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‘Dante...’
‘Remember in the hut?’
‘Yes.’
His hands were on her the small of her back, and then one slid round to her stomach and she felt it glide around her slick entrance. And then he slid in so deep that he hit her cervix with each thrust, and she didn’t know how he couldn’t want this for ever.
In the end it was Alicia who couldn’t last.
She was still moaning as if someone had died when he came, and she heard the hollow shout she’d first heard in the river, and she felt all that power unleashed in her. And then a lovely calm and stillness descended, and she was glad she wasn’t facing him because she was crying, and not just at the bliss of him.
He was more complicated than that.
And she was straightforward.
Wasn’t she?
God, his bed was lovely, and as they lay together he told her something nice.
‘A better finish to the day than the start.’ He paused. ‘Although I do like you cross.’ He smiled at her. ‘I like you a lot of ways.’
‘Not in the ways I want, though.’
‘Alicia, come on...let’s just breathe. We’re friends again. “Lovers”, as you call it.’
There wasn’t any time left for breathing, and she was aware of that. But she had made a promise to herself on this long, lonely day, while waiting for him to call.
‘We were lovers ten years ago.’
‘Can we not have a decade gap between drinks in the future? Be regular lovers?’
‘What does that mean?’ Alicia asked. ‘What does it mean to be your “regular lover”?’
His lack of reply meant she rolled on her side, but it was to a new bliss, because he was playing with her hair and it felt so nice.
‘When I’m in Milan, or you’re here, or...’
‘And when I’m not in Milan or here?’ she asked. ‘What do you do when you can’t sleep then?’
‘I’m just saying let’s take it slowly, see how we go. You make it so complicated.’
‘No!’ she told him so. ‘I’m straightforward.’
‘Straight to something that wakes us up all night and cries and smells. I’m just saying I want slow.’
‘The answer is no.’
She stared at the waxing gibbous moon—almost full, and so beautiful—but there was a dark edge to the moon, and a darkness in Dante by her side—a man literally incapable of using the wordpartner. A man who refused even to put a toe in and test the faithful waters.
‘I am too demanding to be your lover.’
‘Oh, you’re demanding,’ he agreed, and got back to playing with her hair.
Did she tell him there had only ever been him? That she’d loved him for what felt like all her life? No, that would be by far too devoted for Dante.
It was the hardest thing, though.
To be loved so fiercely and then suddenly not.
