* * *
'It's not much of a place,' said Benito anxiously. Surveying the tiny room by the candlelight, it looked even smaller and dingier than he remembered.
Maria smiled at him. Her hair was wetly plastered about her head. Somehow, this and the candlelight made her definite features stand out. The firm chin; the straight nose and broad cheekbones.
'It looks like heaven compared to the boat in this weather. Going to have some baling to do in the morning.' She shivered. 'So. How about you help me light this fire?'
'Sure.' He knelt in front of the prepared kindling and took a candle to light it. 'There's some dry gear here.' He pointed to the cupboard. 'Boys' clothes, I'm afraid. But they're dry. You should fit into them. And we've got blankets. And there's some wine. Some grappa. Some almond biscotti. But that's all the food, I'm afraid.'
He blew on the fire. It caught, sending small tongues of smoky flame to nibble at the bigger twigs. He turned around to see her still standing there, dripping. Those were tears adding to the wetness. He went across to hug her. 'What's wrong?'
'Nothing. Well, everything. I was going to say 'you're a good kid, Benito Valdosta.' ' She sighed. 'Only you're not a kid any more and I'm not as strong as I thought I was. Can . . . can you stay a while?'
'Sure,' said Benito, letting go of her and going to the cupboard. He unstoppered the bottle of grappa with his teeth; then poured a generous dollop into a cracked mug and took it to her. 'Here. Get yourself outside this. Let me get you out of those wet clothes.'
Her teeth chattered against the edge of the mug. She drank. 'I can deal with it myself.'
Benito went on loosening the laces. 'I saw it all earlier, Maria. Do it yourself if you like. But I want you out of that wet stuff, wrapped in a blanket, eating biscotti in front of the fire in two minutes or I'll do it for you.'
This drew a smile. 'Help me, then. You can be really bossy, Benito Valdosta.'
'Uh-huh. And who do you think I learned it from?'
She laughed. 'Well. You'd also better get out of that wet stuff before I help you.'
Benito took a deep breath. He wasn't naive enough not to see certain inevitable consequences coming. And . . . he was quite shocked when he understood how much he wanted them to.
This can't be happening! cried out some little corner of himself. You idiot! You'll turn into a fool like your brother!
The rest of him, however, as his hands drifted across Maria's shoulders and back--so feminine, for all the muscle--had a different opinion.
Shut up . . . boy.
* * *
The next hours seemed almost like a dream to Benito. In a bed, well lit by candlelight, Maria was not the fierce and dimly seen rutter she had been in the bottom of a gondola, lit by nothing more than a crescent moon. There was nothing of the hard canaler left in her now. She was soft, rounded, smooth--more velvety and gorgeous than anything Benito had ever imagined.
The muscle was still there. The strong arms and legs coiled around him in passion gave proof of that often enough. But Benito barely noticed. His entire existence seemed nothing but a world of warmth, wetness, softness, all aglow with candlelight and his own dreams, finally boiling to the surface.
The first time he told her he loved her, Maria didn't even scowl at him. Indeed, she smiled.
'You don't have to say that, Benito,' she murmured softly.
'I wanted to,' he insisted. Feeling a bit of the old street savvy wailing somewhere in his heart--you idiot!--but not much. Hardly any, in truth.
Maria shook her head. 'Please--don't. The word is cheap. Caesare showered me with it like false coins. I don't want to hear it any more.'
So he subsided, for a time, distracted easily enough by Maria's next wave of passion. She might not want to hear the word with her ears, but every other part of her body seemed eager to listen. Besides, it was hard to stay poetic with Maria. She made him laugh too much.
When she wasn't criticizing him, that is. Usually both at the same time.
