"Love Will Tear Us Apart." I shook my head again. "I still can’t believe it."
"Why do I get the feeling I’ve passed some kind of test?" he muttered.
"It’s nothing like that." I flushed. "I just didn’t expect you to play it, is all."
"You don’t think The-Actor-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and I could have something in common?"
"That’s not what I mean," I lied. "It’s a surprise. That’s all."
"Hmph," he slowed down, then took the turn leading us to Piazza Armerina, which is how we got here.
Now, I turn to face him. "This place is unexpected." I gesture to the vibrant colors on the walls. "I feel like I’ve been transported into a different dimension."
"I know the feeling. There’s so much history around here, it’s like we’ve entered a different world, for sure. For those of us who grew up here, sometimes we take it for granted. It’s like you drive through Rome and come across the Colosseum, then turn a corner and find another ruin built in 312 AD. And this place," he gestures to the ancient walls, "was built sometime in fourth century AD. Can you imagine all the history this place has seen? All the events it has witnessed? The people who have walked through this hall before us?"
He turns to find me staring at him.
"What?" He tilts his head.
"You love history, don’t you?"
"Eh?" He rubs the back of his neck. "I grew up with it. It’s a part of me. It’s in me, I suppose." He glances about the space. "I’ve never thought about it, but you’re right. The sense of timelessness in places like this grounds me, I guess. Makes me feel like anything is possible." He laughs a little self-consciously.
I walk over to him and lace my fingers with his. "That was almost poetic."
"More like intellectual masturbation, but then, you like men who are introspective, I take it. Those who are in touch with their emotions and all that shit."
I try to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let go.
"That’s why you like The-Actor-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, isn’t it?"
"You’re like him, you know," I say, more to throw him off balance than anything else.
He looks askance. "Me? Nah."
"No, really. That’s what I thought the first time I saw you—that you’re hot, and sexy, and bear more than a passing resemblance to him."
"You think I’m hot and sexy?" His lips curl in a smirk.
Of course, he pretends he didn’t hear the last part of what I said.
"Forget I said that; it’s only going to swell your already Texas-sized head."
He laughs. "You say the most random things."
"So I’ve been told." I glance around the space. "Are you going to take me to see the frescoes?"
After admiring the ancient paintings in the next room, we leave the spectacular, dome-shaped building, and drive down the hill on which it’s located. We pass through the old town, and back onto the road that curves through the mountainside, with the blue waters of the sea crashing on the shores not far below. The ride takes my breath away. He follows the winding route up another hill and toward a structure that was built overlooking the waves below.
He escorts me from the car, pausing only to pull a picnic basket out of the boot before guiding me to the gorgeous, white-washed bungalow with pink and white bougainvillea trees flowering around it.
The two cars with the security detail drive up and park at opposite ends of the circular driveway.
When I ask Seb about the basket, he explains that Francesco put it together. He guides me to the door of the bungalow, which is opened by a man who introduces himself as the caretaker. He welcomes us inside, then leaves the house. Seb leads me through the luxurious, yet comfortably-furnished rooms, then up the stairs and to a sheltered patio on the upper floor. I take one look at the view and gasp. The old town is stretched out below us. Beyond that, the translucent waters of the harbor are encircled by the curving hill with homes built into it. The sky is dotted with clouds that already blush with the setting sun.
I turn to find he’s laid out a thick blanket. On it, is a bottle of prosecco chilling in a bucket, with two prosecco flutes next to it. There’s a plate of cheese, another with pickled artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes and olives, and a third with flatbreads.
"This is quite the spread," I murmur as I walk over to him.