Racing the Sun(105)

While he’s breathing hard, murmuring sweet nothings, I curl up next to him. I rest my head on his chest as he catches his breath and stare out the open balcony doors to the island outside. A butterfly floats past on the fall breeze and I am reminded of what my father said, that I can’t be a butterfly fluttering from flower to flower.

But I think I can be. It’s just that I’ve found my flower. And now I call it home.





EPILOGUE


It is a weekend in November and Derio and I are in Positano on a mini getaway. I have just finished up a bowl of delicious mussels when the waiter brings out Prosecco for us. The sun is close to setting, and though the air brings a bite to it when the light fades, the days are still pleasant and warm.

The Prosecco is for the good news we received this week. Derio has finished editing Racing the Sun a few weeks ago and sent the book to his mother’s old agent. They discussed what to do with the book since it still remains unfinished. Though Derio cleaned it up, he was unable or unwilling to write an ending, not without knowing what his mother intended. Her agent suggested that they actually cut the book by a few chapters to a place that had a bit more closure. It’s still an open ending, but at least at that earlier spot the “Happily Ever After” is more pronounced and the readers can infer what happens next in their own imaginations. It’s possible that Sophia Larosa didn’t even know the ending herself, just that she wanted her characters to be happy.

Derio agreed, and with his permission, the agent sent the book to his mother’s old publisher. Though it wasn’t much of a surprise, they wanted the book and will publish it next year—one more shot for Derio’s mother to have her work out there, where it belongs. The advance and royalties are going straight into a trust fund for Alfonso and Annabella.

Derio has also started racing again, though he’s only training in a lower division, thanks to his injuries. He hopes to compete on occasion, but it will no longer be his career. He feels like his dream has been altered, but in a good way. He’s able to follow his passion on a smaller scale, while still trying to figure out the next direction in his life.

The other good news is that I am officially allowed to stay in Italy for as long as I like, provided Derio and I stay together. And that won’t be a problem. I can’t see myself with anyone else but him. And though I have a lot of questions and curiosities about life, I find the answers now with him by my side.

I work part-time at a nursery that grows organic lemon trees for juice, supplying many of the healthier eateries on Capri and the mainland. It’s fun work and really interesting, and though I don’t know if I’ll be working there forever, I know it’s the first step in the right direction. Working with plants is a lot like being a nanny—there’s a lot of patience and nurturing involved. But Felisa is in charge of that now, and Lorenzo is in charge of the cooking, and our house is starting to resemble an Italian sitcom, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. It really feels like family in the Villa dei Limoni Tristi, even though we all manage to drive each other crazy from time to time.

“Let’s catch the sunset,” Derio says after he has paid. “We may have to race it.”

He takes my hand and we shuffle out of the restaurant and down the boardwalk that cuts along the beach. I realize that we’re at the same place where I first went to meet Felisa, all those months ago. My God, has everything changed since then, and in the most wonderful, surreal way. La dolce vita is entirely true.

We walk along the small dock and Derio hands his iPhone to a couple who are standing close by, asking them if they can please take our photo. I hand my phone to them, too, wanting one of my own, especially since I’m never satisfied with photos on the first try.

We pose at the end of the dock, knowing that the sun is almost gone, and I tickle Derio, trying to get him to smile naturally for the cameras. He always freezes up and doesn’t show off how beautiful he really is.

I tickle his ribs but he’s fast and tickles me back. I yelp and jump out of the way, but my foot hits the edge of the dock and I lose my balance.

Before I know what’s going on, I’m pitching over and landing in the cold sea. Thankfully it’s only about shoulder-high here, but still, I totally go under.

I burst through the surface, my feet finding the bottom, and look up at the dock, spitting out water and wiping the salt from my eyes. Derio is laughing his head off at me while the people on the dock look on in concern. Actually, the woman is concerned but the man is still taking pictures!

“It’s not funny!” I yell at Derio, completely embarrassed. Who the hell would fall in the sea with their clothes on? Well, Amber MacLean would.