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CHAPTER FOUR
MAREN
The next day, after another set of papers presented—including mine, which I wrote on my technique for teaching the grammar of writing spoken quotes, and which involves watching the courtroom scene from “A Few Good Men,” with its repeated quotations of characters’ previous statements—our group once again sets out on the bus, for a tour of the medieval citadel. The view from the ramparts is absolutely stunning; you can see the entire island from the hill that the fortress is built upon, which makes it quite obvious why it’s here. With Tunisia and Morocco to the south, Sicily and Italy to the north, and Turkey and Greece to the east, the Maltese islands are a strategic land mass in the Mediterranean.
After visiting the Citadel, we head off to the Stone Age temples just near my hotel. They’re crumbling stone ruins, but very clearly human-constructed. It’s fascinating how old they are, and I’m amazed again at the age of this island.
Each village we drive through has its own church and market square. Between the villages, there are goats and donkeys, terraced cropfields, and the creamy-white stone low boundary walls. Flowers. And always, the sea, dark blue and inviting.
When I had hoped, earlier, for an exotic location to visit, I’d been thinking Hawaii or the Caymans, something tropical. I hadn’t thought of a place like this. In fact, I couldn’t have imagined a place like this. But it is so, so beautiful.
As the bus pulls back into the bus lot in Victoria, which seems to be the Grand Central Station of Gozo’s transportation system, Alessio’s tall frame catches my eye immediately. It must catch Hanna’s as well, because she makes a beeline for him just off the bus. I see him speaking with her politely, but stepping back each time she moves closer.
I take my time. I arrange my windblown hair in a clip and add some lipstick. I make sure my black linen trousers are free of lint. I step off the bus trying not to hope for Alessio’s greeting.
But he gives it right away, calling my name and waving at me, then saying something brief to Hanna before walking away from her, toward me. Her face goes blank, then annoyed.
Me, he asks about my day. What I’d seen, what I thought, and what I might be in the mood to eat. “There is an Italian place here in Victoria-Rabat,” he says, “if you like that, or an English-style pub—”
“Maltese food,” I say firmly. “Delicious. Unless you’re tired of it.”
He smiles. “Never. Casa Vostro it is, then.”
Dr. Leo comes over to say hello, and I read that he is actually a little puzzled. “Alessio?”
“I am taking Ms. Gregory to dinner, Zijo,” Alessio says. He’s gone pink. “All very aboveboard.”
Leo says something in Maltese, and Alessio replies, his high cheekbones even pinker. Leo says a final thing, Alessio nods, and then Leo bids me good night. “Please let me know if you need anything,” he says pointedly to me, looking at his nephew. “You have my number on the conference documents. On the website as well.”
“Absolutely, Dr. Leo,” I tell him. He goes to speak with some of the other group members, and Alessio and I walk to a restaurant just off the main square.
Over Maltese pizza and fresh salad, then a tart with a filling of dates and chocolate, we talk.
He’s less observantly Catholic as he was growing up, he says, but still attends Mass regularly. “If I didn’t, Nunna would grab me by the ear and drag me there,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I just make sure she’s nowhere nearby when I go to confession.” He smiles at me, and I practically melt into a puddle then and there. “You?”
“Catholic as well,” I say. “And like you, less observant than my grandmother would prefer, but I still go.”
He tells me about growing up the second child and oldest son in his family; I talk about being an only child. He tells me about his company—what they do, where the office is in Victoria-Rabat, and why he insisted on its being formed in his home country. “Malta’s laws are very favorable for Blockchain, and it is easy here. Then, too, we lack infrastructure especially on Gozo,” he says, “and I don’t want to see all the new additions being for tourists. The people who live here need to have enough jobs to sustain the economy.”
“Of course.”
We talk more.
We talk a little longer, over coffee and little cookies. The cafe owners shoo us out when the parade starts. We watch it; it’s the same as last night, as far as I can tell, but still exciting. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much.
Or ended a date with my underwear this damp, just from talking.
As the crowds begin to thin out, Alessio suggests that he take me back to my hotel.
I catch my breath. “Yes, please.”
He takes my hand to lead me back to his parked car, but I don’t move. It makes him turn back to me, and he must see in my eyes what I want him to see: that I want to kiss him. The pulse at the base of his throat is beating fast; he swallows. “Maren,” he says.
“Yes,” I say.
He kisses me.
Just at the touch of his lips to mine, my knees buckle. He laughs a little, slips his arms around my back, and pulls me to him. Someone wolf-whistles at us, but I don’t care. I kiss him back. I keep kissing him back. I become aware of his body, of a long rigid line of heat against my stomach, and that makes my knees weaker, my nipples tighter. It leads to a little gush of wetness to my underwear.
