MULTIPLE ORGASMS IN MADRID
We flewto Madrid shortly after docking back into Catania. Truthfully, things were a little tense between me and the mysterious Lorenzo Capetti. He hasn’t gotten off the phone for longer than ten minutes since we landed. I stand on the hot concrete of El Retiro Park for the past fifteen minutes waiting for him to finish his phone call. My white shorts sticking to my ass cheeks from the humid temperatures. For some reason Lorenzo seems tolerant to the sun as he paces back and forth in front of me in black suit pants and a tight black polo shirt, tightened around his biceps with each motion of his hands. His sunglasses hung from inside the collar of his shirt. My phone dings notifying me of a text. I take my phone out of my shorts pocket, my eyes never leaving the man in front of me. I see “Finn” and instantly turn away from him. I open my phone to see the man who’s face I dreamed of every night, since I left. He was in his bartending uniform, his fingers on the strings of his guitar.
FINN: I miss you.
ME: I miss you.
FINN: Any news of your family?
ME: I am getting closer every day to finding out what truly happened.
FINN: Stay safe, goddess.
ME: Always.
FINN: Come to Dublin afterwards. I am in dire need of your sweet taste.
ME: I need you.
FINN: I’m here for you always.
ME: I can’t stop thinking about you.
FINN: I haven’t stopped thinking of you since you left. I have never felt this way about anyone. I need you like the air I need to breathe.
A hand wraps around my waist gently causing me to put my phone back into my pocket before replying back to him. His fingers entangle with mine, gripping them possessively.
“Sorry about that, princessa,” Enzo says.
My lips turned upward slightly into a soft and unconvincing smile. I couldn’t put into words Lorenzo’s behavior after Sicily. I didn’t feel in danger from him, but I knew that he was hiding something from me.
“It’s fine,” I whisper.
“Did you tell your father you landed safely?”
“Yes, he was waiting on pins and needles,” I say, my shoulders raising upwards fitly.
I don’t know why I lied. I don’t know why I couldn’t tell him I was talking to Finn. maybe I was scared he would tell me I couldn’t talk to him anymore. Maybe I’m scared of having to make that choice. My feelings for both of these men as strong as I could fathom.
“Let’s go,” directing his head in the direction ahead of us towards the green foliage of a garden.
We walked through the expansive gardens of El Retiro Park. His hand gripped mine tightly. His pinky finger teasing the skin of my palm. Still having the effect on me to make my thoughts cease with just one touch. The pink and white roses covered trellis walkway was my idea of what heaven looks like. It was beautiful. We walked for hours around the park. Taking in the sights of the butterfly garden and walking amongst the turtles who called the Cristal Greenhouse it’s home. We ended the sightseeing trip at the small moss green lake of the park in a rowboat. We sat there for hours. The afternoon sun bearing down atop of us. Thankfully covered from its harsh rays with a large umbrella. He rowed with two small paddles around the lake, slowly. As if he was on autopilot. Ducks, swans, and geese float along the water beside our navy-blue rowboat. An awkwardness encapsulated us. Hesitant to speak of the conversation we had on the yacht.
“There is something I need to talk to you about, tell you about rather,” he says, a deep sigh escaping from his lips.
Closing my eyes and lifting my eyes up to meet his gaze under my thick eyelashes, “Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you? Why haven’t we talked since that night?” I ask, taking a deep breath of the sweet and spicy aroma of various roses carried from a swift wind.
“Princessa,” Enzo groans.
“Don’t princessa, Amelia, baby, amore, me. What is going on with you?” I ask, my voice and firm gaze matching my feelings of displeasure with him.
“Just my brain getting ahead of me,” he says, his voice quiet and posture faintly sad and unconfident.
“Is it because I am planning to go to Verona this week without you?” I ask, my fingers grazing across his knuckles.
“No, I know how much Romeo and Juliet means to you, amore,” he says.
“Something is wrong. You are a bad liar,” my eyes baring pointedly at him with my eyebrow raised.
“You would be surprised,” he scoffs, his words lost under his breath.
“Enzo,” I warn.
“We should go, we have an appointment,” he says, rowing firmer against the water to get the boat to shore.
“An appointment for what?” I ask.
My words fall on deaf ears. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t glance in my direction. He is pushing me away and I don’t understand why.
He isn’t the same man I was starting to fall for. Or is this real Lorenzo and what I saw before is what he wanted me to see?
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