Racing the Sun(30)

I can’t help smiling. “What is?”

“Everything,” he says, looking around him. Then his eyes lock on mine. “All of this.”

“It’s stunning,” I say briefly, tilting my head back to take in the sun. “It’s like living inside a painting.”

“Yes, that is what everyone says about Capri,” he comments. He swims over to the side to keep an eye on the twins, who are splashing near the steps now, and I can’t help watching the water glide over his dark skin, the look of his well-honed muscles. He moves so fluidly, gracefully, and it strikes me that he moves somewhat the same on land. I wonder what he’s like on the back of bike, racing at full speed. I bet it’s almost supernatural.

He glances at me, treading water in place for a few moments. A wet piece of hair flops onto his forehead, making him look boyish. “What do you think about Capri?”

“I love it,” I say, but it’s an automatic response. I’m not sure if I love it, per se, but I am loving parts of it. I don’t love my job—yet—but this is the setting we’re talking about. And how can I not love it after what he’s shown me today? I feel like I’m swimming in God’s pool. “It’s almost mythical.”

He nods and spits out some water. “Yes, there are many myths about Capri. You have heard of the Grotta Azzurra? Blue Grotto? That is here. You will have to go some time.”

I’m about to say something cheeky like, “Will you be the one to take me?” but then I remember that the Blue Grotto is only accessible by tiny boats, like gondolas, and that probably wouldn’t go down so well with him.

“Where else should I go?” I ask instead.

He points up at Mount Solaro. “Up there. Picnic among the flowers. Great views.”

I give him a look. “Don’t you have to take a chairlift up there? Fear of heights, remember?”

He nods. “I remember. Perhaps you will face your fears.”

“Are you going to be there holding my hand?” I say, half jokingly.

He smiles softly. “The chairlifts only fit one person. So, no. My arms don’t reach that long.”

“Then no fucking thank you,” I say. Then I immediately clamp my hand over my mouth, realizing I swore in front of the children. Somehow this is the first time it’s happened.

Alfonso bursts out laughing at my profanity and then launches himself off the step and into the water, splashing us. He’s yelling, “Merda!” which I’m pretty sure is Italian for shit.

“Eh, smettila,” Derio admonishes Alfonso. Alfonso just giggles and swims back to Annabella, who is poking her fingers into the rocks near my caftan.

“Sorry,” I apologize to Derio. “I forget I say bad words sometimes.”

“Just another bad habit,” he says. “Apparently I have the same one. Maybe we are more alike than I thought. Of course, you don’t smoke.”

“No.”

“But alcohol and sex, that’s okay with you?”

I nearly sputter in the water. My mind reels, trying to think of something clever and witty to say to that. “I like both those things,” I say, like a total noob.

He gives me a grin and then swims away, doing a fast front crawl through the water, slicing through the shades of blue and around the corner of the rocks.

“Where are you going?” I call after him but he can’t hear me.

“He comes back,” Alfonso says from the steps. I eye him in surprise, not only because of his English but for being so forthcoming.

I swim over to him, finding a non-jagged part of the rocks to hold on to. I’m amazed that these kids aren’t bleeding all over the place from cuts and scrapes.

“Where does he go?” I ask slowly, in my teacher voice.

He gestures. “Around the . . . the . . .” He points at the lighthouse.

“Lighthouse,” I tell him. “In English we call that a lighthouse.”

“Si, lighthouse,” he repeats. “Then he comes back.”

“And he leaves you alone like this?”

He shakes his head. “Oh no, Felisa, she is here. He never leaves me, Annabella, alone.”

“Good,” I say. “He takes good care of you, you know.”

Alfonso shrugs and kicks at the water. “Certo,” he says noncommittally. I think it means sure.

Suddenly, Annabella bursts into a fit of laughter and I look to see her waving my caftan in the air before she lets go. The breeze hooks it and carries it away, floating down to the rocks on the other side of the narrow cove.

“Annabella!” I yell at her. “That isn’t very nice!”

She only smirks at me and makes the motion of a bird flying away.