outside the door. I’m about to walk away when—lo and behold—it actually opens and he peers at me with a cocked brow.

  “Buonasera,” he says, his voice sounding extra throaty tonight, which equals extra sexy—and he’s speaking in Italian to boot.

  “Buonasera,” I tell him, trying to peek inside. “You’re not in your underwear again, are you?”

  He gives me a lopsided smile. “I can be. Would you like to come in?”

  “Are we going to drink scotch again? Because something tells me you’ve probably had enough.”

  “Come.” He steps back, disappearing into the office. “Bring the food.”

  I give him a look that says I’m not his servant 24/7 but bring the tray in anyway and set it on the desk. He goes to the door and closes it. “Would you like a drink?”

  I should say no. I sigh. “Yes.”

  “Bene,” he says. He goes and pours me a glass. He hands it to me, his eyes focused on mine the whole time, as if holding me in place. Because he’s drunk I can’t read them for the life of me. He seems to be in a playful mood again but I’m not putting stock in anything Derio-related anymore.