As my breathing slowly returns to normal and Marina crawls back up my body, stopping here and there to kiss or lightly nip different parts of me, I start to softly laugh.
She arches a dark brow at me. “Laughter is not exactly theresult I shoot for when it comes to lovemaking.” She says it playfully, but there’s a quick shadow that zips across her face, and it makes me grab her and pull her up so we’re eye to eye.
“Oh, honey,” I say. “You have nothing at all to worry about. I’m laughing because I was afraid of becoming another Unattractively Loud bed partner.” I jerk a thumb to my right. “Thus the pillow.”
She barks a laugh. “Oh, thank God.” After a moment, she kisses me softly and says, “There is nothing unattractive about you. At all. Trust me.”
And I do.
It’s weird and wonderful and terrifying to realize it, but I trust Marina implicitly.
Scary.
We lounge for a while longer, alternating between dozing, making love, and chatting, until I know I need to get poor Reggie outside. “He’s been so good,” I say. “But he also has a tiny bladder.”
“I’ll take him.” Marina sits up, the sheet falling off her upper body, revealing her gorgeous breasts, her dark nipples still swollen from all the attention I’ve lavished on them. I reach out and stroke a fingertip across one. She gives me a sexy grin and grabs my hand to stop further exploration. “Save it. I’ll take Reggie out. And then we have to get moving, I’m sorry to say.” She’s up and then pulls a pair of joggers out of a drawer.
She’s right. She has a tour to give, and work beckons, but I sigh and pout a little anyway. “Fine. You okay if I jump in the shower first?”
“Of course. Towels are in the closet.” She pulls on a T-shirt and leans forward to kiss me lightly. “Be back in a bit.Ciao.”
“Ciao,” I say as she calls Reggie to follow her out of the bedroom. He glances at me for a split second and then is off, the traitor. I can’t stay mad at him, though. I’d follow her, too.
All of Marina’s toiletry products are labeled in Italian, because of course they are, but her shampoo bottle shows a picture of an apple orchard, so I now understand why she smells like apple pie, and I love it. I lather up my hair, loving the fact that I’ll be able to smell her even after I leave. I towel off and am applying some lotion to my legs when I hear her return.
I also smell baked goods.
She knocks on the bathroom door—which I’ve left ajar—before she enters carrying a cup. “For you,” she says and waves her hand with a flourish.
“Bless you,” I say and take the coffee from her, bring it to my nose. “Italians know how to do coffee,” I say. “Did you get some?”
“I had a cappuccino with Reggie.”
“Just what Reggie needs,” I joke.
“I got some breakfast. Come out when you’re done.” She leans in and kisses me, then disappears back out the door.
It’s all so incredibly domestic that it freezes me in place for a moment. But I shake it off, finish getting dressed, dry my hair, and then follow my nose out into the flat, where a plate of baked goods sits all perfectly arranged on the table. They look like croissants but aren’t.
“Ooh, what are these?” I ask, picking one up. It’s made of flaky layers of pastry, and it’s still warm.
“Sfogliatella,” Marina says.
“Bless you,” I reply, but her brow furrows because she doesn’t get dumb American humor. “Sorry.” I wave my hand. “Ignore me.”
“Two of them have ricotta filling and two have chocolate custard.”
I waste no more time because I don’t care which one I get. I bite in and it’s ricotta, and I’m humming my delight. Also delighted is Marina, judging from the smile on her face.
“I love watching you try new things,” she says. “I love watching you doing anything, though.”
I get that little flutter in my belly, because how sweet is that? Remember when I said I felt worshipped? Yeah, prime example right there. Nobody’s ever told me they like watching me doing whatever it is I’m doing in the moment. Can’t say I hate it.
After we eat, finish our coffee, and do some serious kissing in the doorway of Marina’s flat, Reggie and I head back to our hotel, and it almost feels like going home. I’ve lost count of how many weeks I’ve been here, but it’s starting to feel like I live here now. I miss New York, I do, both my upstate house and my Manhattan apartment. But with every day that goes by here in Rome, I am more and more comfortable, something I never expected to feel.
I’m very aware that I’m wearing last night’s clothes, not that anybody saw me then, but I also want to make sure Reggie gets some exercise. I don’t know how far he and Marina walked earlier, so once our Uber drops us off, I stroll along our street with him for a bit, and again, I’m hit with the feeling ofthis is my neighborhood. I have grown to know these shops and the habits of the shopkeepers. When they open, how they sweep their entry area, which ones know each other and stop to chat. It’s like I’m in a Broadway musical—or better yet, a Disney movie—about a quaint little street where everybody knows everybody. I’m reminded of the Disney movieBeauty and the Beast—the animated one from the nineties—where all the villagers know each other and Belle, and they sing to one another as she walks past their shops. Corny, I know, but it’s making me smile as Reggie trots along beside me as if he’s feeling the same way. We feel at home here, like we belong.
When in Rome, right?
