A Veil of Glass and Rain (9 page)

“She's awesome,“ I comment.

“What does she know about me?” Eagan

demands.

“Not much.”

I feel the blanket shift a little, as Eagan

sighs deeply.

“Brina, what happened to us?”

“Life happened.” I kissed you. I fell in love

with you.

“I want to be a part of your life again, kitty-

cat.”

His soft words gust along the delicate shell

of my ear. I suppress a whimper.

“I want that too,” I admit. “But go easy on

me,” I add, “Because I'm not the same

determined girl you used to know.”

“You're stronger than you think,” He insists.

“What if you're wrong?”

“I'm not. I know you.”

No, you don't. “I don't feel strong at all,

Eagan.”

He nuzzles my hair and he breathes me in. I

need him to stop, for he's tormenting my

senses, but all I can do is whisper his name.

“It's alright. I'm here. I'll make everything

good again,” he reassures me.

My head wants to believe him. My body

already does, because my limbs melt into him,

even as my skin absorbs his heat.

I fall into a quiet and untroubled sleep.

I wake up laughing. Eagan's hands are

squeezing my waist and his fingers are

searching all the spots between my ribs that

tickle.

“Eagan!” I snort.

“Wake up, kitty-cat!”

I squirm against him and I try to grab at his

hands. “I'm awake,” I gasp.

As I keep writhing and pushing back against

him, I feel his erection prod the small of my

back. I freeze. Then my body reacts; my

breasts tingle, and an overwhelming sensation

pulses within my core. Soon it unfurls like a

ribbon made of fire. It wraps around my legs,

my torso, my arms even.

I notice that Eagan's not touching me

anymore.

“Brina?” His voice is uncertain.

My skin craves the touch of his hands. I shift

and turn, so that I'm facing him. I link my arms

around his neck and drape my leg over his

thigh.

“Don't stop,” I murmur urgently against his

neck.

The fiery ribbon of my desire clutches my

heart and burns my throat. “Please, don't stop

holding me.” It's another desperate whisper.

Eagan's arms clutch me tightly. I grind my

hips against his crotch again, and again. His

erection jerks. The groans that my movements

elicit from him make my skin hum with

triumph.

“Brina.” His tone is firm. I recognize the

warning. I stop squirming, because I don't want

him to push me away.

Eagan doesn't let me go. We remain

wrapped around each other for a long

moment; our breathing is labored, our hearts

beat a fierce rhythm. Gradually, our limbs

release their tension. Eagan caresses my hair

and strokes my back.

“Go if you have to. It's fine,” I tell him.

He brushes a soft kiss across my cheek and

speaks against my skin. “We're both going.”

“Where?”

“Out. It's a warm day. You need some fresh

air.”

I shake my head and begin to voice my

protest, but Eagan squeezes me and interrupts

my words.

“Say yes, Brina.” His deep and rough voice

commands.

“Yes.”

I take a quick shower, then I put on a purple

tank-top, a black long-sleeved shirt, jeans and

snickers. Meanwhile Eagan puts drinks, the

pasta salad and the cupcakes Clém prepared,

along with a couple of blankets inside a back-

pack.

Eagan insists we take a cab. I try to protest,

but he's immovable.

“Let me take care of you,” he says.

I let him, because I'm too weak and tired to

do otherwise, but mostly because I love being

the focus of his attentions.

Eagan takes me to the secluded park near

the Colosseum he told me about. He also

shows me the deep pink hibiscus. As he

reaches out to stroke its petals, however, I

seize his wrist.

“Don't,” I plead.

Eagan nods. Then he takes my hand and we

stroll under the tall pine trees for a while.

“Have you been here before?” He asks.

“Yes, at night.” I point to our left, where

the curve of a small hill interrupts the view.

“Over there, there's a jazz club. I've been to

some concerts with Ivan and Alessio, during

the summer.”

“Cool. We should go together sometime.”

“Sure.”

It feels nice to make plans. Eagan wants to

fix our friendship. I have to accept the fact

that this is all I can have. This is all he can give

me. And I'll do my best to cherish the blissful

days like this one, when he's all mine.

We find a spot where the grass is untouched

by the shadows of the trees. The sun caresses

my skin even through my clothes.

Eagan spreads the blankets and empties the

back-pack of its content.

“Hungry?” He asks me, even as he sits cross-

legged on one of the blankets.

I mimic his position. “Not really,” I reply.

I place a hand on my abdomen. Eagan

frowns and covers my hand with one of his.

“Is it always this bad?” He demands.

“It used to be even more painful, but then I

started taking the pill and it got better. I'm not

on the pill now, so...”

His fingers stroke mine. I stare at our hands

on my belly.

“I'm not dating anyone. What's the point?” I

continue.

“Get back on the pill, Brina,” he says.

I glance up at him and murmur my promise.

Afterward, Eagan insists on feeding me.

There's a long string of protests in my head,

but I don't utter them, for today is ours and I

don't want to deny him anything. A pleasant

blush warms my skin, as Eagan slips oily

maccheroni
and juicy tomatoes between my

parted lips. I lick the fork tines after each bite

and rejoice as I notice his blue eyes turning all

shadowy and intense.

He manages to make me eat more than I

usually do. More importantly, he makes me

enjoy the food.

When he presses the bottle of water to my

lips, though, I shake my head. “No way.”

He laughs and hands me the bottle. As I

drink and swallow, Eagan trails a finger down

the column of my throat.

I stifle a moan of pleasure.

While Eagan gathers the remains of our

lunch and then disposes of them, I lie down

and turn onto my side.

An undeniable ache wells inside my chest.

Me head can pretend this is enough. It can

build a wall around my heart, secluding it,

shielding it from the screams of my desire, like

the wall around this park protects the trees

and the flowers from the noises of the city.

But the cries are too loud. They pretend to be

heard. My head needs to build stronger walls.

When Eagan stretches out behind me and

folds his arm around my waist, I close my eyes

and sigh. His hand covers my abdomen

protectively. He buries his face in my hair and

whispers my name.

My soul moans his name in response.

Voices laughing and yelling, leaves chiming, I

open my eyes to a sea of deep green grass,

dotted with white daisies.

I'm alone. I sit up and glance around. Then I

hear the screams again.

Not far from where we placed our blankets,

Eagan is playing soccer with a group of guys

and girls. They cheer and yell in Italian, but it

doesn't appear to be a problem for Eagan,

because Italian gestures are very eloquent.

The game stops for a moment. Two guys

quarrel about a faulty kick, they gesture a lot,

then they both laugh. The game resumes.

Eagan's gaze search for me.

When he finds me, he waves and I wave

back. A guy calls his name. Eagan turns and

runs after the ball.

I envy their energy. Love is like poison for

me. It renders me too fragile; it's the last thing

I need.

I stretch out onto my back, I tip my face

toward the sky and close my eyes. After a few

moments, I hear the sound of footsteps,

muffled by the soft carpet of grass and pine-

needles. Then Eagan's body is alongside mine,

warming my skin.

I don't open my eyes. Once again Eagan

plays with my senses. The smell of sweat and

cinnamon enfolds me. His fingers circle my

wrist and his thumb strokes my pulse. His lips

brush along my temple, my eyelids, my chin.

They hover over my mouth; his minty breath

caresses my lips. My own breathing quickens

with hope and anticipation. I'm tempted to

urge him to reclaim the kiss I stole four years

ago, but I don't. I just wait.

Then, as delicate as a feather across my

lips, his mouth touches mine. I smile.

“Finally. A smile,” he says. But his words

don't brush my skin anymore.

I open my eyes and seek him; he's close to

me, but not close enough. I hide my desires

once more.

“I need to pee,” I tell him.

He grins. “Well, let's find you a toilet,

then.”

The mood is definitely crushed.

When I step out of the not-so-clean public

restroom, Eagan is frowning at the path that

circles the park.

“What?” I ask.

“I think I saw a couple of friends of yours,”

he answers without looking at me. “The Italian

guy and the other Canadian girl.”

“Marco and Virginie?”

He turns toward me, a confused expression

still marks his face. “Yes.”

“And?”

“Are they together?”

I shake my head. “Marco is Clém's boyfriend.

Why?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure? You seem preoccupied,” I

insist.

“It's nothing. Let's go.”

We take a cab. I don't protest this time.

As the driver waits, he walks me to the

entrance of my building.

“Thank you. For everything,” I tell him.

He hands me my back-pack. “It was my

pleasure, Brina.”

I laugh softly. “We're so formal.”

He frames my face in his warm hands and

leans forward to kiss my forehead.

“Yeah. I wonder why,” he murmurs against

my skin.

He stays until I'm inside the building, then

he leaves.

My body wants to return outside. It craves

to seize Eagan and melt into his warmth and

strength, before the cab takes him away.

When the doors of the elevator close behind

me, I sigh with deep relief.

10.

I stare at the window dressing and I grimace; it

doesn't work. Nothing really does today.

I work part-time in a bookstore located near

Piazza
Navona
. The pay is quiet decent,

considering it's a part-time job. Money,

however, is not the only reason why I enjoy

working here.

My bosses, Lucrezia and Vittorio, are

amazing. They're a married couple, in their

late fifties. They both come from rich families,

so the bookstore is more of a hobby than a real

necessity, therefore working for them is

extremely easy; their main purpose is not

business, but pleasure.

The store is a spacious loft with a high

ceiling, brick walls and vast shelves.

When Lucrezia and Vittorio hired me,

almost two years ago, the books were

organized in alphabetical order. So I suggested

shelving them according to their genre. The

bosses agreed. Then I suggested reserving a

portion of the big loft for armchairs, couches

and small tables, so that our costumers could

have places to sit and read. Again, Lucrezia

and Vittorio agreed. Then I proposed we add

an espresso machine and bring, every day,

fresh croissants and sandwiches to sell for a

reasonable price. Once again, they

appreciated the idea.

I love working for Lucrezia and Vittorio.

I especially like working the night shift,

because our loyal costumers are quiet and

thoughtful; they linger over books, trying to

forget about their day, I imagine, or thinking

about it over and over, in an effort to make

sense of it.

After the last costumer has left the store, I

get to open the boxes and organize the new

books; for an hour or so, I'm surrounded by the

smell of untouched pages.

Sometimes, like tonight, I have to change

the window display. I know my bosses