Page 63 of That's Amore


Font Size:

We don’t say anything as we shift positions so I’m on top.We don’t say anything as I undress her the rest of the way and run my hands across her olive skin, marveling, as usual, over the smooth softness of it. We don’t say anything as I slide my fingers into her wetness and take a nipple into my mouth. I move down her body with my tongue, stopping here and there to kiss a particular favorite spot or two, before settling between her legs.

I feel the grip of her hands in my hair, and it doesn’t take long to bring her to the edge. She’s incredibly responsive to me normally—something I find endlessly arousing about her—but even more so tonight, it seems. I keep her there for long moments before finally tipping her over. A cry I haven’t heard before comes from deep within her as her muscles spasm and she lets go with one hand so she can grab a pillow and hold it over her face.

I ride it out with her, listening to the sounds she’s making as I pay attention to the contractions in her center. I love it so much, this exact moment. It’s so erotic, so sensual, so intimate. She comes down slowly, and I lay my cheek against her thigh as I wait for her to collect herself.

That’s when I hear it.

It’s quiet and soft, but there’s no mistaking it.

Marina is crying.

“Oh, baby.” I quickly crawl up her body, and I’m gentle when I pull the pillow away from her face. Her cheeks are wet, and her eyes are a bit red, and she sniffles and turns away from me.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice quiet.

“No, no. Don’t be.” It’s like I can actually feel my heart squeeze in my chest at the sight of her crying. It’s awful, and I want to do anything I can to make her feel better…except I don’t know what that is.

“No.” She reaches for a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blows her nose, wipes her face. Gently moving me off her, she pushes herself to sitting. “No, Iamsorry.” She doesn’t lookat me as she speaks, just rolls the tissue in her hands, toying with it. “We said this was casual. Well,yousaid this was casual, but I went along, so I don’t get to be upset now. Forgive me.” She takes a deep breath, then another, and it seems to calm her. She finally meets my gaze, but there’s something different, like she’s shuttered somehow. “Sorry about that.”

“No, not at all,” I say, and honestly, I’m a little taken aback by the change. I’m floundering a bit here with what to say next.

Before I can come up with anything, Marina slides out of bed and starts to get dressed. I frown. A glance at her clock tells me it’s after nine, and Marina sleeps naked, so I’m not sure what she’s doing. I follow her into the kitchen without putting my own clothes on. There, she opens the fridge and grabs herself a bottle of water, cracks it open, and takes a long pull from it. She’s beautiful, standing there bathed in the fridge light, wearing joggers and a T-shirt, her hair tousled. She takes another long sip, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and turns to me.

“You should probably go.” Her voice is quiet, and while I try to hide my surprise at her words, I do a crappy job of it.

“Oh.” I stand there, naked, unable to move my feet.

She lifts one shoulder in a half shrug and doesn’t look at me as she says, “It only makes sense. Why prolong the inevitable, right?” Even her lovely accent doesn’t help to soften her words.

“I…oh. Um, okay.” And now I feel stupid. Foolish. I stand there for a minute longer, not sure what to do. Then I turn and head back to the bedroom in search of clothes. Hot tears burn behind my eyes. I didn’t expect her to toss me out. I mean, I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t dismissal.

I fumble in the dark for my clothes. I should just turn the lights on, but I’m too embarrassed. I don’t want Marina to see my shame. Reggie has hopped off the chair and is following me around, clearly confused, as I dress quickly, run my fingersthrough my hair, and tuck it behind my ears. I pick up my dog and go back out to the living room where Marina is now standing in the dark, looking out the window. It feels so weird and wrong to leave like this, and I tell her so.

“Can’t we talk a bit?” I ask. “Or, I don’t know, just enjoy what time we’ve got left? I mean, I’m not leaving tomorrow.”

Her shoulders are stiff. In fact, her whole body is rigid, and the fact that I can tell those things just by looking at her silhouette from the back tells me how well I actually know her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her voice is quiet. Monotone.

“But why not?”

She turns to me, and she’s backlit by the window, so I can’t quite make out the expression on her face. I should go to her, but I feel weird. Ashamed and uncertain. “I think you know the answer to that,” she says, still very quiet. “And if you don’t, then that’s all the more reason you should go.”

My brain isn’t working. I’m a smart woman, but things are not firing as they should be because her words don’t compute, and all I want right now is to escape to something familiar. It feels heavy in the flat. Hard to breathe. Reggie starts to pant in my arms, and I wonder if my emotions emit actual heat, enough to warm him. I open my mouth to say words, but none of them will come. I close it and open it twice more before I exhale in frustration, slide my phone into my bag, and sling it over my shoulder.

Maybe she just needs a little time. That’s reasonable, right?

“Okay. I’ll text you tomorrow,” I say.

Marina is looking out the window again, and she doesn’t turn around. With a quiet sigh, I leave the flat, closing the door behind me with a quiet, anticlimactic click.

On the street, I stand there. I’ve put Reggie on his leash and he doesn’t pull or try to go anywhere. He simply looks up at me while I stare off into space. I’ll need to get an Uber or a cabto take us back to the hotel, but I keep standing there doing nothing. When I finally risk a glance up at the window I know is Marina’s, she’s not there.

I look down at Reggie. He’s looking up at me, God bless him. He is easily enamored with other people, but he is ultimately my boy, and he knows when I’m hurting. He looks worried, the concern clear in his big brown marble eyes.

“I’m okay, buddy,” I say quietly to him, though I’m not sure that’s true. “I’m okay.”

We walk for a block or two because I can’t just stand there under the window of Marina’s flat. It feels weird, and I’m also starting to feel a little bubble of anger in my gut to go along with the hurt. What a fun combination.

When we’ve turned a corner and we’re in a spot that can’t be seen from her place, I call up my app and order myself an Uber. He arrives within a couple minutes, and soon Reggie is seated in my lap and we’re driving away from Trastevere. As we cross over the River Tiber, I absently wonder if I’ll ever see it again.