Read Wish You Were Italian Online
Authors: Kristin Rae
“Funny.” He smiles and nudges me back. “What exactly is your friend supposed to do with it?”
“That’s the point. A souvenir without function that she’s obligated to keep. She’ll love it.”
With that goal checked off my list, I can relax and shop for myself too. A few carts down, we find the most luscious scarves I’ve ever seen. Darren helps me pick one that manages to make my eyes an intense shade of green, and we find some for Morgan, Gram, and my mother because it would be a nice gesture. She might actually wear this one too, because it’s not hot pink and it was made by professionals.
Darren keeps eyeing the fedoras until I make him try one on.
“I don’t wear hats,” he protests.
“I saw you drooling over it; just try it.” I pick out a dark-gray one with thin white stripes and settle it on his head. “You have too much hair. I’ll bet if you chopped it you would rock this hat.”
He takes it off without even looking in the mirror.
I match his frown. “What’s wrong?”
He lets out a sigh. “There’s a reason I stopped wearing hats.”
“Besides your hair?” I say, attempting and failing to get him to smile.
He coughs into the back of his hand. “Remember that girl I told you about?”
“Yes. But you never told me her name.”
“She liked it when I wore hats. She said so all the time.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, did you wear them before you got together?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Yeah …?”
“Then she stole it from you. When she broke your heart, she took part of who you are with her.”
“Part of who I am?”
“You’re a hat guy,” I explain. “If you like them, wear them. Who cares if they remind you of her, you’re done with her. You’ve moved on to better things.”
His mouth fights back a smile. “You think so?” He places the hat on his head and looks in the little mirror hanging from the cart. “You’re right, though. Too much hair.”
“So … maybe you can be a hat person again when you’re not a hair person anymore.”
We laugh and he returns the hat to the hook before picking up a tan-colored newsboy cap with a dark flower off to the side just above the brim. “Put this one on right now,” he says, switching back into exaggerated, giddy-girl mode.
“You better cut that out or you’re going to have me thinking things about you that you probably don’t want me to.” I giggle and tug the hat down on my head.
Darren adjusts it for me, off-centering the brim from my forehead. He takes me by the shoulders and turns me to the mirror, moving sections of my hair from behind so it lies on my chest. My eyes take in the hat—which I secretly think I adore and must have—before they meet his gaze.
Keeping his hands on my shoulders and his eyes locked on mine in the mirror, he tilts his head, leaning closer until his lips nearly brush against my ear. “What kind of things?”
My whole body quivers as I close my eyes, unable to look at him looking at me that way if he’s not going to do anything about it. I’m so far gone now, there’s no turning back.
We claim an empty spot on the beach and drop our bags onto a towel. The water is warm yet refreshing enough, especially when we find a cool pocket. Darren’s been quiet since we stripped down to our bathing suits and waded into the water, like his mind is somewhere else. I make small talk, but he gives a lot of halfhearted, one-word answers.
“Is something wrong?” I finally ask.
Darren cups a hand and repeatedly scoops at the water, letting it leak out between his fingers. “What do you see happening a few weeks from now?”
I try to meet his eyes, but he’s focused on the water. “What do you mean?”
“I mean at the end of summer, when you have to leave. What happens after that?”
I open my mouth to speak, but not a sound comes out. I want
to say a million things. I want to say that watching him walk off that train, then realizing I had no way to get in touch with him, nearly killed me. That I can’t believe I’m expected to say goodbye to him again. That I think about him. A lot.
What comes out instead is, “I finish high school and you start college.”
“Right … right.” He nods and exhales, sinking into the water up to his neck and running a dripping hand through his still-dry hair.
Follow your heart, not your head. Regret nothing
.
“Darren,” I begin, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing myself to keep eye contact. I need answers. I can’t go back home without knowing exactly what there was or is between us. “Why did you come back here?”
No response.
“Why did you ask me to go to Pompeii with you guys? Why did you get so upset you couldn’t even talk to me when you saw Bruno kiss me good-bye? Why did you completely freak when Nina took our picture together? Why did you come back here? I need—” I groan and ball my hands into fists at my sides. “I need you to tell me what you want me to think, Darren. What am I supposed to take away from all this?”
“I don’t know, Pippa, okay?” He yanks at his hair. “I … needed to see you again. When I’m not with you, all I think about is you and your shy little smile and the two freckles on your right cheek. Your terrifying green eyes.”
He stands again and my eyes dart to the ribbons of water streaming down his chest. He takes a step toward me and raises a hand to my cheek, stroking it with his thumb. My eyelids drop involuntarily and I melt into his touch.
“I just—” He stops himself.
His lips gently press against mine and I pull in a sharp breath before I lean my face into his palm even more. Just as I fear my legs might not hold me up any longer, his other hand snakes around to the small of my back, supporting and pulling me against him.
After a moment he drifts a few inches away, keeping his hands in place, nervously meeting my eyes to gauge a reaction. Everything around me except for his face is a blue blur as I stare back at him.
Darren just kissed me.
As many times as I’ve imagined him kissing me, the shock of it as a reality sends a quake through my entire body.
“I don’t believe it.” I straighten and stare at his chin, his cheeks, his sharp jawline.
He almost gets knocked over by a wave that slams him in the chest. “What?”
“You shaved! How did I not see that earlier?”
“Finally she notices!” He laughs. “I went through great pains to smooth out this face for you. Even cut myself.” He juts out his chin and points to a spot so small I can hardly see it.
“Aww, poor baby,” I tease and give it a swift peck, still in shock that I’m suddenly allowed to get this close to him. To touch him with my lips. “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?”
He smirks, resting his hands on my waist. “Hoped.”
My cheeks ache from smiling, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but Darren and him kissing me again. I trace the smooth skin around his mouth.
“You better be careful,” he says, kissing the tip of my finger with each word. “I’ve been known to bite.”
We laugh and he tightens his hold at my waist and pulls me against him, pressing our lips together. I rake my fingers through his hair and grab a fistful, tugging him closer and deepening the kiss. Electricity courses through me from my chest to hips and back again. His warm, wet hands explore my bare back, setting every inch of my skin on fire. His shoulder muscles tense and release in synchronization with his hands all over me.
He takes my face in his palms and slows the kiss down, our breathing still heavy. I’ve never been so dizzy in my whole life. My head, my body, are part of the sea, ebbing and flowing with the tides.
I get it now. This is what kissing is really supposed to be. Any others before were merely run-throughs with understudies. Darren is a leading man.
Our foreheads rest together and the pads of his fingers slowly trail up and down my arms.
“What do we do now?” he asks.
I inhale deeply, trying to clear my mind, to be struck with a brilliant solution. “I have no idea.”
He plays with the wet ends of my hair. “I think we just made saying good-bye the next time exponentially more difficult.”
“Infinitely more difficult.”
But I’ll worry about that tomorrow.
We lace our fingers together as we trudge through the shallow water to our spot on the beach to dry off.
“The sun’s starting to go down,” I point out, brushing the tiny rocks off the bottoms of my feet and sliding into my flip-flops. “I should probably head back for Luca’s birthday dinner.
They want me to lead the ‘Happy Birthday’ song to him in English for some reason.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, it’s getting late.” He lets go of my hand and reaches for his T-shirt.
I watch his abs disappear, then pull my tank top over my head. “I’m sure you could come if you want.”
He frowns. “Won’t Bruno be there?”
“It’s his brother, he’d better be.”
“Uh, I’ll pass.”
I grab his shirt near the hem and tug him toward me. “Even though I’ll be there?” I bat my eyelashes intentionally fast.
“Tempting.” He leans in for a kiss, letting it linger. “But I can’t crash a birthday party for a kid I’ve never met. And I don’t feel much like getting into a fight with a ripped-up Italian tonight. You go ahead, have fun. I’ll see you in the morning, right? Before I leave?”
“That,” I say, pecking his lips again, “is a necessity.”
We catch the train that makes stops in every village, sitting as close to each other as possible, freely kissing whenever we feel like it. I’m torn between wishing we hadn’t waited so long to get to this point and almost wishing it never had happened at all. Now I really know what I’m going to be missing.
The motion of the train conflicts with all the crap in my head and I panic. I lay my head against Darren’s chest and wrap my arms around his middle. He puts both of his arms around me, hugging me tight. I can feel him sigh. Is he thinking through everything like I am?
“We’ll figure it out,” he says in my ear before he kisses the top of my head. “I promise.”
I squeeze him tighter and memorize the rhythm of his heartbeat.
We decide to meet at the trattoria for breakfast first thing tomorrow and spend the whole morning together before he has to leave. I already can’t wait to kiss him again, but I don’t look forward to figuring out the logistics of a long-distance relationship, if that’s what he even wants. If it’s what I want.
Our lips touch until the last possible moment when the doors of the train threaten to close at his stop in Manarola.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, a smile stretching ear to ear.
“Tomorrow,” I reply, beaming back at him. “Good night.”
“Good night, Pippa.”
He hops down onto the platform and the doors slap together. I look at him through the grimy window, reminded of the time I saw him across the metro station in Rome, when I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. Now I know I will for sure.
And I also know there will be kissing.
Find random souvenir for Morgan
The sky is a fading orange-pink by the time I emerge from the tunnel and begin the trek up Via Columbo to the trattoria. As I approach the outdoor section, I hear Luca’s rowdy friends swarming around one of the tables piled high with food. The savory aroma makes my mouth water and my legs move faster.
Chiara speaks to a man whose back is to me, his arms waving madly. Her face is scrunched in concern and for a moment I wonder if this has anything to do with Bruno’s gambling problem—he swears he’s done with all that—but then I recognize the man’s stance. His posture. His hand gestures.
Chiara spots me coming up behind him and points at me. The man turns around, and I might throw up. My feet refuse to take me any farther.
“Dad? Wha—”
“Pippa!” Dad closes the distance between us in three hurried steps and wraps me in his arms, murmuring into my hair, “Oh, thank God.”
There’s so much swimming through my head, I don’t even know where to start.
How did you find me? What are you doing here? Am I grounded until I’m thirty?
After what feels like a lifetime of making up for lost affection, he releases me, keeping a hand on my shoulder, and looks me over.
“Dad,” I say slowly, still in shock. “How are you here? What—?” I stop myself and study the bags under his eyes, the frown lines. The troubled, glassy eyes. “What happened?”
He takes his time inhaling the longest breath in the history of breathing. “Can we sit somewhere and talk?”
“Just tell me.”
Dad’s broad shoulders slump and his hand slips down to mine, squeezing it tight. “It’s Gram.”
My heart plummets and my knees start to shake. “What about her?”
“She fell a few days ago. We thought everything was fine, but—”
“She
fell?
She’s going to be okay, right?”
“I don’t know, Pippa.”
Chiara rushes to my side to put her arm around my waist and I lean on her, suddenly unable to support my own weight.
“We should go inside and sit,” she says, leading us inside the restaurant where it’s quiet. I see Bruno sneak in with us, but he stands off to the side.
“Look at me,” Dad says once we’re seated at a table. My hand is numb from his grasp. “She’s still alive. I just talked to your mother. But we need to go home right away.”
My eyes spill over with tears, thankful to hear she’s alive but terrified that he used the word “still.”
Still alive
. It sounds so … temporary.
“What do you mean by ‘she fell’ exactly?” I ask. “Like, down the stairs or …?”
“When she got out of bed one morning, her leg was still asleep but she didn’t realize it. She fell and hit her head against the wall.”
I release the breath I was holding. “That doesn’t sound so awful.”
“She made a dent in the sheetrock.”
I rub my temples, closing my eyes so tight, a fresh stream of tears makes its way down my cheek.
“She seemed fine at first, just a bit bruised. More embarrassed than anything. But after the first twenty-four hours she stopped talking and … she’s in a coma now.”