The Education of Sebastian (39 page)

When I’d still lived in North Carolina, some friends and I had had a rather drunken evening and we’d all had to choose which three things we’d save in a house fire. One woman that I didn’t know very well said, and I remembered this clearly, “My dog, my handbag and my wedding album”. “What about your husband?” we’d asked, laughing. “He can get his own damn self out,” she’d replied.

I had one other job to do before I left the house: I scoured the rooms-to-rent websites and made a shortlist of five places to check out. I didn’t much care what the room was like so long as it was cheap and reasonably clean. It wasn’t going to be for long.

Despite my lack of sleep, I was filled with a nervous, restless energy. I’d made my decision and now I was ready to get on with my life. The last month had raced by, but the next few days seemed destined to drag.

I headed back up to the bathroom and gritted my teeth through a tepid shower that stung my too sensitive skin. All the burn marks were ugly but only my foot really bothered me. I dug in the closet and eventually located a pair of long, loose pants and found some old sneakers that were bearable once I’d made a gauze pad to cover the large blister. Not my most elegant look but hell, Sebastian wouldn’t care. And that was all that mattered.

He was waiting for me, of course, and just seeing him made my day a little brighter.

“How are you?” he said again, peering anxiously at my face.

“I’m… surprisingly good,” I said honestly.

He smiled that beautiful smile and I saw his shoulders relax.

“How are you?” I grinned back at him. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, starving!”

“Did you skip breakfast again?” I admonished.

His smile died. “Yeah, I guess.”

“What is it?”

He shrugged. “No food in the house.”

I felt so bad for him, knowing I’d sent him away hungry. “Is… is it usually like that?”

He carried on staring out of the window. “I guess. Although it’s gotten worse lately. All they do is fight. I don’t know why they stay together – it damn well isn’t for me. Probably to protect their reputations – as if that were even possible. God, I can’t wait to get out of there.”

I reached over and gently squeezed his thigh. He looked down and a moment later carefully twined his fingers through mine.

“I thought we could go to our coffee shop,” I said softly.

He was still gazing at our joined hands, when he replied.

“Yeah, that would be good.”

“I’ll spring for breakfast,” I said, hoping to make him smile. “I saw on their menu that they do fresh zeppole and three different crostata.”

“Only three?” he said, his lips lifting upwards at last.

“Hmm, well! I think a taste test might be in order.”

The Benzinos welcomed us back with open arms, berating us vociferously for having stayed away so long. I made the mistake of mentioning that Sebastian had skipped breakfast and the little old nonna scolded him for five minutes solidly, rattling off her rebukes in quick-fire Italian while Sebastian wilted under her stern gaze – then she turned her attention to me, wagging her finger and telling me I was a bad wife for not feeding my man. I agreed with every word. If only she’d known.

Almost every item on the menu was soon delivered to our table and I couldn’t help smiling as Sebastian’s eyes bugged out at the vast quantity of food. But then I remembered the reason he was always so hungry, and my smile faded.

He ate everything in sight with the exception of one crostata that he insisted I have for myself.

“Oh wow, that was amazing!” he said, replete at last. “I’m going to get so fat when we go to Italy.”

“If you carry on eating like this you’ll be enormous long before we make it to Italy,” I laughed at him. “There’s nothing on the menu here that I can’t make.”

“You’re kidding? Wow, really? Jeez, I knew there was a reason I loved you!”

And he leaned forward to kiss me.

The little nonna clapped her hands together with feeling, then darted over and peppered me with questions, her quick, squirrel-brown eyes darting between us. I shook my head, more than a little embarrassed. She sighed heavily, pointed at her watch and shot off to serve some newly arrived customers, still shaking her head.

“Was that about what I think it was about?” said Sebastian, raising his eyebrows.

“How much did you pick up?” I asked, curious to know how good his Italian was getting – as well as avoiding answering the question.

“Something about babies and the time?”

“Well, yes,” I agreed, feeling flustered. “She wanted to know when we were going to start a family.” I tried to smile. “She was pointing out that time waits for no woman.”

He lifted my hand from the table and frowned as he stared at my wedding ring. “I’ll do whatever makes you happy, Caro. I reckon I could handle the idea of a couple of bambinos running around. We’d make a helluva better job of it than my folks, that’s for sure.”

I tried to smile but I didn’t want to dare let myself think that far ahead. What was the point? He was far too young to be talking like this. And when he
was
old enough…

The conversation was making me feel despondent so I thought quickly how to change it.

“What time are you working today?”

“Not till 4
PM
,” he said, smiling again. “What would you like to do?”

“Not much,” I admitted.

“Do you want to go to our beach?”

My smile faded. “I don’t think that would be a good idea – I don’t want to get my feet wet or sand in my blister.” My words stalled, seeing the venomous look on his face.

He made a visible effort and reined in his rising temper.

“Maybe we could check out some of these rooms to rent that that you’ve seen advertised?”

“No, that’s okay, thanks. I’ll do that this afternoon while you’re working.”

He thought for a moment.

“There’s a jazz band playing down in the Gaslamp Quarter today. We could go listen if you like?”

“Jazz again!” I teased. “And here was me thinking you were devoted to opera.”

“I like both,” he said, looking a little sheepish.

I smiled at him. “Me, too.”

He stood up, stretching his tall frame and held out his hands to pull me up.

We hid some bills under our plates and tried to sneak away before the Benzinos saw us but the nonna must have had her eagle eyes trained our way because she sent her son darting after us with the money, remonstrating about our underhand trick and reminding us that family didn’t pay. Then he kissed us both, thrust the notes into Sebastian’s hands and hurried back to his business. How they ever made any profit was beyond me.

We wandered through the Gaslamp Quarter, admiring the Victorian architecture and old world charm, enjoying the sun and warm air, people-watching and relaxing in a way that was new and rather wonderful to me.

We heard the sounds of jazz filling the summer morning long before we saw the band. Strolling out of an alleyway into a large plaza, I could see that one side had been converted into a mini stage where the musicians performed, decked out in black jeans and T-shirts, and wearing dark sunglasses; presumably to show that they were jazzmen, if the music didn’t already prove it. They looked young enough to be students and were playing a sort of hyped up version of Dixieland jazz mixed in with a more modern, fusion sound and some Latin rhythms. A couple of girls in their late teens were already dancing, losing themselves in the music. Soon other people were joining them and the crowd steadily grew.

We didn’t want to waste any money by sitting at one of the café tables that ringed the plaza, so we joined a group sprawled out on the pavement. Sebastian gallantly pulled off his sweatshirt so I wouldn’t have to sit on the floor.

He did these things so naturally, with no fuss or embellishment that my heart expanded with delight and pain each time. Sebastian always put me first. I wasn’t used to that.

We sat shoulder to shoulder and he casually draped his arm around me, turning every now and then to kiss my hair. I wished the moment could last forever.

I couldn’t help noticing that his feet and hands moved constantly with the music, keeping up a contrapuntal rhythm, his fingers drumming on my arm.

“Have you ever learned a musical instrument?” I wondered.

He smiled. “No, but I always wanted to play guitar.”

“We should get you one when we get to New York. Not electric, though, please! An acoustic guitar.”

“I thought you were a rock chick at heart. Which reminds me – I still have to go beat up Anthony Kiedis!” He paused. “Did you ever learn to play anything?”

“Not really. I had piano lessons when I was eight. I hated them. Mom wanted me to do it but I begged papa to stop the torture and he did.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Will you tell your mom…?” His words trailed off.

“When I leave David? Yes, I suppose so. Eventually.”

He held my hand tightly and kissed my fingers. “At least you had your dad: that’s one more good parent than I had.” He considered for a moment. “But I’ve got Shirley and Mitch: they’ve been more like parents to me than my mom and dad. I hate not being able to tell them about you.”

He frowned and I stroked his arm, trying to soothe away the hurt; or, if that were impossible, to show that I understood.

“I know: I hate it, too. But when this is all over, if… if they forgive me, maybe we can…”

He lifted my chin with his fingers to make me look into his eyes.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, his voice forceful. “We fell in love: it’s not a crime.”

But I still felt like a criminal. Sometimes.

He kissed me on the lips, trying to lighten our suddenly bleak mood.

“Come on,” he said, pulling me to my feet. “Let’s dance!”

“What? You can’t dance, can you?”

“Oh, yeah? Is that what you think? Let me show you, baby!”

And he could, he really could!

He placed my arms around his neck, wrapped his around my waist and forced his right leg between mine so we were joined at the groin. If it hadn’t been for the fact we were practically welded together, I would have fallen over from shock. No one had
ever
danced with me like this before. It was so good I was sure it must be illegal. In fact the way he wove our bodies together I was quite certain it would have been banned in several states.

David’s idea of dancing was to sway slowly, usually to a different tune from the one that was being played, and circle carefully on the spot. The only other man I’d danced with had been papa – and that had been a waltz. I hadn’t even gone to my high school prom : I was already dating David so I hadn’t seen the point.

But this! This was more like sex to music but without the messy sheets. And in public.

He ground himself against me, our bodies undulating with the music. Then he spun me around and pulled me tightly against him again. I caught glimpses of envious faces of other women as we moved. Then his hands slid down to my ass and he pushed my hips into him, fingers splayed out over my buttocks.

When the tune finished I was red-faced and hyperventilating and so damn aroused! He grinned at me wickedly, knowing exactly what he’d done. He dipped me almost to the floor, then swept me up and kissed me hard.

The watching crowd gave us an ironic cheer and several yelled at us to get a room. It was the best suggestion I’d heard all day. Instead, Sebastian saluted the amused audience and grabbed my hand, towing me in the direction of the car.

“Where… where did you learn to do that?” I gasped.

“Shirley and Mitch,” he said, walking so fast I had to trot to keep up.

“You’re kidding me!”

“Nope! Base salsa champions, four years running.”

He pulled me down the street, a determined look on his face. When we got to the parking lot, I saw his eyes scanning the rows of parked cars until he found my Ford. I tried to fish my keys out of my purse but he was walking so quickly, it was hard to keep up and do anything else.

When we got to the car, he slammed my back against the door, his hands in my hair, his teeth on my throat .

“I want you so bad,” he breathed into my skin.

“Empty lot.”

“What?”

“That empty lot – you remember.”

“Fuck, yes!”

With shaking hands, I climbed into the driver’s side and fiddled with my seatbelt. Sebastian reached across me and snapped it into place, letting his fingers drift across my stomach as he did so; his heated expression made my mouth dry up.

I don’t know how I drove without having an accident: my whole body was on fire for him. Sebastian leaned back in the passenger seat, his eyes closed. He looked calm, but his too rapid breathing gave him away.

I swung into the weed-covered space of the empty lot, slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. I’d only just managed to take off my seatbelt before Sebastian was unzipping his pants and showing me just how much he wanted me. I was so turned on seeing his need. I crawled onto his lap and thanked my lucky stars I’d chosen to wear loose pants with an elasticized waistband. I pushed them over my hips, ignored the pain from my sore skin and sank down on to him.

There was no finesse, no gentle touches: it was hard and raw and urgent. Sebastian grabbed my hips, pumping me up and down even faster. His eyes were tightly closed and his head was buried in my chest, every muscle rigid. He came hard, shuddering into me. I whimpered as my body exploded from the inside out and, without meaning to, I bit down on his neck.

His arms tightened around me and we sat there, trying to adjust our shattered breathing.

Finally, the pain from my sore skin broke through the post-orgasmic miasma and I shifted awkwardly back to the driver’s side.

I glanced over to see Sebastian zipping up his pants, a huge grin on his face.

“We should name this empty lot,” he said.

“Like what? ‘Emergency Room’?”

“Yeah!” he laughed out loud. “I hope they never build on it.”

“Maybe they’ll build one of those Japanese Love Hotels and put a plaque on the wall in our memory.”

“What’s a Love Hotel?”

“Places where courting couples can go for some privacy. You can pay by the hour.”