He’s wearing black chinos and a white button-down shirt. His sleeves are rolled enough for me to see more dangerous-looking ink and hints of what appears to be an impressive physique. His shirt is unbuttoned around his neck, revealing more ink that stops right below the collar.
“I’m Massimo,” he says, a brow raising above the dark sunglasses he’s wearing as if he’s expecting me to introducemyself. He leans closer to my hand, and with the swiftest of motions, plucks the piece of rust out like it’s nothing.
“Lea,” I mutter, taking another sip of the beer and wincing from the sting. I follow the beer with a deep breath when I see him tear open an alcohol swab.
“I need to clean it. This may sting,” he warns, then he wipes the swab across my cut. “Have you had a tetanus shot recently?” he asks, a hint of a smile turning up the edges of his lips and accentuating his sharp cheekbones that are partially hidden behind neatly trimmed black stubble.
“W-what?” I stammer, my eyes getting wide. “No!”
“I’m kidding, it’s not that bad,” he says, ripping open a Band-Aid with his teeth and smoothing it across my cut with a touch that lingers and grazes my fingers as he pulls away. “Good as new.”
“Thank you,” I say, probably with a lot more gratitude than required. “I should have packed a first aid kit.”
“Never travel without the essentials,” he says, nodding and motioning ahead. “We’re almost to the island.”
I’m feeling well enough to wish I had declined the drink, considering all the horror stories I’ve heard, but I doubt he would have bothered to tend to my scrape if he had those kinds of intentions. Plus, I’m feeling much better. My hand, and my stomach. Standing this close to possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen isn’t hurting anything. There might even be some butterflies—although that could still be my stomach acting up.
“Yes, we are,” I say, feeling heat tint my cheeks. “That was very kind of you. But how did you know it was motion sickness? What if I partied too hard last night?”
“Same remedy,” he answers, his strong chiseled jaw flexing. “Best way to cure a hangover is to start drinking again.”
The ship rocks as it turns toward the island, but it doesn’t make me queasy. I let out a breath of relief, finally feeling like I’m on vacation. I glance at Massimo again. I’m usually wary of strangers, especially men covered in tattoos, but Massimo isn’t setting off an alarm bell. He seems rather pleasant. And he certainly knows how to take care of someone. He cured my motion sickness and patched up my hand before I knew what was happening.
“Is that so?” I question. “I wouldn’t know. I rarely drink.”
“Good. Alcohol is a poison. A delicious poison, sometimes, but still poison.” He motions to the island. “How long are you staying?”
“A week,” I answer, glancing toward the island for a moment, then back at him. “You?”
“Same,” he replies. “My last vacation.”
“Last as in… ever?” I tilt my head inquisitively.
“Something like that,” he sighs. “What brings you here? Boyfriend? I know a beautiful woman like you isn’t here alone. That would be… That would make things way too interesting.”
I feel the blush heat my cheeks again. “N-no boyfriend,” I reply, quickly taking a drink of the beer. A bigger drink than my last few. “I’m keeping a promise I made to my grandmother.”
“That sounds like a good story.” He turns and leans against the railing, so I do the same now that I’m not worried about adding the contents of my stomach to the blue water below us. This time, I find a spot with no rust.
“I don’t know if it’s a good story,” I sigh. “My grandmother came to Isola Selvaggia when she was about my age. She said it’s the best place to go when you have no direction in life. I’ve been rather directionless since she passed…” My voice trails off and I shake off the tears that glisten in my eyes. “Sorry. She made me promise that I’d come here at least once before I decided what to do with my life. So, here I am.”
“For what it’s worth, I think that’s a fantastic story,” he says, pulling his sunglasses off and revealing piercing icy blue eyes that I get lost in for a moment. “Most people don’t keep their promises. The fact you’re keeping one to someone who is no longer here is admirable. My condolences, by the way. For your grandmother.”
“T-thank you,” I stammer, breaking away from his gaze. “She was a wonderful woman. She took me in after… She basically raised me.”
I look away for a moment, but I can still feel his piercing stare. It makes my breath hitch when our eyes meet again. There’s something familiar about Massimo, like I’ve looked into his eyes before, but—that doesn’t make sense. I’d remember a name that rolls off my tongue like his does. Wouldn’t I? I’d certainly remember a gorgeous guy with an Italian accent, especially one covered in tattoos. Maybe he’s a doctor? On a billboard? No, that doesn’t make sense, either. I’m from a small town. He’s probably from somewhere much more interesting than Pine Grove.
“Well, she must have raised a fine young woman,” he says, nodding to me. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t care about that promise you made, right?”
“I suppose.” I smile fondly as I remember a few of my grandmother’s stories about Isola Selvaggia.
“Let’s carry our bags to the front so we don’t get stuck in line.” Massimo leans down to grab his. “Which resort are you staying at?”
“Uh, Twelve Palms,” I answer, following his lead.
“Excellent, so am I.” He smiles, offering to help with my bags, but I decline with a wave of my hand. “If you’re not doing anything later tonight, you should join me for dinner. There’s a nice restaurant that overlooks the ocean. Bellissima’s. I usually eat around six.”
I stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Is he asking me out on a date? Surely not. Not a guy like him. I’m just a nobody from a small town and nowhere near as attractive as the girls guys like him usually date. Plus, he’s older than me. He’s at least in his mid-thirties, if not older. I’m barely twenty-one.
