Page 58 of Good at Being Alive
Based on the size and firmness of the appendage pressing into the base of my spine, I’d say he needs an hour. Or several blow jobs.
Gentle, sympathetic soul that I am, I begin to laugh.
“I warned you,” he growls, his breath against my ear.
“That thing should come withmultiplewarnings,” I whisper. “And its own bottle of lube.”
“Rebecca,” he hisses, “for once in your life, just shut the fuck up.”
Bex
For our final day inCapri, I’m clad in a cream linen skirt and tank. I reluctantly admit that, when I look in the mirror, I like this version of myself better than the one I’d normally see. I’d feel pretty silly wearing it while eating donut holes on Jessie’s couch, however.
Today I have Giovanna teach me how to say “My husband masturbates and cries while watchingCharlotte’s Web” in Italian.
Mio marito si masturba e piange duranteLa Tela di Charlotte.
I’ll find a way to use it eventually.
Theo is waiting downstairs. He was cranky over dinner last night, perhaps because I kept bringing up his erection in one-minute intervals. When he looks me over, I sense that I’m still not forgiven. His slight frown becomes a full-blown scowl.
“Ah, there’s the glare I’ve missed so much,” I say, walking out the door. “Is this about your erection?”
“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” he says.
“When a daddy loves a mommy very, very much, blood flows to his—”
“Rebecca,” he growls as we enter the town square.
“Just laugh and I’ll let it go.”
He places a hand on the small of my back to keep me from getting run over by a cyclist. It’s nine in the morning and the streets are already bustling. “We both know you’ll never let it go.”
“That’s fair,” I reply, smiling at him. “I probably won’t.”
We were supposed to have a more relaxed day today—a visit to the Blue Grotto and the chairlift at Monte Solaro—but apparently something was fucked up with the sound yesterday, so we’re skipping the Blue Grotto to pretend we enjoy shopping together instead.
Theo handles this with the good cheer I’ve come to expect from him.
“I swear to god if you look at one more leather bag, I’m just heading to the airport,” he warnsme.
“If I have to listen to you hold one more wine shop conversation about varietals, you won’t live long enough to make it there.”
As if to test this, he veers toward a wine shop. Rolling my eyes, I veer toward another stall selling leather bags I don’t need. The crew can’t shoot both of us at once, but God knows they must have enough footage of Theo asking about the qualities of volcanic reds to cover twenty seasons of the show.
I pinch the thin leather of a pretty bag between my fingers. There’s no price tag, which I suppose means I’ll be expected to haggle. I’m not interested in doing that, and I shouldn’t be buying shit anyway, but—
“Ciao, bella,” says a voice in my ear just as a hand lands on my hip. I’d assume it was Theo except Theo would never say that I’m beautiful.
I stiffen, looking around. The guy is not big but he’s bigger than me, and his hand is still on my hip.
My mouth opens but before I can utter a word, Theo isyanking the owner of that hand backward by the collar. “Remove your fucking hand,mate.”
Once upon a time, I’d have assumed the only kind of arguments posh, dignified Theo ever got in would be playful disputes about polo ponies or involve one friend calling another “old chap.” But the words are growled, seething—just like the ones he directed at Caden in Iceland—and he seems like someone else entirely at the moment. Someone feral and more than a little dangerous.
My heart pounds, and it’s not with fear, since the guy is already diving out of the stall.
Theo is a force to be reckoned with. I could probably bathe in the amount of testosterone he’s exuding.
