“I guess we have to go back the way we came up.”
“And what about there?” He gestures to the mural of Mount Solaro and the happy painted people on the chairlift, soaring above faded wildflowers. “Will you come with me?”
“Are you kidding me?” My blood freezes up at the thought of being stuck on that skinny chairlift.
He starts to get off the bike but I’m trying my best not to move.
“I promise you it’s not so bad,” he says. “I’m serious.”
“How can it not be bad? I’ve seen the chairlifts. They fit one person at a time. Barely!”
“It is not as bad as you think. Please trust me.”
“You don’t understand,” I say, almost whining.
He tips my chin with a finger so I can meet his eyes. “I do understand, Amber. It is scary but worth it. You have to trust me and you have to trust yourself. You must trust that nothing bad is going to happen.” He swallows. “If I see you be brave, I can be brave, too.”
My heart sinks like a stone at those words and in his eyes I can see how serious he is. This lost, damaged, broken man is asking me to guide him, to show him what is possible.
I take in a deep breath and find myself nodding. “Okay,” I say in a small voice.
He takes my hand and helps me off the bike. He doesn’t let go.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Minutes later, after purchasing our tickets, we stand in line for the chairlifts up to Mount Solaro. To be honest, even though the mountain is a jagged piece of rock looming over the earth, it doesn’t look so imposing when you’re at Anacapri, which is already pretty high off the water. I can see the way the chairlifts dip up and down over the scenery, disappearing and reappearing as the little chairs coast over small hills, and it doesn’t look that high—not until you get to the last part of the lift anyway. But even then, the fact that I will have to do this alone terrifies me.
I look behind me at Derio, who seems the epitome of cool, quickly puffing on his cigarette until he has to put it out. “Do you want to go first? Or should I go first?”
“You go,” he tells me just as the empty swing comes toward me. “I have your back.”
Just then the chairlift worker leads me quickly to the seat. I sit down and the bar is lowered over me and then I’m whisked forward. I let out a little yelp, gripping the bars for dear life as the chairlift swoops over a crop of trees. Then the yelp of fear slowly turns to one of laughter as my mind begins to register that I’m secure behind the bars, that I’m moving forward, not down. I swing my legs beneath me, feeling like a child again. In a way it’s like flying, not falling.
“Hey!” I hear a jubilant voice and crane my neck to see Derio behind me. He waves at me and looks absolutely adorable in the chair, like an overgrown kid, though somehow he still manages to exude sex appeal. I don’t know how he does it.
“This isn’t so bad, is it?” he yells at me.
“Not yet!” I yell back and then turn around before I get motion sickness. I stare at my feet, glad I wore sandals with secure ankle straps, and watch as we soar over neat squares of bright green vineyards and silver-leafed olive groves clinging to the hillside. Flowers of all different colors bloom among the sun-scorched grass and yellow bursts of broom dot the slopes. I want to take my phone out and snap a million pictures but I’m not brave enough to let go of the bars so I take mental snapshots I hope I’ll be able to draw upon later.
The scariest moment is the one I predicted, when the chairs rise above the hills and the peaks of limestone cliffs, and my mind tells me we’re going to crash. But before I know it the chair turns into the roundabout and suddenly I’m on solid ground again, my legs feeling a bit like jelly. In seconds, Derio gets off, too, and joins me by my side.
“You did it,” he says, holding my face in his hands. “I am proud of you, mia leonessa.”
I laugh as he kisses me. He puts his arm around my waist and guides me toward the viewpoints.
“It wasn’t so scary,” I admit as we walk. “It was more thrilling than anything else. In a good way.”
“Brava,” he says, “but don’t get too attached. I thought maybe we could walk back down. It only takes about forty minutes but it takes you past a tiny church that many people never see.”
“Sure,” I tell him. “And if I get too tired, you can carry me like a pack mule.”
He squeezes my hand and we start walking up a short staircase until we’re at the top. Suddenly, I stop dead in my tracks.
We’ve come through a stand of pine to the guardrails that mark the viewpoints. Beyond the people gathered at the edge of the guardrail is the most stunning, dizzying, terrifying view I’ve ever seen.