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I stroked his cheek.

“Save it, Chief. We’ve got a long way to go yet.”

He smiled reluctantly and
waited while I snapped some photographs, then helped me climb back on the mean machine. We started the descent down through the Alps and towards a new country.

A short while later, Sebastian pointed at a sign that
read ‘Italia’. I felt a thrill of excitement ripple through me: at last I was in the country where my dear papa had been born. The idea was fanciful, but in an odd way it felt like coming home.

The border guard gave our passports the briefest of examinations before waving us through with a cheerful smile. I really was in Wonderland.

We traveled onwards, and I felt almost sleepy on the back of Sebastian’s motorcycle. I wondered if it was actually possible to fall asleep in this position.

I was beginning to feel the need to stretch my legs when
we passed a sign that announced, ‘Genova 20km’ – and I saw the sea. It was calm and of the deepest ultramarine, fringed by delicate, white villas. Italy: the Mediterranean coast.

Sebastian took us along the
shore road and it became apparent that Genoa’s seafaring tradition was not just historical. We passed dock after dock, lined with every kind of yacht, boat and ship I could imagine, from sleek motor-cruisers to enormous, ugly cargo vessels.

Modern Genoa seemed to be thriving, with housing creeping higher and higher up the sides of the mountain that loomed up behind us.

Sebastian appeared to aim for the towering beacon of the Torre della Lanterna, and we headed into Genoa’s bustling center. Skimming past the Piazza de Ferrari, we passed palatial buildings built at the time of the Renaissance, and up on the hill I could see what looked like a medieval castle. I drank in the history as we roared past.

I thought Sebastian would stop soon, but he cruised on and soon Genoa had fallen behind us. Jeez, was he going to try and get to Salerno tonight
after all?

I was relieved when he finally pulled over, but when he didn
’t cut the engine, my hope that we’d finished for the day evaporated.

“Just checking th
e directions, baby,” he shouted over the noise of the engine, and waved the map at me. “Not far now.”

I gave him a quick thumbs up, and we took off again, climbing back up the mountain that seemed to have grown directly
out of the sea.

He stopped once more to check the map, then turned off the main road, and we bumped up a steep, unmade road. A sign next to a small, whitewashed villa welcomed us to
‘Casa Giovina’.

He stopped and let the engine idle.

“This is it. It only has one guest room, but it’s out of season… want to try it?”

Sebastian
’s expression was wary. Perhaps he thought his simple tastes didn’t compare with the upscale hotel where I’d stayed in Geneva. We still had a lot to learn about each other – and I didn’t mind at all.

“It looks charming. Let
’s go and see, but if the owners have a pretty daughter, we’re out of here.”

He rolled his eyes and chose to take my words as a joke, which they were. Sort of.

An elderly woman in the severe, black clothing of a widow opened the door to us.

“Posso
aiutarvi?”

“I hope you can help us,” I replied, in Italian. “We were wondering if you had a room for the night?”

I could see her eyeing Sebastian’s 6’2” of solid muscle and evaluating how much trouble he was going to be. I could have saved her wondering and just answered ‘a lot’.

“Are you married?”

As I stuttered out a surprised answer, a man in his fifties came stomping down the corridor.

“Mama! You can
’t ask people questions like that! I apologize: my mother is very old-fashioned. Are you French?”

“No, American.”

“But you speak Italiano! Americans never speak our language.”

Sebastian decided it was time to demonstrate his own linguistic abilities, if a little less fluent than mine.

“We mean no disrespect to your mother: this beautiful woman is my fiancée,” he said pointing to me, “but if your mother would feel more comfortable, I will happily sleep in a separate room.”

Oh really
? Two lies in one sentence, Sebastian: see you creeping into my room after dark.

“No, no, that won
’t be necessary,” said the owner, as his mother rolled her eyes to heaven and crossed herself twice. “Besides, we have only one room.”

A fact which Sebastian already knew
.

“Please, come in. Let me show you the room.”

The room was airy and simply furnished. A pine wardrobe stood in one corner, and a matching chair was the only piece of furniture besides the large, old-fashioned bed. A mosquito net hung in a pool of lace above it, making it look like a rustic boudoir. But the views out towards the ocean were spectacular.

I smiled happily at Sebastian
, and he nodded his agreement.

“The bathroom is across the hall, signore; it is to share.”

He shrugged helplessly, as if to apologize for the smallness of his establishment, but I didn’t care. I imagined making love to Sebastian in that bed looking out over the Mediterranean.

“Breakfast is at 8
am
, signore, signorina. There is a ristorante just two kilometers up the road. It is very good: run by my brother.”

“That sounds great,” said Sebastian.

“Ah, signore, one more thing: if you would mind not riding your motorcycle after dark. My mother doesn’t sleep well, you understand, and she has the room next door to yours.”

“That won
’t be a problem,” I muttered, once he’d gone. “I’m not getting on that thing again tonight if you pay me.”

“Feeling a little tender,
Ms. Venzi,” said Sebastian, grabbing me and rubbing my ass soothingly.

“Not really: it
’s more the feeling that I’m still in motion.”

“I know something that will cure that,” he said, wickedly.

“Would that have anything to do with taking off our clothes and making mad, passionate love on that bed?” I said, frowning at him.

“It might have,” he said, eyeing me warily.

“Oh, alright then. I’ll try anything once.”

His double
take was almost comical. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, that
’s a yes. But you’ll have to hurry, Chief – the ristorante probably closes before midnight.”

He glanced at his wristwatch
, completely confused. “It’s only five o’clock?”

“
Like I said: you’ll have to hurry.”

Understanding brought a smile to his beautiful lips.

“Well, in that case, woman, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

Finally,
he was on the same page as me.

“By the way,” I said, before he got too caught up in the moment and knowing
from experience that he could only concentrate on one thing at a time, “your
fiancée?
”

He grinned. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Hmm, well, I like
my
idea better: the one where we commit as many sins as possible in the shortest amount of time.”

And, to make my point, I unzipped his jacket and ran my hand down his chest, before
tracing a finger around the waistband of his jeans.

I was interrupted in my further exploration by a knock at the door.

Looking irritated, Sebastian pulled it open.

“Ah, mi scusi, signore, signorina. I have just telephone
d my brother: he is closing at 7.30
pm
tonight. If you wish to eat there, it would be best if you leave now.”

“Thanks,” said Sebastian, shortly, and the little man darted away, not knowing how close he
’d just gotten to a
very
pissed off Marine.

I couldn
’t help laughing at his expression. “Rain check, Chief?”

He sighed, “Looks like.”

“Never mind: come on, let’s get you fed and then I can have my wicked way with you.”

“How wicked?”

“Not that wicked, so stop drooling. Just moderately naughty – it’s been a long day.”

Chapter 6

Hand in hand, we
climbed up the steep lane to the ristorante. I couldn’t imagine how a place that was so out of the way could attract much business, but when we poked our heads through the door, I saw that my assumption was very wrong.

It was thronged with families
, and children of all ages were sitting at the long, trestle tables like little adults.

The happy noise tailed off when they saw us
, and an unsubtle whispering began. I heard the word ‘Americani’ several times before a man in a white shirt and black pants, whom I assumed was the owner, came hurrying over.

We agreed that yes, we were the Americans and yes, it was an astonishing thing that we both spoke Italian and yes, we
’d have whatever was on offer. No, we weren’t fussy, and yes, we were happy to have the locally made Dolcetto red wine.

We were seated at the corner end of one of the trestles, wedged in next to a family of seven. At first, our neighbors seemed a little shy
, but then Sebastian shrugged out of his jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his T-shirt. A little girl in the party, a dark haired ragamuffin of about five, noticed his tattoo and asked her mother about the ‘picture’.

Her mother tried to hush her, but Sebastian smiled and explained to her that it was because he was a sailor and a soldier, and the
‘picture’ reminded him of his work.

“Is that because you forgot?” asked the child, clearly puzzled.

The whole room burst into laughter. I joined in, but seeing how at ease he was with the little girl made me sad for things that might have been.

It was clear the
child was completely smitten with him, because she asked her mother if he was an angel, then reached up to stroke his short-cropped hair.

The meal finished with a small bowl each of gelato di miele h
oney ice cream, a local specialty. Sebastian ate most of mine, as I’d already eaten enough. He really was a bottomless pit when it came to food.