so I just settled for instant coffee I found in one of the cupboards, and I still couldn’t decide on a writing spot. I put my laptop on her desk in the office and tried to get into it there, but my mind kept wandering.
I swear not all writers are this fickle. I know that Robyn was able to write anywhere and everywhere, whether it was on her phone while lining up at the bank, or lying down in bed. I have to keep to the same spot in order to set a routine, plus I need noise-cancelling headphones at the ready with a certain playlist. It sucks. I wish I was a little more spontaneous but my muse needs certain conditions to appear.
Anyway, I decided that maybe getting in a few hours by the pool would be a good idea. Refresh the batteries.
So that’s where I am now. Lying by the pool, relaxed as hell and feeling guilty for it.
I sit up and wonder if I should get in the pool again. I take a look at my arms. I slathered on a lot of sunscreen so I shouldn’t be burning anytime soon.
Feeling daring, I get to my feet.
The place is just so gorgeous and the sun is so hot that there’s this delicious hedonistic vibe in the air. The pool is fairly large and set into the lush green grass, giving it a wild feeling. It’s surrounded by a long, thick hedge that completely shelters it from the road, and down one end there’s a gorgeous rose garden that I spent a good part of the morning wandering through.
Emilio said he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, which means I have the entire place to myself.
Which means I’m totally alone.
And while that made me feel a bit scared yesterday, even though I’m truly a loner at heart, now it makes me feel free.
I peel off my bikini top and fling it onto the lounge chair.
Sunbathing topless is totally expected in Italy, right?
Then I take it further and step out of my bathing suit bottoms.
Now I’m completely naked.
I giggle to myself.
I don’t have a perfect body (what is that, anyway?) and I try not to look at myself in the mirror if I can help it. I know I could be leaner, I know I could have more muscle tone. I’m soft everywhere, the result of sitting on my arse most hours of the day. But here, now, my toes digging into the warm grass, the bright sunlight on my pale body, I feel more in tune with myself than I have in years.
I feel like I’m doing something dangerous and naughty and completely free, something Grace Harper of Edinburgh wouldn’t normally do.
I walk around the pool, heading into the rose garden to smell some of the pink and yellow blooms at the entrance. I close my eyes and inhale. It smells like a lemon drop martini, utterly entrancing.
A crunching noise makes me whirl around.
I’d heard a few cars drive by earlier on the road, but I know for a fact that they can’t see me. Was that noise from the road or…?
Cautiously I walk back to the pool area and step out from around the giant fig tree that lines the gravel path to the house.
There’s a man standing there.
“Ahhhhh!” I scream.
“Ahhhh!” he screams.
What do I do, what do I do?
My first thought is that I’m totally naked and that I have to cover up immediately but my bathing suit is on the other side of the pool, and all I can do for now is cover my breasts and cooch with my hands, staring at the stranger, mouth open.
Then, before I can turn and make a run for the hedge or, god, something, anything, a young boy appears beside the man, staring at me with the biggest eyes I’ve seen.
Oh. My. God!
Without thinking, I run and launch myself into the pool, an awkward cannonball bordering on belly flop. I hit the water hard and then let myself sink to the bottom, in absolutely no hurry to surface.
Who the hell was that? Why is there a man here? And a boy. Oh my god, he saw me naked. They both did. What’s he doing here? Am I in any danger? Is he here by mistake, here to rob the villa?
Eventually I have to resurface, because, you know, air.
I break through, gasping for breath, and once the water is out of my eyes, notice the man has stepped even closer,