Roman Crazy (29 page)

“Oh my goodness,” I breathed, stunned when he opened the door. “Marcello . . .”

This apartment was the very personification of Marcello. Oaken beams soared at least fifteen feet above the room, anchored by supporting arches that crossed the wide-planked floor. Polished concrete floors next to scarred wide-plank pumpkin pine. Open kitchen. Cozy living room. Enormous fireplace.

“This is beautiful,” I said, taking it all in. It was such a perfect mix of old and new, ancient and contemporary, past and present mixing and complementing each other perfectly.

“What is that expression, you have not seen nothing yet?”

“Close.” I laughed, looking around. “What else am I missing?”

With a secretive smile on his lips, he led me to an old barn door at the back of his kitchen. Sliding it open, he waved a hand in front of me. “Ladies first.”

A tiny staircase wound up and into darkness. With Marcello behind me, guiding me, I had no fear. At the top was an old door with a skeleton key hanging on a hook next to it. “Go ahead,” he said.

I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I opened up the door. Single-guy hot tub? Playroom? Doorway to another dimension? Marcello managed to surprise me yet again.

“This is
incredible.
”

When I stepped onto the roof, the first thing I noticed was the overwhelming scent of flowers. Looking up I saw a wide, rustic
pergola covered in bright pink bougainvillea that had been coaxed to twist and twine around the old wood. Planters filled with lemon trees, little olive trees, and more of those kumquat trees from the courtyard below. Strung above? Hundreds of little white party lights, nestled into the corners and crisscrossing above. A little farther out toward the edge were comfortable-looking couches and chaise lounges boasting an incredible view of the city.

Turning, I found him watching me, arms crossed as he leaned against a flower-covered beam. “Incredible,” I said again, stepping toward him.

“There is also a pit of fire over there,” he said, pointing to the couches that I could now see were set around an outdoor fireplace.

“How private is this?” I asked, glancing around at the neighboring buildings. That was something great about this part of town—most of the structures didn't go above a few flights. Marcello's had a stunning, unobstructed view of Rome. I couldn't imagine how gorgeous this would be during sunrise.

“It is private enough,” he answered, sliding his hands across my hips and up my sides, his thumbs rubbing against my nipples as he slid my shirt off slowly.

“No brassiere,” he said hungrily, licking his lips.

I looked furtively left, then right, and still seeing not another soul up this high I threw caution, and the rest of my clothes, to the wind. “Nope.” I hooked my fingers into my skirt and slid it down, kicking it off to the side near my top.

He inhaled quickly. “No panties, either. You rode around behind me without them? All across the city?”

In response, I threw my head back and laughed, emboldened by the feeling I had in this moment. Naked, on a rooftop in Rome.

“Naughty girl,” he murmured, catching me against him and dropping kisses along my neck, my collarbone. Before he could get too far, however, I wanted to take control.

Clutching his hand, I walked him through the hanging flowers. I loved the brush of the soft petals against my skin. There was something empowering about walking naked in the hot, sticky summer air. Before Marcello, I'd never have done anything like this, but the two of us together made for an explosive combination. With this bold move, any lingering thread of Old Avery unraveled.

He kissed my fingertips as I led him across the rooftop, stopping in front of the seating area. Pulling a few pillows from the couches, I piled them onto the ground and pointed.

For a change, he did what
I
wanted, his eyes flashing as he lowered himself down, propping his arms behind his head, waiting.

“You're going to have to be quiet,” I said, standing over him, cupping my breasts. I hummed, imagining that they were his hands, smoothing over me, pinching my nipples before his lips enveloped them.

“
Tesoro,
how you tease,” he purred, sitting up quickly.

I lifted one foot and pushed against his chest. “No.”

With his hands up in surrender, he leaned back again onto his elbows. I kneeled on either side of his hips and ruffled his hair away from his face. His eyes closed, lips parting and his tongue dipping out wetting them. “Avery,” he said, kissing my cheek and the tip of my nose before capturing my lips hotly.

Reaching down, I unbuttoned his shirt first, then his jeans, undressing him slowly. His hands caressed my skin, slowly and sweetly. His lips sought me out, kissing whatever came close to his mouth as I moved over him—a shoulder, an elbow, a breast.

Frustrated, he circled my back with his arms, pulling me closer to his waiting mouth. “You taste so sweet. I can't get enough of you.”

My mind was scrambled. My hips slid back over, over until I was right
there.
So close. He moved, searching for the best way to slip inside.

“Fuck,” he swore, thrusting deep when he found it. We were sweaty, sticky from the heat, but it didn't matter.

I slid down, over and up, slowly rolling my hips. “Give me your mouth,” I demanded, arching up so that my breasts were just out of reach of his lips. His tongue darted out, slipping over the taut nipple.

He pushed himself up as I rode him. Hard and fast, then slow and wicked. I held his head against my breasts, the scruff a delicious tickle against the sensitive skin.

“Faster. Please.”

My hands moved across his back, fingernails scratching against the muscles as I moved faster, everything building up inside of me. I nearly spilled my thoughts, the words I was dying to say to him, finally and for the first time,
I love you
.

It was right there barreling forward along with my orgasm. Tears spilled over, splashing against our chests as I held in the confession. Soon.

I
WANT TO ASK YOU
something.”

“After what you just did? You can ask me anything.” I smiled into his chest, breathing in the scent of satisfied Marcello. We were cuddled in one of the chaise lounges, a pillow behind him, and him behind me. I nuzzled into his skin, the little bit of hair on his chest tickling my nose.

“How about what
you
just did,
tesoro
.” He groaned. “Your mouth . . .”

I kissed
his
mouth, which was just as wicked, then snuggled back into his side. “What did you want to ask me?”

He played with the ends of my hair, dragging it up and around and making little patterns on my bare back. “Do you have plans next weekend?”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“Sure,” I said primly. “Whatever you've got planned for me, I'm doing.”

“Avery,” he whispered into my hair, making each syllable count, just the way I loved. “I want you to come home with me.”

“I'm here right now.” I sighed, feeling dreamy and smiley and boneless.

“I mean my
home
. To Pienza.”

Not so boneless. “Where you grew up?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Where your family lives?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He kissed my shoulder. “There is a festival next weekend, the Gioco del Cacio al Fuso. Everyone comes into town for it every summer. It's the one time other than Christmas that we all get together. I never miss it.”

“Sounds major,” I murmured, nibbling absently on my fingernail.

“Major? I do not take your meaning?”

I sat up, turning to face him. His eyes went immediately to my breasts, of course, but then tried to stay on my face.

“Come home with you, meet the family? Like,
all
the family?”

“Yes,” he said simply. Did he know that in the States, the meeting of the parents was a
very
big deal?

His face was glowing, and not just from the thing I did with my mouth. He looked . . . peaceful. Hopeful. Very content. And a little bit . . . excited.

He did know what a big deal this was, and he wanted to bring me home to Mamma. Was I ready for that?

“Yes.”

“IT'S HUGE.”

“Right? I mean, how do I?
What
do I?”

“Huge.”

“Stop saying that! It's making me more nervous,” I said, pacing
around the bedroom, rejecting outfit after outfit. “I should just go shopping.”

Daisy reclined on the bed. “Tell me exactly how he asked. The when, the where, the how.”

“I'm not sure if you want
all
of those details.”

“Yes. I do. I'm living vicariously through you and your magnificent life here in Rome.” Daisy tossed a lacy white sundress into the fray. “That is a must-have, by the way.”

I nodded, hanging it on the closet door with the others I was definitely packing. “This is a
seriously
amazing summer!” I gushed, spinning around like a teenager who'd just been asked to the prom.

“You kill it in foreign countries, girl!” She high-fived me, then sat near the window. “Okay, I'm ready. I want the details.”

I prepared to dish. “We were in bed. You know, afterward.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned forward. “And?”

“And he asked what I was doing next weekend, and laid it out there. There's a festival going on that all the family comes in town for every year.
All
of the family.” I raised my eyebrow. “I know how these Italians are. It's not just 2.5 kids. It's kid
s
, extra plural. Then those kids' kids, and grandkids and great grandkids and nieces and nephews and neighbors that are ‘family,' and what am I going to do? I don't know what to expect. He keeps telling me not to worry, that they'll love me, but really?” I pointed a finger at myself. “Divorced, American, non-Catholic. Fornicator!” I threw myself onto the cardigans that were strewn across my bed.

When we first started scouring my closet earlier for appropriate “Meet the Family” wear, Daisy had pulled them all from my closet in a huff. She thought they should be tossed since they screamed Boston Avery.

Though Marcello did like the pearls.

With some heels.

And nothing else . . .

Regardless, the cardis and the pearls wouldn't be coming with me to Pienza—I wanted to dress to impress.
Please like me
clothing to help me prove that I was head over heels for their son, brother, nephew, whatever.

“You're crazy. This is a man who looks at you and makes you melt.” She stood to rummage through my closet. “Not to mention that whenever you look at him, he beams. I've known him a long time, and he doesn't light up like that for anyone.”

He
did
get that hazy, glossed-over look in his eyes whenever he stared at me. Which was often. And when he did, I got the full-blown belly flutters. Those feelings were what I needed to focus on for this event. Not the nerves.

“It's normal to be nervous about meeting the family, Avery,” Daisy consoled, pulling out a few more pieces from my closet. “Besides, he's nervous, too—don't let that suave Roman thing he's got going fool you. Just remember: he's bringing you there. That means something.”

Daniel's family had been wary of me from the get-go. I couldn't have been a more perfect match for their son, yet Bitsy was always standoffish. I was never able to win her over.

“I can see in your face that you're freaking out again,” she said, pulling me up from my bed and setting her hands on my shoulders. “Snap out of it.”

“I know, I know,” I said, hugging her. “I need something else to focus on, or it's going to drive me insane.”

“Let's take a quick shopping trip before we get Fiona from the airport,” Daisy suggested, eyeing the white sundress again.

“What?”

“I'm thinking if we get you more of these,” she said, touching the delicate lace of the bodice, “Mamma, Papa, and Marcello will all be declaring their love for you next weekend.”

“HOW THE HELL HAS IT
been so long since we've all been together?” I asked, looking across the table and seeing Daisy and Fiona.

“Because you've had a stick in your ass and never wanted to leave Boston?” Fiona chirped, stealing a glance at Daisy, who nodded her head vigorously.

“Oh. Right,” I said, sipping my Campari and soda. “That.”

“And the fact that we're never in the same place at the same time,” Daisy added, waving the waiter over and ordering another round of drinks.

“There's also that,” Fiona agreed, leaning across the table toward me, resting her chin in her hands. “I was kidding about the stick in your ass. Mostly.”

“Your Botox looks really good, I can barely notice it.” I smiled prettily at her as she cracked up.