body instead of letting her rock herself against him, it began to rain.
The rain was cold, little shocks against her too-hot skin, but Maya didn’t care.
He moved slowly, almost tenderly, though she knew better than to say something like that out loud. Or any of these things she kept thinking about this man whose last name she didn’t know. And hadn’t asked.
There was nothing but the sloshing of the water in the pool and their breathing. The patter of the rain against the stone buildings and, far off, bells ringing out the time.
And it was too much to hold his gaze like this, because she didn’t know what he could see in her. Maya didn’t feel simple at all. She felt split wide-open, naked and vulnerable, but she couldn’t seem to stop. She couldn’t look away.
She had no idea what it was that gripped her—and him—so that every sensation felt sacred.
No exorcism this time. Only the weight, the glory and the searing perfection of the way he fit inside her. The way their bodies moved together as if they’d been made to interlock just like this. The way she cried out as he came inside her, scalding her.
Changing her.
And better still, the way he said her name.
THE NEXT MORNING when her phone rang, Maya saw that it was her parents’ home phone number. And ignored it.
She felt guilty about it the second after she did it, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer it. She didn’t want to hear what else was happening back in Toronto. She didn’t want to explain—again—why she hadn’t chosen to stay there to drown in all the pity and embarrassment after her disaster of a wedding day. Not to mention the weather.
And to add to her newfound rebelliousness, she declined to check her email, too. For the first time in...as long as she could remember.
Work would have to get along without her.
That was such a scandalous, insane, brand-new thought that she laughed out loud, startling herself.
Thankfully, she was alone.
Charlie hadn’t snuck away in the night as she’d assumed he would. He’d woken her up, rolled her beneath him and made her scream. Ruinously. That had been when dawn was only just beginning to turn the sky outside pink. He’d flashed that easy grin at her while they both lay there, panting. And then she’d stayed right where she was, wondering if she’d ever fully recover from the things that man could do to her, while he’d sauntered off to her washroom.
She’d heard the shower go on, but she’d been too drowsy and dizzy to do much more than notice the sound of the water. She’d still been lying right where he’d left her, boneless and smiling, when he’d walked back out and pulled his clothes back on.
He’d stamped on his boots, run a careless hand through his hair and then fixed that bright gaze of his on hers. He hadn’t flashed his grin. He hadn’t drawled something to break the mood.
And Maya had felt her heart thump. Hard.
She knew better than to read anything into a moment. A look. She was being ridiculous and she’d told herself so, then and there. He might have spent a long afternoon and the longer night with her, but all they’d done was have sex and eat.
That wasn’t the kind of thing that led to goodbye kisses. Or should.
But she thought a kiss would have been a lot simpler than the moment that had stretched out between them, fraught and hot and shot through with layers of things she was afraid to name.
She’d been wide-awake when he’d left, without saying a word.
Maya had decided that it was unwise to lie about in that bed, reliving the things that had gone on there, all over the wide king-size mattress. Besides, there was no need to relive it when she could feel it in every inch of her body. When she stretched. When she breathed.
Every touch. Every thrust. His mouth and hands on every square inch of her body—
It had been enough to make her dizzy all over again.
She’d taken a shower, sorted out her hair, then had set off into the village.
She’d seen a flyer in the piazza a day or so before, heralding a yoga class at the only larger hotel that was open this time of year. She hurried down through the hotel’s stacked levels, then headed outside to make her way down the tiers of the garden and pool areas, letting herself out at the gate near the shed that now felt like theirs—another thing she knew better than to let herself think. It was a chilly morning with a faint bite in the air, though the sky was clear. But by the time she made it down all the many staircases it took to get to the piazza that was set roughly halfway down the cliffside, she was warm.
And proud of herself, too. Every day she got quicker. Less out of breath. As if all these stairs were changing her the more she ran up and down them.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t the stairs that were making her feel so different—electric and intense—inside her own skin.
She slipped into the yoga class just as it was starting, situating herself in the middle of the room and giving herself over to an easy, peaceful hour and a half of stretching. Breathing. Clearing her head and settling into her body.
Making it hers again.
When the class was done, she walked out, pleased to find the day a little bit warmer, especially when she moved from the shadows into the sun. She found herself espresso and a pastry from one of the cafés that stayed open year-round, and then she sat on the broad lip of a fountain. It was at the base of the wide stairs that led up to a pretty church with its bell tower, and Maya thought she could spend a lifetime gazing up at the ancient buildings surrounding the square. Pastel colors accented with iron balconies, all of it faintly weathered, reminding her of the sea in the distance and the long, hot, crowded summers that made the Amalfi coast famous.
Her pastry was flaky and sweet and gone too soon, and still she sat where she was, soaking in the sounds of feet on old stones. The sounds of Italian being spoken all around her. There were Christmas lights strung up that she needed to come back down and admire when it got dark.
The quiet did something to her. These hours with no stress, no phone calls, no messages. Day after day without the stress she’d always prided herself on managing so well. She’d never stopped to take the time and wonder who she’d be without all of those things. Without a to-do list that could stretch across the width of Canada. Without too much work to ever truly finish. Without a busy city heaving all around her, rush rush rushing just as she did.
But now that she’d stopped running, she couldn’t imagine starting up again.
Every time she had an encounter with Charlie, it got harder and harder to imagine going back home to Toronto. Whether to her own condo or some other one, assuming Ethan actually did as requested. Maya couldn’t imagine slipping back into her life.
Melinda seemed to think there would be some kind of operatic reckoning when she returned, but the more Maya considered it, the
