We shelved the baby discussion, another year went by, and then my mother got sick. Any questions of children were sent back where they came from.
I look at Nika now, seated next to me.
“Maybe Marco knows something you don’t,” I tell her. “If he believes that strongly, maybe he really does have some information he’s not sharing.”
Just then Adam appears in the lobby. He’s wet from the pool, and his chest is bare, revealing a very toned torso. A towel swings around his neck.
“Hello,” he says.
“We were just talking about you,” Nika says.
Adam raises his eyebrows and looks to me. “Really.”
“The hotel,” I say quickly. I can feel the heat creeping from my chest up my neck and into my face. “Your offer.”
“Ah.”
“I have to get back to the desk,” Nika says. “Thank you, for listening. I appreciate the ear.”
“Of course.”
Nika waves to Adam on the way out. And then it’s just the two of us. Last night might as well be playing on a movie screen in front of us. I know it’s the only thing either one of us is seeing.
“Hi,” he says. He’s still dripping wet, the beads of pool water dangling like earrings from the ends of his hair.
“Hi,” I say.
“Can I sit?”
I gesture to the empty space next to me. He does.
“How did you sleep?”
“Good,” I say. I swallow. “Not great, honestly.”
Adam smiles. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he says.
He holds my gaze, and I look away.
“I just mean,” he continues, “tequila and red wine and limoncello will do that to you.”
I nod. “Right.”
“Can I ask you something?” Adam says.
“Sure.”
“Last night,” he starts.
“I thought we were not going to make this awkward. Italy and all.”
Adam pauses. “Am I making this awkward?”
I look up at him. His face is relaxed, his body casual. “No?” I admit.
“No. So, last night.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”
“Which part?”
“I don’t know. Kissing you? I shouldn’t have done that.”
He nods. “I guess it occurred to me that I didn’t ask you what you want.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve told me you’re married and that you’re maybe separating and that you’re heartbroken, because you’ve lost your mother.”
He says the last part delicately, tenderly, and I wince.
“I guess I just thought I should ask what you want. Whether you want your marriage to work out, rather. Whether you want to go home to him.”
This wasn’t what I expected him to say. I expected him to apologize for kissing me, maybe. Or to accuse me of bailing. Now I don’t know how to answer.
“Because, the thing is, yeah, we’re in Italy. Shit happens, like I said. This isn’t about me. I don’t even know you, and you don’t know me.”
“Right.” I feel a pang of something. Disappointment, maybe. Interesting.
“But you could,” he says.
“I could know you.”
He nods. “You could.”
I take an unsteady breath. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, I think you do.” Adam’s gaze sits heavy on mine. “Like I said, it’s not about me. But it would be a shame if you kept doing something only because you’ve done it before.”
I think about the routine of my life back home. The coffeepot, the mail, the market. The same four shows on the DVR.
What got you here won’t get you there.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask Adam.
“Having dinner with you,” he says.
Chapter Eighteen
Adam and I meet in the lobby at seven-thirty. It’s still sunny out, but a bit cooler than the day. I chose a long Poupette silk slip dress in bright blue with an off-the-shoulder top. I put on a chunky rose quartz and topaz necklace, no earrings, then sweep my hair up into a topknot. Gold sandals and my Clare V. clutch—one of my mother’s favorite local LA brands.
“You look beautiful,” Adam says when he sees me.
He’s wearing a white linen shirt, khaki shorts, and a beaded mala necklace.
“You too,” I say. “I mean, you look nice.”
“Hey,” he tells me. “I’ll take beautiful. Nothing wrong with beautiful.”