He points to a small opening between two rock clusters. I recognize the magical portal to theGrotta Azzurrawhere blue water and sunlight create an otherworldly experience. But I don’t need to visit any tourist attractions or natural wonders to feel like I’m on another planet. Everything I want to feel I’m feeling right now, watching the scenery go by while holding the world’s greatest guy and thinking about our future together.
Then I remember that for our future to work we need to earn that bonus. I don’t want Brady to have to rely on his family in any way.
“Let me get another one,” I say, and take out the camera. It only took us until our fifth country this summer to get it right. I kiss Brady on his sunburnt nose and grab a shot as my lips make contact.
“I don’t know about that one. My nose looks so red. I forgot to put on sunscreen this morning, you know, because your dick was inside me.” He pokes my ribs with his finger.
“Brady!” I cower down to make sure the captain of the boat can’t hear us. Brady loves to say outrageous things to make me giggle. “Don’t worry about it. I like the way your freckles come out when you forget. It’s freaking adorable.”
He covers his face with his hand. “We aren’t in Poland anymore, so you think you don’t have to tell me the truth,” he teases.
“I am telling the truth, and I plan to here in Italy, in Boston, wherever we’re together.”
We pass a triangular-shaped villa with multiple balconies and soaring white columns covered in purple flowers. Terraced gardens surround the grounds and a wooden staircase built into the rocks leads all the way down to a dock on the water with a small patch of sand where people are sunbathing and swimming.
“That’s Villa Sulla Costa,” Brady says, sitting down. His voice shakes a bit. “That’s where the Beckenberg wedding is.”
“When does your family arrive?” I ask. During the flight over Brady decided he would tell his mother about his plans as soon as they arrived in Capri. I told him I would be by his side the entire time but he’s definitely nervous about their reaction.
“In a few days, I think,” he says, and a flash of worry crosses his eyes.
“I will be right by your side.”
“I know my parents aren’t your favorite people in the world after they manipulated you in Chicago…”
I don’t let him finish. “That’s over. I’m focused on the future. The future with you, the real Brady Gibson. I love seeing you become more yourself. Knowing what you want to do. And going after it. It’s very sexy.” I nibble his ear and flick the lobe with my tongue.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice cracking with a hint of uncertainty.
“Brady, I know this is going to be hard, but there’s a chance your mom might understand.”
“There is a chance my mother might wear something from Target instead of Dolce and Gabbana. There is a chance that my sister won’t continue her endless feud with one of the Kardashians at the wedding. There is a chance a dormant volcano will swallow the island this week. There isnochance my parents will understand.”
I can’t really make sense of Brady’s relationship with his parents. They love each other but it’s formal and distant. I know Brady thinks I can be that way sometimes and I’m beginning to see the connection. He doesn’t want to be reminded of their coldness. It’s my job to make him feel loved.
I reach over to grab his hand and rub my fingers across the space where his wrist meets his hand. The grey streets and tan roofs of Poland were a fantasy, but the azure blue water and sunshine of the Amalfi coast are reality and I need to support Brady in his decision. I’m going to show him I’m not going anywhere.
The boat makes a sharp turn toward the smaller dock for private ferries. I wipe the saltwater off of Brady’s cheek and I can see in his eyes that he’s nervous about what’s going to happen on this small island. “Everything is going to be okay. We’ve got this.”
“Hayes, when you say it, I can actually believe it.”
At the end of the dock, I see a tricked-out emerald and white vintage golf cart with a striped canvas roof that has golden yellow fringe dangling. A figure with swirling black scarves waves at us from the driver’s seat. It’s Aisha.
We disembark and I go first so I can hold out my arm for Brady. He holds it tightly and I point to the puddles on the steps so he doesn’t slip.
“So nice to see you both again,” Aisha says, getting out of the golf cart. I can tell it’s a restored club car. Electric, maybe running off thirty-six volts. “I’m so sorry to hear about your detour in Poland. I hope it wasn’t too inconvenient.”
“Not at all,” Brady says with a big smile across his face, holding on to my shoulder to steady himself.
“It was exactly what we needed,” I say, putting my arm around him.
Aisha removes one of her scarves and takes a step toward us before removing the black sunglasses that cover most of her face.
“Something is different here, eh? This is not the same pair of guys who showed up jetlagged in London.”
“No, I don’t think we are,” Brady says before I can. He stands on his toes to stretch up and kiss me on the nose.
“Well, London is nice, but it’s not Capri.” Aisha gets in the driver’s seat. I hope she knows what she’s doing. The steering on these things is loose at best. “Italy is the place for romance. Let’s get you settled.” We hop in the back seat. She has an easy way with us, smiling, her tone carefree. Different than that last meeting in London. She had a job to do, and she didn’t think we were doing ours – which we weren’t. But now things have course corrected on levels she isn’t even aware of.
