The Italian Holiday by Nicole Sharp

Author:Nicole Sharp [Sharp, Nicole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Writing Moose
Published: 2023-02-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Are you tired?” Lorenzo asked.

“No, why, are you?”

He shook his head. “There’s another area of town I think you’d like to see.”

“I don’t get tired when it comes to this,” I gave a wave to the piazza we were overlooking. “I can go all day and night.”

“Oh, really,” he drawled slowly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It might not be what you meant, but if you’d like to discuss it in more detail, it sounds like a topic I’d be interested in.”

“Mmm-hmm…” I knew my blush was evident, “I just meant that when it comes to travel and sightseeing and historical buildings and towns…I’m…”

“Enthralled,” Lorenzo said softly.

“Yes.” I smiled at him, but the smile died when I got the notion that he wasn’t trying to fill in the word I had been looking for, but rather describing me.

I cleared my throat and tried once more to explain myself. “I just meant that I love this kind of stuff, a town like Bergamo is my version of Disneyland.” I was attempting to ease the thick air wrapping itself around us once again.

We took another funicular, this time on the opposite end of town from where we began our journey. The terrain wasn’t as steep an incline as it had been on the previous ride. We passed by the high walls of the city, impressive structures with secret stories resting in the mortar. I laughed at the thought. When Lorenzo raised an eyebrow in question, I decided to indulge myself and him. I pointed. “Imagine how many hundreds of years’ worth of stories are stuck in the mortar of those walls.” His gaze followed my hand and we silently watched until they disappeared.

The track passed the backyards of old villas until it gave way to cypress trees on both sides. The final stop was announced along with the jerking stop of the car: Castello di San Vigilio.

“A castle?” I asked.

He nodded. “See, you know more Italian than you realized.”

It didn't look like a castle. There were no towers, moats or ramparts, just an inclined path.

As we exited I joked, “At least there are no steps.”

Lorenzo gestured to a set of ten stairs leading up to the next terrace of the grand courtyard. “Not as many as the bell tower."

We walked along rocky paths cut into well-kept lawns. Trees played tic-tac-toe across the large yard. Lorenzo took my hand and the same dichotomy of emotions worked their way through my veins. I wanted to kiss him and fall into him as much as I wanted to run from him.

The happy medium, then, would actually be hand holding.

Right?

We dodged trees and followed sidewalks until we came to an outcropping at the top of the hill that offered another striking view of Bergamo and the surrounding area.

“What do you think?” Lorenzo asked.

“It’s stunning. Bergamo is remarkable,” I stressed.

We fell silent as a couple arrived. They arranged themselves at the end of their selfie stick, gave a practiced pose, and when finished, turned and left. This destination seems to have solely been for mere picture proof, something to be saved in their cloud.

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