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I shook my head. “No, we
’re not in touch. I know she’s living in a retirement home in Florida, but that’s all.”

“Why aren
’t you in touch? She couldn’t have been as bad as my mom.”

“Don
’t be too sure about that.”

He hesitated
, but I could tell he was curious. “What did she do?”

“Sh
e didn’t do anything, Sebastian. That’s the point. When I… when I left David, she told me I’d ‘made my bed so now I could lie in it’. She didn’t want anything to do with me. Wouldn’t lend me a red cent to help out when I went to New York. She wouldn’t even send me any photographs of Papa. I only have a couple of old pictures of him.”

Sebastian tried to pull me in for a hug, but I resisted him without even being aware of it. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Do you see anything of him… David?”

“No. We had to correspond over the divorce papers, but that
’s all. I believe he stayed in the Navy. You said you tried to see him… when was that?”

Sebastian frowned and stared off into the distance.

“About four months after you’d left. It was killing me not knowing how you were, or where you were, or how to get in touch with you. Dad had already trashed my computer and deleted all my email accounts before I went to live with Mitch and Shirley. I didn’t even think the bastard knew how to do that stuff. Took my cell off me and smashed that, too. Anyway, I was getting pretty desperate, so I went to your old house – but it was a waste of time. The asshole yelled at me that I’d ruined his marriage; I told him he didn’t deserve you and was a bastard for the way he’d treated you. He threatened to call the police. That was it.”

I sighed.

“You don’t feel sorry for him do you, Caro?” said Sebastian, angrily.

“A little. He just married the wrong woman, but he wasn
’t a bad man.”

I could tell from Sebastian
’s expression that he disagreed strongly.

“But you didn
’t ruin my marriage: David and I managed to do that all by ourselves. You… freed me.”

His angry expression dissolved
, and his eyes gazed at me with wonder.

“Please let me hold you, Caro. It
’s driving me crazy that you won’t let me touch you.”

He reached out, but I stepped away from him.

“Just… just give me some time, Sebastian. I don’t deal with rejection well.”

“Is that how you see it? That I rejected you.”

I stared at him. “Of course. There’s no other way to see it.”

He ran his hands over his hair in frustration.

“Fuck, Caro! Last night was about my shit, not about you. Don’t you see that?”

“No, I don
’t. Not really. But I don’t want to go over that again. I’m trying to put it behind us… I just need time.”

He sighed and his shoulders sagged slightly. “Ok
ay.”

There was an awkward silence, but I
’d learned that there were two ways to guarantee Sebastian’s good humor – and sex was off the menu.

“Do you want to go find somewhere to eat?”

He gave a small smile.

“Yeah, I was hoping you
’d say that. Do you feel like Italian?”

“Oh, very funny. You should be on
‘Saturday Night Live’.”

We wandered through the crowded streets,
trying to enjoy the party atmosphere. I began to relax – a little.

“What about that place over there because…?”

Suddenly, I was shoved from behind and I nearly lost my balance. Sebastian caught my elbow but my camera strap had been tugged off my shoulder.

“My camera!”

I pointed at the fleeing figure but Sebastian was already off the blocks and running. The would-be thief got perhaps a hundred yards down the road before Sebastian tackled him, knocking him to the ground.

By the time I got there, the man had blood pouring down his face from where Sebastian had punched him: more than once, by the look of him.

“Sebastian, no!” I gasped, as I ran up behind him.

At the sound of my voice, he uncurled his fist and stood up, handing my camera back to me. An angry crowd had started to gather, and without knowing what had happened, their sympathies
were with the bleeding man.

“We
’d better get out of here,” Sebastian muttered.

“What about the pol
ice?” I gasped, my eyes mesmerized by the blood fountaining from the man’s nose.

“Fuck them!” he snorted, and grabbed my hand, towing me through the ring of people who were watching the show with grim fascination.
There were a few angry voices aimed at our backs, but no one tried to stop us.

Sebastian
darted down a side-alley, pulling me after him and a moment later, we emerged into a wide piazza. I began to breathe normally again, but I was feeling shaky. I knew it was a combination of an adrenaline rush on top of an empty stomach.

“Are you ok
ay, Caro?”

“I
’m fine,” I lied, weakly.

He didn
’t look convinced.

“Come on,” said Sebastian. “You should eat something.”

I nodded, and didn’t argue when he led us into a small café that looked like a fifties diner, with high stools ranged along a Formica bar.

“Thank you for saving my camera,” I said, quietly.

Sebastian looked surprised, then pleased. “I was waiting for you to chew me out for hitting that guy.”

“Well, I
’m glad you stopped punching him when you did, obviously, but I’m very fond of my camera. I worked hard to afford to buy it. Thanks, Chief.”

“You never cease to amaze me, Caro,” he said, shaking his head.

I didn’t know what he meant, but right there and then, I didn’t really care either. I reached over and took his hand. “How are your knuckles?”

He chuc
kled quietly. “Much better now,” he said, running his thumb over the back of my hand.

The
waitress sauntered over to take our order and I could see her taking a keen interest in Sebastian. He saw the direction of my gaze and smirked at me.

“Not my type,
” he whispered.

“I
’m glad to hear it. She’s not mine, either.”

For just a moment, Sebastian was caught off balance, then he smiled wickedly at me.

“Not interested in three-ways?”

“I don
’t know,” I replied, casually. “Do you have friends in the Marines who are as cute as you?”

He frowned. “No. I don
’t.”

I laughed. I
’d finally won a round of verbal teasing. Things were looking up.

Over dinner, we began to talk naturally with each other
again. Sebastian told me more about his life in the Marines and the work that he did – although I sensed there were things he couldn’t tell me, as well.

He asked me about my
assignments, and more about Liz and Marc; when and how I’d met them. And I told him about my little bungalow in Long Beach, and about Jenna, Alice and Nicole, and how they’d been among the first people I’d met when I’d arrived in New York.

I was relieved to see that
he stuck to just the one bottle of beer, which also helped me to relax. I was putting off the moment when I’d have to tell him how much he scared me when he’d been drinking. But not now.

I stifled a yawn.

“Are you tired, Caro?”

“Yes, definitely ready to head for bed,
Sebastian. To sleep.”

He smiled
, but didn’t comment.

“Ok
ay, let’s see what we can find. There were a couple of streets I saw online that are mostly pensiones. Should we try one of those?”

I liked the idea of staying in one of those small hotels: they were usually family run and, although modest, friendly and fun
, too.

“Sounds good.”

Sebastian paid for the meal, waving away my suggestions that we take turns to pay, or split the bill. I was too tired to argue, but added it to my mental list of ‘things to talk about’. It was quite a long list.

There was, however, a tricky subject that I wanted to bring up, and I didn
’t know how he was going to react.

“Sebastian, don
’t get mad at me, and don’t read too much into this…”

His expression was already worried as I plowed on.

“…but I’d really like to have separate rooms tonight. Just…”

My voice trailed off as a kaleidoscope of emotions flitted across his face. The predominant emotion seemed to be hurt, but there was anger and frustration mixed in there, too.

My body tensed, a primal fight or flight reaction, but he nodded his head slowly.

“Whatever you need, Caro.”

I let out a long, relieved sigh.

“Thank you.”

But our relaxed banter had, predictably, vanished, and we walked in silence.

“T
his is the street,” he muttered, pointing towards a long line of narrow townhouses.

The first two pensiones were fully booked and the third could only offer a single room.
It wasn’t looking too good.

“We could try going more up
scale,” said Sebastian, obviously irritated, although whether that was with me or the accommodation, I couldn’t tell.

“We
ll, we have to walk along this street to get back to the main hotel area, so we may as well try a few more on the way,” I suggested.

“Yeah, ok
ay.”

At the fifth pensione, we struck
gold. Sort of.

“I
’m sorry, signora,” said the owner, a stout lady of about sixty. “I have one room with two single beds, but that’s all. It’s the Festival, you see,” she said, gesturing helplessly. “You’re lucky – I had a cancellation.”

I could see out of the corner of my eye that Sebastian was willing me to take it. I turned to look at him.