Racing the Sun(28)

Alfonso tries to follow him but I reach out and grab his arm.

He glares at my hand and says something along the lines of “You are not my mother!” in Italian.

My head jerks back at the ferocity in his voice but I don’t let go. I can’t let them do whatever they want, especially when their brother is around, and especially in public.

Thankfully, Derio returns and when he sees me holding on to angry little Alfonso, he stoops down to his brother’s level. He talks to him in a low voice, gentle but firm. Then he eyes me and takes my hand off of him. He holds it for a moment, squeezes it so that Alfonso sees this, and then lets go of me. He finishes by asking Alfonso, “Capisci?”

Alfonso looks at me. I give him a small smile, not wanting him to think of me as the enemy. Eventually he nods.

Derio sighs and straightens up. “I am sorry,” he says.

“It’s not a problem, really,” I tell him. “They’re just kids. They do this kind of stuff.”

He shakes his head slightly, seeming lost in his own mind. “Yes, but they are raised to be better than most kids. They need to show you respect.”

I have to admit, I’m a bit touched by all of this. Derio grabs on to Alfonso and Annabella’s hands and takes them around the side of the restaurant. I watch their silhouettes, black against the sun, for a beat before I follow.

Though the area below and around the restaurant’s patio is made up of different platforms, all with well-oiled people relaxing on loungers, Derio takes me to a private deck with its own umbrella, lounge chairs, and even a brightly colored bathhouse for changing. He hands the kids their swimsuits and they disappear inside, hooting and hollering and making noises in the echo-y space.

I take a seat next to him, pondering if I should use the bathhouse after them or put my bikini on underneath my maxi dress. I can do it fast and without anyone seeing parts of me they shouldn’t, but doing it next to Derio doesn’t seem right either. Somehow it’s more intimate to undress next to him that way than to just strip naked.

“Heights,” he says to me as he opens the bright blue umbrella between us.

“What?”

“You have a fear of heights,” he says. “That is why you were hiding on the ride over.”

I nod, looking away. A seagull wheels down toward the loungers beneath, trying to steal bruschetta off of someone’s plate. “Yeah. It’s not that bad, but sometimes it just hits me, you know?”

“I know,” he says gravely, his focus now on the sea.

“You’re not afraid of swimming?” I ask him carefully, unsure of how much to let him know that I know. It’s definitely not a secret and I don’t think Felisa was sworn to silence, but it’s the first time I’ve talked about it with him. Hell, it’s the first time I’ve really talked to him since I got here.

He stiffens and I know I’ve probably done the wrong thing by asking him. I wait, holding my breath. Finally he shakes his head, ever so slightly. “No, I am not afraid of swimming, provided I am not too far from shore.”

But I guess boats are a different story. I don’t say anything more, of course.

Alfonso and Annabella come spilling out of the bathhouse, dressed in their swimwear, and gather around the rails of the deck, pointing at things below. I gather up my suit and a blousy caftan that I use as a cover-up for all my jiggly bits and disappear into the dark bathhouse.

It smells like heat and wood and sea inside and I take a moment to just compose myself. Some days I’m ashamed of my body, others days I’m loud and proud and couldn’t care less what people think. But today is one of those days that I feel my pale skin will be on display in that bright sunshine and I’ll be exposed more than ever before. My bikini is black-and-white striped and very flattering, but having Derio there makes me wish I had the lean, tanned, tall body of someone like Lenora instead of the pale, dimpled, curvy, short body that I seem to be stuck with. My mother always harps on me that I need to change my diet and exercise more, and while I think she’s right, she’s also one hundred pounds overweight and hard to take seriously. If anything, her nitpicking over my body aggravates me more than anything else.

I ignore her comments in my head and step out into the sun. Even though I put the caftan on I still feel exposed. It isn’t until I put my dress down on the lounger that I realize I’m not the one exposed here. Derio is standing beside Alfonso and Annabella, leaning against the railing and pointing at a passing yacht.

He’s in a goddamn Speedo.

I kind of freeze. And then I ogle. Because his back is to me and I have a mighty fine view of his body, I feel the need to soak it up while I can. Derio Larosa, without his clothes on, in practically nothing.