Page 107 of When Love Gives You Lemons
Points are made.
I kiss the balls of each cheek because how could I not? He’s too adorably cute.
“Maybe it’s time to head back,” I shout, laughing.
Ricky pulls his phone from his pocket.
I kiss him again and he looks dazed. “That. I need more of that.”
I slip out from under the blanket and move to the side of the gozzo, adjusting myself quickly, and Ricky follows suit. Except he’s fumbling with his belt buckle and trying to hold his phone at once while the blanket snakes around his legs.
“Let me—” I reach for him.
“Va tutto bene?” the captain calls out.
Ricky jumps in fear, his legs tangled in the fabric, hand still on his junk.
He slams into the low railing behind him, causing him to flip over his head and flop backward into the black water.
Chapter 22
Life Goes On . . .
And that is how Ricky DeLuca dies.
Chapter 22.5
Lost in the Undertow
Kidding! That was mean.
But that is how Ricky DeLuca became a mermaid! Bet you didn’t see that plot twist—this is now a full-blown fantasy! The plot ofLuca!
Also kidding.
Ricky is neither dead nor a mermaid. Although to be honest, as I race to the side of the gozzo, screaming his name like an absolute raving banshee lunatic in a sheer state of panic, I do have fleeting thoughts of him drowning, spliced with scenes fromTitanicof a frostbitten Jack clinging to that damn door as Rose just chilled (lol) there.
Normally, my brain would have led me down the road of,Of course this would happen to me. Typical backward Fielder Lemon. Falls back in love with a dead guy. How Queen Guisy of me. Like mother like son and all that.
Kudos to me for not going downthatslippery slope.
I’m about to hurl myself off the side because this is actuallyhow people end up on the news when he breaks through the surface, coughing and struggling with the blanket . . .while laughing!
Instantly, the captain dives in with a red lifesaver and swims it toward Ricky, who grabs hold. The caption dips below the surface and seemingly unravels the blanket from Ricky’s feet so that together, they paddle toward the back of the boat, talking in Italian.
Ricky hoists himself up and back into the boat.
Bathed in moonlight, his shirt clings to his toned chest, and I nearly faint. (Sorry, I can’t help it—if you could see Ricky right now, you’d swoon, too. Plus, there’s something hot about skirting death and emerging triumphantly.)
The blanket lands on the floor with a loudthwack, spraying me with water.
“Oh, I’m sorry, princess, do you not want to get wet?” Ricky holds his hands out like the creature from the black lagoon, dripping and hungry, and he jolts forward to chase me.
“Madonna mia, non più!” the captain shouts sternly. “Please, be safe!”
“Mi dispiace,” Ricky says before asking him in Italian to take us back to shore.
The captain nods, and I move out of Ricky’s way, but he grabs me and wraps his wet arms around me and kisses my entire face like a dog.
