“You act like we’re staying forever,” Anderson begins, handing me some of the fresh grapes we got yesterday.
“Maybe we will stay forever,” I answer, sighing. “I love it here.”
He chuckles as he comes to sit next to me. “Three months,” he says, holding a grape up so that we can clink glasses.
“Fine,” I grouse, pouting.
“Three months,” he repeats, smiling.
When we planned our honeymoon, we didn’t want the normal, five-day beach stay. We wanted to go somewhere, be immersed in the culture, and actually enjoy being newlyweds before diving back into our hectic lives in Los Angeles. It took nearly a year to plan it—nearly a year to convince Samantha to let me work remotely, and for Anderson to walk away from his manuscript. I bargained for part-time and told Samantha that I’d check in when I could, but not to bother me unless she needed me. With nearly six employees now, it shouldn’t be a problem. And Anderson’s publisher agreed to give him an extension on his newest finance handbook, which is the only reason we’re here.
“What should we have for dinner?” Anderson asks between bites, his nonfiction book in hand. I didn’t realize it before, but the man reads all the time—almost more than me.
“Maybe we can go down to that cute, little trattoria?” I ask, popping another grape into my mouth.
“The one with the green awning?” Anderson looks at me from behind his book. His blue eyes find mine—they’re so clear here, so stunningly bright.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m in the mood for that bruschetta.”
We change quickly—and then proceed to tear each other’s clothes off as we’re about to walk out. Somehow seeing Anderson in a button-up, in Italy, all salty from the ocean… I get down on my knees and pull him into my mouth, and when I’m finished, we lock up and meander down the winding path to the center of town. A woman washing her windows smiles at us, and we wave back. Kids dart in and out of houses, tanned from the potent summer sun. Stray cats rub along the walls, meowing at us for some food. I grip Anderson’s hand, and a sense of peace washes over me—here, with him, the months ahead of us open and available for basking and lounging. We’ve only been in Italy for a few days, but I can already see us buying a place and making this a regular thing.
The hostess seats us side by side at one of the tables, setting the paper menus in front of us.
“I saw you two here earlier this week,” she says in near perfect English.
“It’s our honeymoon,” Anderson says proudly, taking my hand. The other arm wraps around the back of my chair. “We’re here for three months.”
“Maybe longer,” I joke.
We all laugh, and she pours us glasses of water. “How did you meet?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows.
I open my mouth, but instead, I laugh. “It’s a long story.”
She puts her hand on her hips. “I’ve got time.” She looks at us expectantly.
“Do you want to tell your side, or shall I?” Anderson asks, leaning back and smirking at me. Even now—three years later—his smirk still gives me butterflies.
“I’ll tell her, because your version isn’t exactly accurate.”
He laughs and takes a sip of water. “What’s wrong with my version?”
I stare at him. “Seriously?” I look at the hostess. “We hated each other, and he insists on telling this insane story about how he loved me from the very first moment.” I look at Anderson. “There was no love in your eyes that day.”
He laughs, his eyes sparkling. “You don’t know what I was thinking, Natalia.”
“Ah, my name is Natalia, too,” the hostess beams, showing us her name tag. “Are you Sicilian?”
I nod. “My grandparents were born in this village.”
She claps her hands. “That is very cool. And you came here for your honeymoon, how sweet.” Anderson takes my hand as she smiles at us. “Welcome home, Natalia.”
She waves and walks away, and I look over at Anderson.
“Why do you insist on lying?” I chide, laughing. The sun is still high, but it’s mid-afternoon now, and the golden hue of the village is breathtaking.
“Look, I didn’t know what was happening. I realize now what an asshole I was to you, and I’ve apologized a million times. You terrified me in the best way possible.”
I shake my head as Natalia the hostess sets our wine on the table. I pull my hand out of his and take a sip.
