Sicilian Dreams

Cassie felt the heel on one of her shoes flapping before she saw it. She glanced down at it in dismay. She knew she should have bought the pair she had seen a couple of days ago on High street. It’s too late now, she reflected ruefully, grabbing the offending heel with one hand, while balancing on one leg and holding onto her luggage trolley with the other. She quickly grabbed the other sandal and stuffed both into the duty free bag sitting on top of her suitcase. What a way to make an entrance she thought, as she glided barefoot through the arrivals door at Falcone-Borsellino airport in Palermo.

Liz and Katrina had arrived last night and were already settled in at the villa they had rented in the hills above Cefalu. Liz would have been horrified at her shoeless state and would have berated her as usual for forgetting to pack properly and remember things like a decent pair of traveling footwear; not last year’s sale item from Shoe Warehouse; which true to the mantra of getting what you pay for, had not lasted the distance. She had travelled so far to be here and now she was about to embark on the holiday of a lifetime with her two best friends. She felt another bubble of excitement in her stomach. In spite of the long flights and the jet lag, I’ve flown half way around the world in twenty-seven hours, and I’m still standing.

The arrivals hall was half empty, and Cassie immediately spotted the tall, tanned and gorgeous man holding up a card with her name on it. Cassandra Hayden, that's me, and this hunk must be my ride. She pushed her trolley over and smiled, holding out her hand.

‘Hi, I'm Cassie’ she said, and you must be Adonis, the God of beauty and desire she thought to herself, gazing at him. Adonis is smiling at me she thought, staring at him blankly for a few seconds in woolly-headed delight, before she abruptly snapped out of her trance. He's your driver, he looks about twenty-two and he probably has a girlfriend who enters the Miss Universe competitions in her spare time, and a mother who sharpens her teeth on predatory females eyeing up her baby boy. Gazing up into his piercing green eyes she felt her insides melt. Green eyes, she thought abstractedly. Hadn't she read somewhere that Sicily had endured so many different invaders over the centuries that it was not unusual for genetics to play tricks and put together a tall dark handsome young God like the one in front of her, with piercing green eyes and gleaming perfect white teeth set in a wide and sensuous mouth. No short dark Mafioso in this body. Just long lean muscular and divinely handsome.

Gawking at him, she was oblivious that her handshake had not been returned. Instead she felt her hand being lifted and a firm set of perfect lips gently placed on the tips of her fingers.

‘Salute, I'm Marco, piacere. I will take your trolley,’ he offered graciously, smiling at her as he released her hand and taking the handle of the trolley.

‘Just follow me. No problem signore, she thought, no problem at all. The rear view was just as good as the front and she found herself staring like a pervert at his muscular butt checks in the white linen pants that fitted him like Giorgio Armani dreamed when he designed them.

If Marco had noticed her bare feet his face hadn't registered any surprise. All good, thought Cassie, and anyway my three weeks of rudimentary online Italian lessons didn't cover explaining things like broken heels and bad packing. She rushed after him as the sliding doors opened onto the street and was almost blinded by the bright, hot, white daylight outside. 1pm in the afternoon and the heat was so intense she felt like she had just walked into a gigantic furnace. Sweat popped out on her forehead, and by the time they had covered several meters she began hopping like a demented grasshopper on the baking hot asphalt and could feel a runnel of sweat beginning to run down between her breasts. How hot is it, she wondered? Thirty-five degrees and climbing I bet.

What a lovely picture I must make she thought, make up running down her face and limp hair hanging in straggles about her shoulders. Yelping with pain with each hop now, she didn't care if Marco heard her, she just wanted to reach the damn car and get inside. Suddenly Marco stopped pushing the trolley, turned towards her and with one swift movement Cassie felt herself being lifted off the ground into his arms.

‘What the...hey put me down’ she said, surprised into unusual submission by the speed of his actions and his powerful brown muscular shoulders wrapped around her.

‘It is another fifty meters to the car park and you won't reach it in your bare feet. I will carry you and return for the trolley. Put your arms around my neck and stop struggling. It makes you heavier.’

What did he just say, she thought indignantly? That I'm heavy? Well of all the nerve especially since I'm not even fifty-five kilos. She glared at him and he just looked down at her and laughed as if he could read her thoughts and that made her so embarrassed she blushed. For heaven’s sake you are behaving like a teenage girl, she reprimanded herself. Well it’s not exactly a normal event being literally swept off your feet everyday by Adonis is it? And it is not exactly unpleasant either. He is strong, she thought as she stared at his gorgeous jaw and neck through half closed lids. Hmm, I haven't felt like this in a long time.

Too soon they reached the car, a black BMW X5, and Marco took his hand from under her shoulders to press the remote unlocking button. After gently placed her down on the passenger seat and turning on the motor to start the air conditioning, he left her to pick up the trolley. Cassie used the next thirty seconds to try and pull herself together. That was a most unnerving experience. Is this how all the men in Sicily behave? She didn't know whether to feel indignant or delighted. Delighted won out and she realized she would like to repeat the experience of being in his arms. Soon.

She giggled to herself and flipped down the visor mirror to check out her reflection. The air conditioning pumping out of the vents felt delicious. Look at me, I'm a mess. Fantasizing about a handsome hunk and I must look about hundred at the moment. Her mascara had run when she had dozed on the last flight and she had the look of a panda bear, but only on one side. Both of her sky blue eyes were red and tired looking and her complexion was pasty. She quickly rummaged in her sack shoulder bag and found an elastic band, grabbing her long hair in a ponytail and tying the whole lot into a lose knot on her head. It was a great way to achieve an instant facelift, but too late to repair the makeup as she could see him returning with the trolley. Oh well, how was she supposed to look after such a long journey? Rested, fresh? Why do I care anyway? I'm not on this holiday to look for a man and I am certainly not a cougar. He looks about twenty-two or twenty-three and I am nearly thirty and at this moment I feel like I am nearly eighty. She rummaged around in her bag again and extracted her large, Jackie O type sunglasses. I can hide behind these.

Marco quickly loaded her two cases in the trunk, pushed the trolley to the side and climbed into the driver’s seat. He glanced over at her and she felt herself going all gooey inside again. Get a grip, she shouted to herself.

‘All set Cassandra?’ Even the way he said her name was sexy. Ca-ssan-dra drawing it out, making it long and slow and like a caress.

‘Yes I am, and thank you so much for coming to pick me up. But you can call me Cassie. Everyone else does.’

‘No problemo. I had some business to attend to in Palermo this morning, so it was no trouble to come to the airport. But I will call you Cassandra because it suits you better than Cassie.’

Well, who's the bossy one? More than a bit of machismo in this one she thought, as her feminist feelings rose to the fore, then were almost immediately over ridden by a more primeval feeling of delighted submission. She must pull herself together and stop acting like a demented teenager in the first throes of lust. It was ridiculous and so undignified. She almost huffed, and then saw him look her way again amusement in his eyes.

‘Aren't you going to wear sunglasses?’ she said rather crossly, trying to take charge of the situation.

‘The sunlight does not bother me but I can put mine on if you want me to.’ He smiled and winked at her. He's too young and too sure of himself. She scowled at him but he didn't notice as he was slipping on a pair of aviator glasses. He is so handsome she thought. I need to look out the window and stop staring at him like a groupie at a rock concert.

*

He negotiated the busy traffic of Palermo’s city centre with ease and it seemed in no time at all they had cleared the clogged city and were on the autostrada to Cefalu. The barren landscape was like no other she had seen before, the harsh white light reflecting off the mountainous, limestone escarpments, craggy sage green scrub and bouncing off the sparkling blue sea, illuminating nature’s bountiful beauty into sharp relief. This place is so wildly beautiful, thought Cassie, and she felt a thrill of pure happiness race through her. How right they had been picking Sicily, and especially this part. All those months of emails and phone calls between them, the excited planning, finding the perfect villa to rent, booking the flights and now she was here. She had travelled the furthest from Auckland, Liz next from San Francisco and Kat from London. The last time they had all been together was at Liz’s wedding, but their friendship began on campus twelve years ago.

They had met for the first time at Otago university in Dunedin when, with the predictable pedantry of the faculty, all of the names beginning with ‘H’ had been herded into Laws 101. Seated on Cassie’s right was a 50’s screen goddess, complete with killer curves proudly shoehorned into cashmere with a beguiling waft of Chanel No 5. Her name badge, cushioned atop a full, soft bosom, identifying her as Elizabeth M Hayes. She was studying her course outline intently, oblivious to the slack jawed stares of the shyer males in the group, and the loud ribaldry of the alphas, who performed in the vain hope that she would favor them with a look or a smile.

Oh, give me a break, Cassie fumed silently, tugging her green checked Swan Dry self-consciously across her honed triathlete frame, inwardly cursing the surname ‘Hayden’ that had delivered her right next to Botticelli’s muse. Another furtive sidelong glance confirmed a strong Patrician profile, high cheekbones, fully lips (a’ la Loren) and a silky brunette cloud that caught red and golden lights in the sun. As if sensing her scrutiny, Elizabeth faced Cassie and raised one perfectly arched eyebrow in silent query. Turning to her admirers, she puckered her perfect scarlet lips into the parody of a long sensual kiss, touched her fingertips to her lips and blew in the direction of the loudest blowhard, Sam House.

Cassie cleared her throat and turned quickly to her right, seeing only a wild tangle of blue, black curls, stuffed untidily beneath a very ugly, black velvet hat with (Lord help us), large red roses stuck randomly around the band. Long, elegant fingers protruding from lace cuffs played nervously with a name badge that read, Katrina Hudson. She had drawn a smiley face over the ‘i’ and an intricate chain of daisies and cupids around the course outline. Against the soft drone of the earnest young tutor, Katrina gazed dreamily at the ceiling, clearly in a world far away from the basic elements of ‘Breach of Contract’. And so, Cassie mused in hindsight, the three friends may have remained no closer than the loose coincidence of Tutorial Group H, if it hadn’t been for Capping week and ‘that’ party.

While Dunedin has over the years earned the dubious title as the party capital of New Zealand, at least around the Campus, there are two officially recognized celebration weeks on the annual calendar. Orientation week for the new students at the beginning of the first semester, and Capping week for the graduating students, which is held in May. The town’s numbers swell considerably in Capping week as recent graduates and their families and friends descend on the university town to party hard. But it is not just the recent graduates who come prepared to let down their hair. It’s is an excuse for all the students, past and present, to join in the festivities and generally try to cause as much mayhem as possible.

Cassie pedaled slowly down Castle Street, trying to negotiate her Schwinn bicycle around the stop and go traffic and the hordes of people making their way along the footpath. In several really congested spots, the crowd spilled out onto the road; their black robes and caps making them look like a noisy, pulsating black beast; as thousands of students made their way to the Regent Theatre for their graduation ceremony. The air was electric with excitement but all Cassie felt at that moment was cold and frustrated. She was not used to the cooler autumn temperatures of the far south and her nose was red and stinging from the raw air. Pulling out even further from the curb to cycle around another group of proud parents and students, she narrowly missed being hit by a truck, which stormed past her, horn blaring angrily. This is crazy, she thought as she saw a gap ahead before a corner and accelerated towards it, leaning in to the turn and smacking straight into a purple, frothy mass which saw her tip off her bike completely and land in the gutter.