“Mind if I gorge myself on bread and olive oil in the meantime?”
He tilted the basket toward me in offering. I took a piece of bread, tore a chunk off, and set it to absorb the oil Cristo had just poured. “Thank you.”
“I love watching you eat. I have from the very first night. It became impossible. I had to avoid it whenever I was able. I had to tell Andrea you needed to eat with the crew.”
I paused mid-chew, staring at him. “Uh.” Oops. Mouthful. I hastily chewed and swallowed. Too big. I took a swig of wine and almost choked. Nice. Someone tells you he likes watching you eat, and you decide at that moment to choke on your food. Great.
“But save some room. Cristo’s food is the best. Simple. But the best. And there’s a lot of it.”
I had one more bite of bread, and then reluctantly put it aside and took a sip from my glass. “The wine is amazing,” I said. “What type is it?”
“Just a local blend that’s left over from the vineyards, probably. They sell it as a house wine. It can vary slightly from year to year, depending on what’s exported.”
We locked eyes.
I set my glass down. “What do you do exactly?”
His gaze flicked to his glass where he trailed a finger down the side of it, then back to me.
“Long story,” we both said at the same time. Mine a question, his a statement.
He smiled, and I laughed into my wine.
“I love that you don’t know.”
I frowned. “And you want to keep it that way?”
He blew out a breath, his eyes growing serious. “I find myself wanting to tell you everything. You are so easy to be with.” He picked up his glass and took a healthy sip. Now that he was letting himself be with me was the unspoken follow up.
“I wish I could say the same.”
His head cocked to the side, wordlessly asking me to explain. A faint look of hurt rippled behind his poker mask.
“I mean this, here, you, right now. It’s … great. But on the same day you tell me women want too much of you. I can imagine, I know,” I corrected, “how they could fall into that trap of wanting more of you than you’re willing to give them. To give me. This version of you is …” I took a small sip of wine, wondering how honest to be and deciding I’d said enough. What I wanted to say was “this version of you is easy to fall in love with.” But the truth was every version of him was.
I couldn’t look at him. I picked at a small piece of my bread. Then Cristo was there, gesticulating and pointing to a small rickety wooden stairwell.
We got up and followed him. At the bottom of the stairs, Xavier waved me after Cristo and ahead of him. After what happened outside, this should have been funny. But I’d ruined the vibe. I moved ahead of him. But the moment my foot touched the first stair, he took my arm stilling me, and stepped up behind me, his mouth at my ear. “I was talking about other women,” he whispered.
“What am I?” I turned my face to his.
His dropped his forehead to my shoulder for a second, then he looked up at me, his expression helpless. “You’re … you.”
I nodded at his non answer, knowing it was probably all I’d get, then I continued following Cristo upstairs.
Chapter Thirty-Six
After following Cristo up four flights of ancient wooden stairs, that got narrower, and more rickety, I was seriously ready to question the safety of this adventure. “How old do you think this building is?” I asked Xavier over my shoulder.
At each turn, we passed closed wooden doors set into whitewashed stucco and kept climbing.
“Five hundred years, give or take. Maybe more.”
“Wow. Do they not have termites in this part of the world?”
“Normally, I’d say ‘what are you talking about?’ But I just read a frightening article. They are going to become more prevalent in Europe with the average temperature rising every year. We’ll lose so much history.”
“That’s so sad, I—” My words died on my lips as we reached the top and climbed through a trap door where I’m sure I flashed Xavier my black thong, and then we were on a roof terrace. It was strung with twinkling lights and potted plants. Full grown orange and lemon trees in halved wine barrels created a sanctuary but