A man, presumably Silvio, tossed his head back to add, “You’ve seen the girls my mom wants me to date. Toads, all of them. I’d rather hang with you guys. At least you all are easy on the eyes.”
Arnaldo gave Edoardo a meaningful look as if to say, “See?”
Then he nudged Edoardo’s elbow with his own. “So where are you headed next?”
“Me?”
Arnoldo ducked his head and grinned, his dimples deepening. “Sure. Why don’t you join us? We can loop back to Santa Lucia this evening.”
“Oh!” Edoardo stood up and brushed off his shorts. “Oh, that’s nice. But I can’t. I have to get back to work.”
“That’s not what I . . .”
“Yes, I know. I know. But I . . . can’t.”
Arnaldo nodded, “Okay, I get it. I’ll walk you to your bike.” Edo waved goodbye to the assembled cyclists, now unpacking panini and bottles of water while unfolding a large map of the surrounding mountains. They responded with calls to stay and join them, which turned to farewells when Edo insisted he needed to leave.
Once Edo reached his bike, he turned to find Arnaldo closer behind him than he expected. Arnaldo grinned. “Well, if you change your mind and want to join us for a glass of wine later, we’re the only biking group from Rome staying at Hotel del Lago.”
Edo nodded, distracted by the golden streaks in Arnaldo’s wind-tousled hair, scattering light like the olive groves all around them. That maddening dimple fluttered in Arnaldo’s left cheek as he leaned forward and took Edo’s hand. Edo could smell Arnaldo’s shaving cream, like limoncello. Arnaldo pressed his cheek against Edo’s and whispered, “I’d love to see you again.”
Arnaldo slowly pulled back and regarded Edo levelly for a moment, their faces inches apart. Arnaldo hesitated, then leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips against Edo’s.
There was an explosion in Edo’s ribcage, sending a pulse of warmth throughout his body. Arnaldo sighed into the kiss before breaking contact. Another wink of that dimple, and Arnaldo turned back to the groves.
Edo watched him stroll away, mesmerized. Arnaldo looked over his shoulder and ran his gaze up over Edo’s lean form, lingering at his eyes. Simultaneously, the men lifted their hands in parting.
Turning, Edo stumbled to mount his bike. He pushed off, and arced his path to head down the hill to Santa Lucia. But a whispering voice within him murmured that he’d left something behind amongst the olive trees. Something that’d he’d never be able to get back.
“Wow, Isotta, this place is incredible.” Isotta’s sister, Isabella, murmured as they began their ascent up the hill to Santa Lucia. “Are we at a higher elevation or something? The light is vivid.”
“Not by much. But I know what you mean, it reminds me of the light on an island, like there’s more water in the air or something. It’s always like this. I don’t think Massimo even notices.”
“Hmm.” Isabella nodded. “Nervous?” She asked, as Isotta plucked up the creases of her lilac dress.
“No. Yes. A little.”
Isabella checked her rear-view mirror, “Everyone is right behind us, so we didn’t get separated like you were stressed about.”
“I know.”
“And Massimo seems like a great guy.”
“He is.”
“And so dreamy.”
Isotta turned to glare at her sister.
“What? What did I say? Should I say he’s painful to look at? Well he is in a way, he causes all sorts of pain in my—”
“Basta! That’s enough.”
“Ai, Isotta. I was only teasing. It’s good that he’s so handsome. I like them better that way.” She turned and archly raised her eyebrows.
“Just watch the road, Isabella.”
Isabella did just that, following the hairpin turns to the top of the mountain, where she parked.
“Will we have to walk to the church?”
“Yes. No cars in Santa Lucia. Unless you want to sit in the back of an Ape.”
“Ha! That would hardly be dignified for the wedding of the first of the Fabbro girls to get hitched.”
Isotta bit her lip.
“Hey. What is it?”
“Well, I hardly thought I’d be the first. I didn’t think this would ever happen for me.”
“Oh, Isotta, you’ve always been so hard on yourself.”
“You try being the youngest and drabbest of four beautiful sisters.”
“Well, the implied compliment aside, Isotta, you’ve always sold yourself short. Just because you are some sort of genetic throwback with your blond hair and light eyes.”
“It’s not just that.”
“I know . . . you don’t look like the rest of us, but on days like this, when you hold yourself up high and are blushing with excitement, well, I can see why Massimo fell for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, of course, really.” Isotta looked out over the valley, waiting for the rest of her family to pull into the lot. Unlike her sister who had raced up the mountain, they had slowed to a crawl at the unfamiliar turns.
At her silence, Isabella asked, “What is it now?”
“Nothing.”
“Ma dai, the others will be here in a minute. Don’t make me have to pull it out of you.”
You can hardly blame Isotta for being evasive. This wasn’t exactly an easy topic to broach.
Isotta inhaled deeply and then said all in a breath, “Sometimes I just don’t understand why Massimo is marrying me.”
Isabella rolled her eyes. “I thought we already covered this. You’re beautiful and intelligent and blah blah blah. Stop with the insecurity already. It clashes with your wedding dress.”
Isotta shook her head. “No, that’s not what I mean.”
“What then?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Well, try. And hurry. They’re almost here.”
“Okay. And I know this sounds weird. But sometimes it feels like Massimo is looking through me, not at me. Like I’m an item on a list he needs to check off. Not all the time, sometimes when he touches me it’s like I’m the only woman in the world. But others . . .”
“Wedding jitters. He’s smitten with you, anybody with eyes can see that.”
“Sometimes. And then other times, he’s . . . distant. In a world of his own. And I start wondering if he’s
