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“Yes.”

I sighed. “I met Bob on my 35th birthday when I was having drinks with friends. We dated for three months and then he
was transferred to an office in Cincinnati. Eric was a couple of years later: we dated for about six weeks before he dumped me for a younger woman.”

“That
’s it?”

Oh, what the hell
.

“I had a one night stand with a reporter when I was on assignment in Mexico. That
’s it. Now you know my entire sexual history. Although I very much doubt you could be as succinct about yours.”

For a moment, he looked angry, then he gave a wry smile. “I deserve that.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back.

“Are you ok
ay?” he said, quietly.

I shook my head slowly. “Not really.”

He sighed. “I am sorry, Caro. I just get fucked up in the head sometimes.”

“You can
’t deal with it by lashing out at me. And
I
can’t deal with it if you keep blaming me for something I can’t change.”

He put his head in his hands. “Don
’t give up me, Caro.”

“Last night I thought
you’d
given up on
me
.”

A pained expression crossed his face.

“Can we start again, Caro? I promise I’ll try not to fuck up again.”

I took a deep breath.

“Sebastian, it’s not a case of ‘starting again’; it’s about working things through when we have a problem. Funny enough, it was you who taught me that, ten years ago: you made me face up to things. You can’t promise me you won’t fuck up, because you will. And I can’t promise you that I won’t fuck up, because I will. We can deal, and we can move on. Or, we can say it’s been an interesting few days, and go our separate ways.”

He reached over and
tentatively took my hand.

“I want to go
on. With you.”

I wasn
’t even sure why I was agreeing to this. My head was screaming for me to get out now, but my heart had gone in another direction entirely.

I nodded my agreement. “Ok
ay, then. Let’s try.”

“And I promise not to sleep with your best friend, especially if it
’s that scary British woman I saw you with in Geneva.”

I could see he was trying to lighten the mood, but I wasn
’t quite ready to joke about it.

“Sorry,” he said, quietly. “Another foot-in-mouth moment.”

I tried to smile, but I probably just grimaced at him.

I pull
ed my hand free, and sat back to sip my lukewarm espresso.

He picked up some of the pieces of his eviscerated roll and chewed solemnly.

“Did they say anything about last night? The people at the villa?”

“Not really. They were mostly embarrassed. I think we
’ve managed to ruin it for any other Americans who might want to stay there. But the old lady told me that you’d be back.”

Sebastian looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yes, and I’m pretty certain it was me not you she was applauding last night. She probably thought I should get a medal for putting up with you.”

“Yeah,” said Sebastian, smiling softly, “a Purple Heart.”

“Wounded in action?”

His smile slipped away. “I
’m really sorry about what I said.”

“We
’re moving on, remember? But, for the record, apology accepted.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and ate some of his roll, more for a distraction than anything else, I guessed.

“I got drunk and fell asleep on the beach,” he muttered. “In case you were wondering.”

His voice was so quiet, I could hardly hear him.

“Well, thank you for telling me.”

“I panicked when I woke up: I thought you might have gone. And then I saw you walking along the road. At first I was relieved but then… I just thought you
’d walked out on me. That’s why I was…”

“…such an ass?”

His smile was rueful.

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Well, like I said, thank you for telling me. Now, what’s the big plan for today?”

He smiled his first, genuine, relieved smile of the day.

“I thought we could go to Pisa: take a look at that big, old leaning tower. It’s about two hours away.”

“Sure, that sounds fun.”

I’d always found it hard to fake enthusiasm: something my ex-husband had pointed out on numerous occasions. But I was trying. For Sebastian’s sake: for our sake.

He finished his breakfast, threw some Euros on the table and stood up to go. He held his hand out to me a
nd, a little awkwardly, I took it.

His hand was warm and dry, the skin across the t
op, soft, while the palms were slightly rough, as if he’d done some manual labor recently. I hadn’t noticed that before. I wondered why I did now.

When we got to the bike, he fiddled with the zipper on his jacket.

“I really want to kiss you,” he said, gazing at me, a mixture of anxiety and need etched on his face.

I hesitated
, and it was just long enough to see his expression change to hurt.

“Ok
ay,” I said, quietly.

He rested his hands lightly on my waist and I raised my face to his. He touched his lips to mine and I felt the familiar tug of desire. I pulled back quickly.

“Caro…”

“Just hold me, Sebastian. Just hold me.”

I laid both my hands on his chest and leaned my cheek against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly.

“I
’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry,” and I felt him kiss my hair several times.

Eventually, he let me go and I gave him a brief smile.

“We’ll get there,” I said, quietly.

Whether I was reassuring Sebastian or myself, I
didn’t know.

Chapter 7

If I hadn’t known that Pisa was a university town before, I knew it as soon as we drove along the main thoroughfare. The streets were packed with twenty-somethings, all casual-chic in that way foreign students do so well. By comparison, I felt scruffy, dusty and well-traveled. Being dog-tired didn’t help either. I was looking forward to finding accommodation where I could have a long, hot shower and sleep in a quiet, comfortable bed – alone.

It was clear
that we’d arrived during some sort of festival, because music blared from every café and ristorante, competing with the street entertainers and musicians who seemed to be performing on every street corner.

Sebastian
carefully steered his bike into the corner of an overwhelmed municipal parking lot, surrounded by battered Fiats and old Renaults. I was a little nervous about leaving my laptop, but at least I had all my notes stored on a flash drive in my wallet, if worst came to worst.

“Are you taking your camera?” Sebastian asked me.

“Might as well. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to sell a travelogue of biking through Italy.”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “It
’s got to beat reporting from shitty military camps in fucked up countries.”

I shrugged, not feeling in the mood to explain my obsession. Sebastian caught the hint and wisely let the subject drop.

The famous leaning tower was only one of a number of architectural marvels. The central plaza, the Piazza del Duomo, was also home to the beautiful Romanesque cathedral and the 900 year old Battistero or Baptistry.

It was a st
range feeling, wandering among such antiquity while surrounded by irreverent youth, one of whom kept trying to hold my hand. I was glad that I had my camera as a chaperone. I didn’t feel ready for the level of intimacy Sebastian clearly felt was needed. It was hard to explain to myself: I’d said I’d try, but I felt on edge being near him, as if I was waiting for him to explode again. Our earlier, relaxed mood was going to take some effort to achieve. Instead, I felt tense and ill at ease.

After an hour of wandering,
I could tell he was beginning to get bored just ogling old buildings, although he did his best to hide it, which I appreciated. I recognized that he preferred action to introspection, but right now I needed to let my mind rest on the centuries’ old mysteries I saw all around me. I found it soothing and I couldn’t help wondering if my father had ever visited Pisa. There was no particular reason why he should have, but still, he might. I liked to imagine that he wandered around here as a young man before deciding to try his luck in the New World. After all, in the sixties, he’d have heard the siren call of Janis Joplin, Bob Dylan and Woodstock. By comparison, Italy would have seemed dull and dreary, dragged down by postwar depression.

“A penny for your thoughts,” said Sebastian,
quietly interrupting my musings.

“I was just thinking about Papa: wondering if he ever came here.”

Sebastian’s eyes lit up and he smiled.

“I really loved your dad, Caro. I was kinda jealous of you when I was a kid – I wanted so badly to have a dad like him, not the sack of shit I was saddled with.”

He scowled at the memory.

“Do you… keep up with your parents at all?”

He shook his head.

“Last time I saw the old bastard was at my
graduation from boot camp.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised, “that was… nice of him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? He only did it because he knew it would piss me off to have to salute him.”

“Oh, right. What about Estelle?”

He shrugged. “She’s still in San Diego. Ches sees her around now and again. He banned her from the country club – drinking.”

He raised his eyebrows as he looked at me. I didn
’t say anything, but I hoped he was aware of the parallels in their behavior. Of course, being in the military didn’t make for many teetotalers.

“They got divorced a few years back. Dad shacked up with some tart. I don
’t really know. What about your mom? Do you see her?”