An Italian Dream

FERN

Fern could have carried on talking to Matteo all night. Their lives were so completely different, yet there was a spark of something – a connection and a shared heartache woven through their different experiences. After polishing off a third cocktail each, they stumbled from the warmth of the bar into the fresh May evening. Contentment crept up on Fern as they walked through the streets of Anacapri, quiet once they had left behind the bars and cafes in the heart of the picturesque centre. An understanding dawned on her about how unhappy she was back home. A sham of a marriage; wasn’t that exactly what she was in? There was no real love any longer. Even if there had been love early on, it was tied up in duty and doing the right thing. Whenever she thought of Paul, she felt confused, annoyed and frustrated. And if she felt that way about him, considering everything that Amber had hinted at, what on earth did he think about her?

Matteo had talked about not focusing on the past; it was only the future and what you did next that really mattered. Fern knew she was at a crossroads. She also knew she couldn’t carry on the way she had been, feeling miserable and worthless, unsure about everything. She needed to take her future into her own hands and make decisions and changes that would be positive for her. She needed to be brave.

They’d remained quiet for most of the walk back. As they reached the retreat and Matteo closed the gate behind them, Fern wondered what he’d been thinking about. Surrounded by shadowy trees, she breathed in the sweet and heady scent of orange blossom.

‘What do you love most about this place?’ she asked as they wound their way along the solar-lit path towards the villa, which was half hidden from view by the holm oaks and olive trees.

‘So many things, but I love it here at night. It’s so peaceful when the guests are asleep and it feels as if I have the place to myself…’ He grinned. ‘To ourselves.’

He linked his arm in hers. She didn’t pull away. A few too many cocktails had allowed her to relax and let her guard down. Anyway, she thought, it’s a friendly gesture. And, considering how tipsy she felt, needed.

They started up the stone steps to the grand entrance, but in the dim light, she caught her foot on the edge of the stone and toppled into him. Matteo held her tightly as their laughter echoed into the night. He held a finger to his lips before gesturing upwards, which Fern took to mean to keep quiet and not wake the other guests.

Instead of going inside, he led her around the side of the villa and deeper into the garden. The sky was clear and moonlight slipped through the tree branches, sending a wash of silver across the paving. The only other light came from the blue LED pool lights illuminating the water.

‘Fancy a swim?’ Matteo asked.

‘What, now?’

He peeled off his T-shirt, grinned at her and dropped it over the back of a chair. Fern’s heart thudded. He definitely meant now.

He was taller and less stocky than Paul, with a smattering of dark hair on his toned chest. Fern suddenly realised that he was undoing his jeans. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she looked away. She breathed deeply and made a quick decision. Without giving it any more thought, she followed Matteo’s lead and pulled off her top. She was glad that she’d worn matching underwear. She felt reckless, out of her depth, but unable to say no. Not because she’d had a bit too much to drink, but because she didn’t want to. She had the sudden overwhelming feeling of not being tied down. Her inhibitions had been banished by alcohol and she felt liberated, a feeling reminiscent of her youth. It was refreshing and surprisingly welcome. She kicked off her sandals and slipped out of her skirt.

Fern gasped as she padded down the steps into the water. It was shockingly cool, even though the pool was heated. Matteo was already submerged, his grinning face watching her as the water came above her knees, then her waist until it reached just below her bra. The realisation that she was married, in a pool in her underwear with an extremely attractive Italian briefly crossed her mind, but she pushed the thought away and floated on her back, not caring if Matteo was watching. Maybe she liked the idea that he was looking.

She gazed up at the dusting of stars in the midnight blue sky. She had no idea of the time and didn’t care how late it was. Long gone were the days of the girls waking her up at six, and she was on holiday after all. What would Paul make of this? Fear twisted at her insides. She wanted to bury the feeling. She flipped on to her front and swam the length of the pool, trying to clear her mind of everything.

Amber’s words from the other day flashed into her head, for Fern to really think about how Paul treated her. Words that had played on her mind ever since.

‘You seem in a world of your own.’ Matteo swam alongside her.

Fern reached the edge of the pool. ‘Just thinking about something my daughter said. Actually, I’ve been trying hard not to think about it because it worries me and I’m fed up of being worried and that makes me even more worried.’

Matteo laughed. ‘You’re making no sense at all.’

‘I’m really not.’ She shook her head and grinned at him. ‘Bit hard to after the amount I’ve drunk tonight.’

They fell silent and rested their arms on the terracotta stone surrounding the pool, their legs bobbing out behind them. It was utterly peaceful even with the distant thrum of voices from somewhere beyond the trees. A moth fluttered around one of the solar lights and beyond the gentle splosh of water, there was just the rustling of insects in the undergrowth.

‘It’s been refreshing to do something different and share this place with someone.’ Matteo’s deep voice filled the silence. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve been out late in the evening here.’

‘Oh?’

‘My life revolves around the retreat here and in Tuscany for seven months of the year and, as I’ve said before, most guests are quite a bit older. Not that I begrudge that; their company is wonderful and I’m fascinated by their lives. Tonight was different though, thank you.’

Fern realised how close they were, their bare arms touching. It felt incredibly intimate being alone with him late at night. Matteo had talked earlier about how one decision could impact the rest of her life. This felt like a pivotal moment. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his gaze. She drank him in; the intensity of his eyes that looked dark in the blue glow of the pool, the shadow of stubble across his defined jaw, his full lips tantalisingly close to hers as he leaned closer.

‘I’m married,’ she said quietly, pushing back against the side of the pool. The intensity of the moment broke as water splashed between them.

‘I’m sorry.’ He slicked a hand through his wet hair and glided back on the water, increasing the distance between them. ‘I got carried away.’

‘No, I’m sorry. It’s been such a good evening, but I… er…’

‘You don’t have to apologise; I know you’re married.’ He faltered and swam back over to her. He brushed a stray hair from her cheek. ‘It’s just you said you don’t think he’s been faithful to you…’

‘That doesn’t justify me making the same mistake.’ Not that kissing you would be a mistake, her insides screamed. ‘It’s just that in the eyes of my parents, my family, my teachers, most of my friends, everyone really apart from Stella, they all believed I’d massively messed up my life when I got pregnant. When I married Paul, I vowed I wouldn’t mess that up too – I made a commitment, for better, for worse.’

A returning knot of worry tightened in her chest. What was she doing, living out a fantasy and being swept up in the beauty of the island and the feeling of freedom? She wasn’t free to flirt with a handsome man, at least not to the extent of giving him the impression there could be more.

Her feet found the bottom of the pool. It wasn’t too deep, the water only coming up to her bra line. She felt suddenly sober and acutely aware that she was just in a lacy bra and knickers.

Perhaps Matteo sensed her sudden discomfort. He heaved himself out of the pool, dripping water on to the stone.

‘I’ll get towels.’

Rivulets of water streamed down his arms and back. His white Calvin Kleins were soaked and clung to him. She was relieved he had his back to her, but even so, a warm tingling flooded through her. And she’d been worried about what Stella, Amber and Chloe might get up to on the yacht. She was no better. No, she was worse. She was married and foolish.