Make Me Bad - R.S. Grey Page 0,105

expanse of turquoise water.

It was blue in every direction, different hues painted across the landscape as far as my eyes could see. A cloudless sky met crystal clear waters. Angry waves crashed against the shore, spilling white sea foam over massive granite rocks that had tumbled down from the mountains over the centuries. I pressed my hands to the glass, leaned forward, and gasped, nearly lost in the beauty of it, right before another bout of motion sickness overtook me.

Oh bloody hell.

“Mom! The crazy lady just threw up on me!”

Chapter 2

Gianluca

I PULLED MY baseball cap off my head and wiped my forehead on my shirtsleeve. It was dirty, just like my forehead was dirty, but it seemed better than nothing. I’d been out on the water all morning and had a boat full of fish to deliver to Massimo. He’d smile when he saw the sea bass; it was the biggest one I’d caught in weeks. He’d coat it in olive oil, bury it in a mound of sea salt, and bake it for some lucky tourist in his restaurant. I’d have envied them if I didn’t have half a dozen fish to keep for myself.

I cranked my motor up another notch, slicing across the sea on my way back home. The waves were choppy, sloshing water up over the sides of my small fishing boat. I could feel the winds changing; I’d felt them all morning, playing with the currents and riling the sea. I’d almost skipped the trip out on the water, but I’d compromised instead, staying close to the shore in case things went south.

As Vernazza’s tiny harbor came into view on the horizon, I let out a breath I’d been holding all morning, grateful to the sea for delivering me back home in one piece. The painted village stretched closer and I maneuvered my boat around the granite breakers. Of all five Cinque Terre villages, Vernazza boasted the largest true harbor. Even still, it could only fit a couple dozen fishing boats at once, nothing more.

My cousin was waiting for me on the breaker, smiling at the lot I’d brought back for him.

“Buongiorno, cugino?”

I threw him the line. “Molto buono.”

It was Saturday and the village was already bustling, alive with chatter. Life in Vernazza was centered around the restaurants in the heart of the village. Five of them dotted the perimeter of the square, carving out space of their own with wide-brimmed umbrellas. Tourists gathered underneath them, enjoying their lunches with enough wine and bread to last them well into the evening. Massimo and I worked together to unload the fish into a small cart. He’d roll it up to his restaurant—not one of the lucky five located on the square—and I’d head back up to my house and shower off the stench of fish and foam.

“Watch it!” I said, scolding the group of children running around the harbor, daring one another to jump into the water. It was safe to swim there; the water was calm thanks to the large partial seawall the village had built a decade earlier to shield itself from the power of the ocean.

The boys weren’t tourists. I’d watched them grow up for the last few years.

“And stay out of my boat, or tomorrow I’ll use you as shark bait!” I shouted over my shoulder before they’d run too far. I knew from their giggles it had been years since they’d taken my threats seriously. It didn’t matter; I had the boat’s key, so they couldn’t get into too much trouble.

“They call you the village grump, y’know,” Massimo said, nudging my shoulder.

I smiled, despite myself. “Good.”

The title fit.

“Have any plans tonight? Appuntamento romantico?”

I let go of the cart, no longer in the mood to help him push it up the square. “Enjoy your fish, Massimo.”

He groaned. “Aw, c’mon. S’only a joke! One of these days the answer will be yes, and I want to be the first to know!”

I’d have flipped him off if there weren’t so many children milling around. Instead, I walked away.

“Hey! Help me with this cart!”

I turned around to tell him off, but a sight over his right shoulder caught my attention instead. A woman had just stepped into the square from one of the side streets. She looked like most tourists did upon their arrival to Vernazza—a little frazzled and tired from lugging their suitcases on the train for so many hours—but there was something off about her. She paused and squeezed her eyes closed, leaning