Moments later he reappeared, a grinning chef and two waiters following in a mini-parade.
"For you,
signorina
." Carlo bowed and stepped out of the way.
The chef stepped forward and set a large, covered platter on our table. One waiter lifted the lid as the other handed each of us a dessert fork and wished us, "
Buon appetito
!"
On the platter sat an enormous, spherical scoop of
Semifreddo al Limone
—a rich ice cream parfait that is my absolute all-time favorite dessert—in a bed of strawberry sauce. Written in the strawberry sauce, in carefully piped chocolate, were the words, "Guaranteed to melt in your hand."
My mind sped back to a clear blue morning several years ago—laying in Gavin's king-size bed, decadently wasting away the first half of a lazy Sunday. One where he miraculously didn't have to work and I had no plans but being with him.
He had rolled over and reached under the bed to pull out a brown paper bag with "Sugar and Spice" imprinted in vibrant red. From the bag he produced a sable artist's brush and a small paint can.
"What's that?" I had asked.
He had grinned wickedly in return. "Chocolate body paint."
With a swift twist of the lid, he popped the can open and dipped a finger into the liquid inside. He held the chocolate-coated finger out, waiting until I had closed my lips around him to add, "Guaranteed to melt in your hand."
Needless to say, we had been lucky to make it to work on time the next morning. And I bet his sheets still bore traces.
"Lydia?"
Gavin's voice jarred me back into the present. Into a new moment. A memory in the making.
He held a forkful of
Semifreddo
hovering in front of my mouth. Our eyes met and, as I leaned forward in slow motion, taking the frozen treat into my tongue, the tension built and crackled between us.
"You know," I breathed after swallowing the bite, "I'm not really hungry."
Not taking his eyes off mine, Gavin shouted, "Check please."
Carlo appeared with the bill before I could even lick the little drop from the corner of my mouth. Clearly he was expecting things to go this well.
We were out the door in a taxi to the hotel moments later.
Our mouths met before Carlo closed the door behind us. The taxi only took three minutes to get to the hotel, but already I was overheated and trying to get on Gavin's lap.
He threw a few
lira
at the driver—far more than a three-minute ride warranted—and climbed out the cab, pulling me out behind him. Hand-in-hand, like anxious school children, we dashed across the lobby to the elevator which, thankfully, was waiting on the ground floor.
"God, I've missed you," Gavin exclaimed as the doors slid shut and he pushed me against the back wall.
His mouth captured mine, his tongue sweeping across my lips before forging in to taste all of me. I couldn't get enough. I had to touch him everywhere. My hands grabbed at his shoulders. His back. His tight behind. Finally, needing more, I tugged his button-down out of his waistband and smoothed my hands over the rippling planes of his chest.
"I've missed this," I breathed when his mouth released mine to devour my jaw and neck and collarbone and ... oh my.
A faint ding registered in the back of my mind, but I was too swept up to even notice. It wasn't until I felt Gavin move away suddenly that I opened my eyes to find out why he left.
"I guess I know why you missed our date," Elliot said, his voice cold as he held Gavin by the shirt collar.
Dropping his catch, Elliot turned abruptly and stalked down the hallway to our room.
"Elliot, wait!" I called after his swiftly retreating form. "Elliot!"
The door to our room slammed with a resounding thud.
Dubble Bubble Damn!
I looked from the empty hallway to Gavin, still panting from our heavy petting and obviously confused by what had just happened. Did I stay and satisfy some long-unaddressed urges with Gavin, or go to Elliot and do a lot of explaining?
That was the trouble with new beginnings; you had to make choices to get them started.
20
Q: What would you do if you were carried out to sea on an iceberg?
A: Keep cool until you were rescued.
— Laffy Taffy Joke #36
Deciding simpler was better, I dipped my key card in the reader and slipped into the room in order to offer my apology.
"I'm sorry."
Elliot was at the dresser, his back to me and the door, tossing clothes into the duffle bag on the bed. Every muscle in his back tensed up when I spoke. It was several long seconds before I saw him forcibly relax his shoulders.
"Hey, no reason to apologize," he said with a patently false casual tone. "It's not like we have something monogamous going here."
"Please," I wanted him to turn around, to look at me, "let me explain."
He turned his head, looking half over his shoulder but not really seeing me. "I think you already made everything perfectly clear. Message received. My job here is done."
"Job?" What was he talking about?
"You hired me to make the ex jealous, and clearly it worked." With a handful of socks, he crossed to the duffle, threw them inside, and pulled the zipper shut in one swift movement. "I'll send you a bill when I get home."
He started for the door. Other than tossing by body down in his path, I didn't know how to stop him. So I started talking. Fast.
"You weren't hired to make him jealous, you were hired to keep him away. And I thought—I thought that was all over now. But I found out that what I thought I knew wasn't right at all and I was all wrong about him and his secretary—Rhonda. You know her."
When he tried to sidestep me, I leapt back and pressed myself up against the door, blocking the handle. Anything to keep him from walking away. Maybe for good.
"So I wanted to see what I was missing—if I had made the wrong decision two years ago because I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering. It might not work out this time either but what if it did. I'm a different person now than I was then. Yes, I'm spending time with him, but I want to spend time with you too. I have fun with you—the kind of fun I didn't know I needed in my life until I met you, and I don't want to give you up for something that might or might not work out."
I saw a teeny bit of softening in his eyes. Hoping that my inane, rapid-fire babbling was getting through, I stepped forward and pressed my hands to his steel-tense chest.
"I know it's not fair to either of you but I—" This was low. I dropped my eyes. "—I can't choose. Not yet. Either way I would always wonder what if."
Though no one could get me to admit it on the record, I had watched a few—okay all—of those shows where a bunch of singles vie for the eye of an eligible bachelor or bachelorette. And I, like the rest of the country, fell victim to the patriarchal view that the bachelors were sour balls, but the bachelorettes were sluts.
Now, finding myself in the position of choosing between two guys and wanting to explore relationships with both of them before having to make my decision, I suddenly sympathized with those women.
"Please, give us a chance," I pleaded. "Stay."
His eyelids fluttered down, shielding his readable blue eyes from view. I could feel him weighing my argument. Weighing his own feelings.
Then, eyes still closed, he lowered his forehead to rest against mine.
"I'll stay," he whispered, "because I'm not strong enough to leave."
His lips pressed softly against mine.
The duffel dropped to the floor with a soft thud.
"Besides," he said against my mouth, "I only packed half my things. I couldn't leave without the trench coat."
"You brought it?" I asked, giggling more in relief that he was staying.
"Of course," his hands dropped to squeeze my backside playfully. "What good is a fantasy if you don't bring the props?"
Noticing the time on the filigree clock on the dresser, I pulled out from his welcome arms and sought my pajamas. The red satin ones from Victoria's Secret. Somehow candy hearts didn't belong in the fashion capitol of the world.
"Good, because it's supposed to rain tomorrow and I wouldn't want you to get drenched on the moped. I am only attending the first two catwalk shows tomorrow and I expect a full tour to follow." I finally found the shiny red satin in the bottom drawer of the dresser. They slinked along the edge of the drawer as I pulled them out. "It just wouldn't do to have my tour guide getting sick and bailing on me."
"No," Elliot's voice was low and slow, "it wouldn't do at all."
Turning, I knew that lustful smile was there before I saw his face. "You, mister, need to get into your jammies and into bed."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, hurriedly tugging his sweater over his head and kicking his shoes off. "Been wearing my jammies all day just waiting for this occasion."
For several tortuous moments, as I watched him disrobing before my eyes, I thought he was serious. My gaze riveted to every movement of his tan, masculine hands. When he was down to his t-shirt and slacks he hesitated, his fingers gripping his waistband but not undoing the button.
My eyes, anxious and terrified at the same time, flew to his. Those bright blues laughed at my distress.
"Get changed, princess."
Elliot crossed in front of me, scooping his duffel off of the floor instead of stripping the rest of his clothes off—a prospect I was not opposed to on a purely aesthetic level, but if a girl is feeling out a relationship with two guys, I thought it would be quite sluttish to try either one out all the way.
"I-I'll just be," I stuttered as I backed into the bathroom, "in here. Getting ready. Um, changed. For bed."
My face flamed.
Safely in the bathroom, the door firmly and swiftly shut behind me, I pressed my palms against the amber colored marble of the countertop. Only the last shreds of dignity saved me from stripping naked and laying on the equally-marble floor in a desperate attempt to cool off my burning body.
Really, a girl's body was not designed to turned on and off like hot and cold running water. Especially not twice in one night.
If it weren't already so late I might have been tempted to run an ice cold bath in the enormous garden tub and chill my libido into submission.
"I don't know how polygamists do it," I said to my flushed reflection. Only one night in the company of two guys and already I felt caught and tugged in two directions like the last roll of Smarties the day after Halloween.
Shaking the wayward thoughts out of my brain, I quickly stepped out of the ruffled tank and black cords I'd been wearing for thirty-six hours straight. After a momentary longing for a cold, refreshing shower, I resigned to a cool, damp washcloth and a quick sponge bath.
"Hurry u-up." Elliot's voice sing-songed beneath the white and gold door. "I've got the bed all warmed up."
If only closing my eyes would make this all go away, leaving only the right decision sitting front and center in my mind. But closing my eyes only brought conflicting thoughts of Gavin's hot kisses and Elliot's hot body into a knockdown drag-out for my attention.
Well, at the very least I knew that no easy answers would be forthcoming. I had to make the best of the situation I had gotten myself into and not think about the—likely—naked man in my bed.
What I hadn't counted on was my nightly routine taking so long that it bored him to sleep.
I emerged from the bathroom—admittedly nearly an hour later—to find him fully clothed in plaid cotton pjs and sleeping peacefully.
Pulling back the covers as quickly and gently as possible, I slipped between the 600-thread count sateen sheets and snuggled down into the downy soft bed. The room had chilled, thanks to an open window and dropping temperatures outside, and I found the fluffy duvet inadequate against the cold air.
Soon I was shivering and my teeth chattered so loud I was surprised it didn't wake Elliot up. Then again, if the deep, even rhythm of his breathing were any indication, he was out like a light and wouldn't wake unless the sun was up or Vesuvius erupted again.
Forty-eight hours without sleep and six hours’ worth of jetlag could do that to a person.
Casting caution aside in deference to a good eight hours of sleep, I took a deep breath and rolled to the other side of the bed. Just being millimeters from Elliot's radiating warmth, my chills vanished.
When, at somewhere around two a.m., he looped his arm around my waist and tugged me as close as I could get, my internal thermometer shot the opposite direction.
But for some reason that didn't hinder my falling back to sleep at all. I was just thankful for the two layers of fabric between us. No matter how flimsy a barrier they made.
"
Caro mia
, I am glad you came."