I couldn’t stop touching her.
My hand at the small of her back. A light caress down her arm. A quick brush of the lips. She was a drug, and I was quickly becoming addicted.
She’d styled her hair in waves and was wearing the most delectable red dress, which she’d matched her nails and lips to. The best part of her look, though, was the smile that hadn’t left her face since the moment we’d left the villa.
The evening was perfect, so we opted to sit outside at the ristorante we’d chosen for dinner.
The tablecloths were white, with flowers and a candle as its centerpiece, and the bread was warm from the oven.
“How can the locals eat like this every day and still look so great?” Charlotte asked with a bemused smile. “I just smell bread back home and gain twenty pounds. By the time we leave to go back home I’m going to have a pasta belly.”
“I look forward to seeing that,” I replied easily, thinking I’d be right there with her.
Her face fell and she said, “No, you don’t. I have firsthand experience about how differently a man looks at me when I gain weight.”
“Hey,” I said, reaching for her hand. “First of all, Nigel’s a piece of shit, and you were pregnant, which is beside the point. Second, please don’t compare me to him. I am not Nigel, I don’t think like Nigel, and I certainly don’t act like Nigel. Okay?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m working on getting over all this.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Why the heck were you ever with Nigel?” I asked, honestly curious. “I remember the first time I met him, and I didn’t get it then either. He was always stiff and stand-offish, didn’t seem to get along with your brothers, and had no sense of humor. I never understood what you saw in him.”
Charlotte chuckled as she picked up a piece of bread and started tearing it apart.
“You know what it’s like in college … you’re out on your own for the first time, no rules or parents watching. You’re discovering who you are as an adult and trying things you probably shouldn’t. Nigel was one of those things.”
“So, you liked him when you met him?” I asked, not seeing how she could have.
She laughed at that and nodded. “Yes, of course I did. He was older and seemed so confident and in charge of his life. He had his own car and condo … He was so grown compared to the frat guys in my classes. And he swept me off my feet. I’d never been wooed by a guy before and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I was dazzled and stayed that way until about the second year of marriage.”
“I guess I can see how that would be appealing.”
Our server walked up with our food and placed the steaming plates in front of us. Instantly the spices from the sauce tickled my nose and I groaned.
“This looks amazing,” I told him as I laid my napkin in my lap. “Thank you.”
“It really does,” Char agreed.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, and we both said we were good.
“Okay, I’m gonna need to try that,” I said, my mouth watering at her seafood pasta.
“And I want a bite of lasagna,” she countered.
“Deal.”
We gave each other a portion of our food and got ready to dig in.
“Okay, that’s enough of Nigel for the evening,” I said as I cut my lasagna into bite-size squares.
“I’m good with that,” she replied, twirling her pasta on the large spoon they provided.
“I have an idea that I’d like to get your thoughts on.”
“Shoot,” Char said, then popped her fork in her mouth.
I waited until her eyes rolled back out of her head before saying, “What if we take the rental car and drive down to Rome for a couple days.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened with excitement.
“Yes! I want to see Rome so badly.”
“You’ve never been?” I asked, and when she shook her head, I said, “Me neither. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Me, too. That would be amazing. There’s so much I want to see … Oh my goodness, the Sistine Chapel.”
“So, leave tomorrow?” I asked.
“I’m one-thousand percent in.”
We grinned at each other and dug in, talking about all the things we wanted to do and see in Rome while we ate.
When our server came back, we ordered dessert, which would be served with a dessert wine, followed by espresso, and then finally grappa.
As we sipped, a street performer began to play, so I turned my chair toward the sound and scooted close enough to Charlotte so I could place my arm over her shoulders as we listened to the tenor voice sing about love in Italian.
At least, that’s what I assumed he was singing about. It was a romance language, after all, and usually sounded romantic to me.
Char laid her head on my shoulder, and I could have sworn I heard her whisper, “Magic.”