“Did I miss something?”
He closes his eyes, clears his throat, and inhales. “I smell warm Nutella. Where is that coming from?” I follow his nose to a nearby pasticceria. “Do you mind if we get whatever that is, thenmaybe go to that museum you told me about and not talk about what we just saw?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Thanks, Fielder.” He opens his eyes, trying to hide the pain, but I know better.
“Can I ask one question?”
“One question.”
“What do you want or need me to do right now?”
He smiles, his face softening. “This. And keep what we saw to yourself. I’m going to see if Cam tells me the truth himself. Give him a chance to be honest.”
My face crinkles, brows furrow. “Then what?”
He narrows his eyes. “You don’t approve.”
“I—I don’t have an opinion.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.” He smirks.
“You would give him a second chance?” I ask, wondering where my second chance was. Why didn’t Ricky give me time before up and leaving?
“I don’t know.” He looks deep into my eyes, then down at the cobblestone streets. “But I know I want to spend today with you. Is that okay?”
For now.
Good lord, the Museo della Carta is the most boring thing I’ve ever done.
Not to sound likethat girl, because old machines are cool and Ricky was a kid in a candy shop reading about all the techniquesof making paper, and ancient trade routes from China, but I found myself wishing to be impaled on the rusty equipment.
Now we’re back at the villa and he’s somewhere with Cam pretending that he didn’t just see him making out with a Matty look-alike in an alley by the beach! How tawdry and cheap! Ricky deserves better.
To be a fly on the wall.
What did Ithinkwas going to happen? That Topher and Sienna’s wedding was the setting of some rom-com where I would win back the heart of the love of my life and send his twink boyfriend packing after a cute little group number where everyone in the bridal party including Nonna breaks out into song?
Sounds nice! Yet the closer I’ve gotten to Ricky over the last two days, the more my heart aches remembering the hurt he left behind. The more I want to kiss him under the stars, the more closure and insight I need abouthowandwhywe ended in the first place. Far too complicated.
I flop on my bed and press my eyes closed.
A good nap can cure all, including the twisty weirdness knotting up inside me.
Except I can’t fall asleep.
So I try to edit the content I shot yesterday and today.
Except I can’t focus.
And because my reptile brain is utterly broken and my coping mechanism for thinking too much over the last year has been sex, I’m suddenly picturing Ricky shirtless in teeny-tiny speedos at the pool, hard as a rock.
Matty isn’t around.
The Coven is spending the day shopping and eating their way through Positano.
The villa was quiet when Ricky and I got back, and it’s been days since I’ve gotten off, so there’s a decent shot I can get off without worrying.
