Page 57 of My Dark Fairy Tale
We both looked down at the wine- and cum-stained garment and burst into laughter simultaneously.
Chapter Twelve
Raffa
“Absolutely not.”
“Raffa!”
“At what point in our acquaintance have I given the impression that I can be moved once I make a decision? I am an immovable force, Guinevere, unlessIam the one deciding to move.”
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I spent most of the day thinking you were so dreamy,” she scoffed, crossing her arms in an approximation of a pose she’d adopted from me.
It was not nearly as effective, given she was five foot nothing and looked like a woodland sprite, but it was endearing nonetheless.
“Dreamy?” I asked, letting my amusement leak into my tone.
She sighed dramatically. “Yes, Raffaele, Ithoughtyou were dreamy. I’ve since reconsidered my position because you are being very annoying and stubborn.”
“I preferobstinate. It is one of my favorite English words,” I offered helpfully.
Her response was an exasperated groan. “Is that the secret to being a successful businessman in Italy? Annoying your subordinates into obeying your orders?”
“First, Guinevere, you arenotmy subordinate. I make a point of avoiding entanglements with employees.” Not to mention that most of the women I worked with were terrifying in their own right and married or related to me. “Second, for future reference, pouting is not the way to sway me. Though you do lookmolto carinawhen you do it.”
“You’re mocking me now,” she declared. “Wow. And I thought I was supposed to be the younger one here.”
“Trust me, you are.”
There was a moment of quivering silence before we both laughed. I hadn’t felt so at ease and happy in years, but the reason for my contentment wasn’t something I was going to worry about now. I was still riding the high of making Guinevere come on my tongue twice and the sight of her pinned beneath me, asking me to paint her in my cum. Even though we were arguing, the atmosphere in the car was warm and intimate, our own little universe traveling seventy miles per hour under a clear summer sky.
There was something about being with her that insulated me from the normal demands of reality. Something stronger than a bubble, something with resiliency, because it made both of us feel safe to let our guards down. A snow globe of some idyllic fantasy world I never wanted to leave.
Our silence was undercut by the humming purr of the Bugatti as I drove us through the dark streets of Toscana after dinner at Fattoria Casa Luna. Imelda had asked no questions when I texted her to bring me a spare change of women’s clothes, and she had even managed to keep a straight face when Guinevere emerged from the cellar wearing an oversized green T-shirt with the logo of the vineyard embossed on it in gold and a long tan linen skirt she had to roll three times at the waist so she did not trip over it.
Imelda was a good friend.
The winery was closed to tourists on Sundays, so she had invited us to have dinner together with her husband, Mario, on the patio. Their chef was almost as good as Servio, and I had the good fortune to watchGuinevere try boar sauce for the first time, the way she smiled around her fork and hummed a random tune that spoke to her simple joy in the food.
It was a good day.
Maybe the best I’d had since I was too young a boy to know the evils of my world, playing games likebocce,morra, andmosca ciecawith my sisters in the olive grove beside the barn.
There was an ache in my chest when I thought about taking Guinevere to Villa Romano, to the setting of those happy days. How she might bring them back to life for me after my father had tainted that place for most of my adulthood.
“Can I please explain why I think it’s important that I go back to the apartment behind Fortezza da Basso?” Guinevere asked softly, turning in the seat to face me. Her hands were twisted loosely in her lap, but her thumb rubbed back and forth over the opposite knuckles almost frenetically, like she was nervous.
I dipped my chin for her to go on.
“I don’t really know how to say this without making a mess of it, but I’m going to try because it’s worth it. I mean, this”—she gestured between us—“is worth it. I know we’ve only known each other for like ten days, and I know I have to leave in just over a month. I know I’m probably going to sound crazy and scare you away, but you told me that the name Vera suited me because I’m honest or true, right? So I’m just going to say it.” She dragged in a deep breath, held it for a second, and then let it rush between her lips. “I’ve never known anyone like you before, and I really don’t think I ever will again. You say you aren’t sweet or kind, but in the last ten days you’ve shown me more kindness and generosity than anyone ever has. Today was one of the best days I’ve ever had. I wish I could keep it perfectly preserved between the pages of a book forever and pull it out when I’m old and gray and boring again, but I know I’ll never forget a moment of it.”
She inhaled sharply, and I took a moment to glance at her even though I knew it would be hard to pull my gaze away from the sincerity in those thick-lashed eyes.
“All this is to say, this—you—are important to me. So even though this is inevitably a fling, I want to do it right. I want you to know that I am spending time with you because I like the man I am getting to know and not because I like the fact that you buy me Dolce & Gabbana or that you live in an actual palace. And I want the independence I was seeking in coming here. Living with you and relying on you, while it’s been a godsend, just doesn’t feel right in the long term. I want to stand on my own two feet so I can meet you halfway. Does that make any sense?”
I blinked as the last of her words sank beneath my armor and took root somewhere so deep inside me I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to dig them out.
“You know, I do not believe I have ever heard you say so much at once,” I mused and then mock-winced when she hit me on the shoulder.
