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“A year and a half ago. I think you already know that?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why did you move overseas?”
“Why not?”
He leaned forward a little. “If you don’t want to answer, just say so.”
“I thought I had.”
“Then what would you prefer to talk about?” He sipped his wine. “Where I grew up? But you already know that. You know far more about me than I do you, courtesy of my father.”
She couldn’t deny it. “He was very proud of you. He spoke of you often.”
Anastasios straightened, his body very still. “We agreed not to discuss him.”
But the words were tinged with regret, as though he wanted to hear her recollections, even when the circumstances bothered him.
“If that’s what you want.”
The silence that fell between them was prickly, punctuated only by the gentle hush of the waves against the boat’s edges. “Where are we?”
“Just out from the Ligurian coastline. See those lights over there?”
She followed the direction of his finger, trying not to be overly aware of the way the breeze rustled his hair. She made a noise of agreement, focusing on the twinkling city in the distance.
“That’s Genoa.”
“Italy?” She sighed softly. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Where, in particular?”
“Rome, of course.” She pulled a face. “Florence, Venice. The tourist hotspots.”
At his dubious expression, she bit back a genuine laugh. “I am a tourist,” she said with a shrug. “What do you expect from me?”
“I suppose it’s understandable. But Italy has so much to offer, so many places of beauty.”
“Where would you recommend, then?”
“Sicily. The food is second to none. Sun-drenched and bursting with flavour. The wines are excellent too—it is a shame you do not drink. In Sicily, you might find you make an exception. There is nothing nicer than sitting on a hill surrounded by vines, looking towards the sea as the sun sets.”
She was captivated by him, sitting on the edge of her seat now, the meal forgotten.
“Where else?”
“As macabre as it might sound, Pompeii. It is impossible to feel full of self-importance when you are surrounded by the eeriness of that place. Lives extinguished in the blink of an eye, the abject horror, the acts of love,” he shook his head, as if to catch himself on the romance of that thought. “The sacrifice,” he finished with a look of surprise. “Parents huddling their bodies over children—I suppose that’s a normal instinct, though, isn’t it? For a parent to protect a child?”
He was simply making an observation, but to Phoebe, who had no experience of this purported parental protection, the words were jarring. She squirmed a little uncomfortably in her seat.
“You’re right, it does sound macabre.”
“Still, worth seeing.” Something shifted, as though he was pushing aside the romanticism of his descriptions, and she didn’t want that. She liked hearing him talk about places, just not about parents and what they owed their children.
“Cinque Terre is also exquisite.”
“I’ve heard of it,” she murmured. “Five towns, high on cliffs?”
“That’s it,” he agreed with a nod, and she felt a zing of warmth as though she’d somehow earned his approval. Hating herself for being so childish, she took another bite of dinner, content to listen as he explained.
