The Secret Love Letters of Olivia Moretti by Jennifer Probst

Author:Jennifer Probst [Probst, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-02-22T00:00:00+00:00

chapter twenty-two

Olivia

I waited for Rafe by the boats and knew it was time we had a talk.

My stomach squeezed with nerves. Things were beginning to change, and the questions that had bothered me a month ago had now grown to epic, monstrous proportions. I just didn’t know how I’d bring them up.

The moment I saw his beloved face, my heart jumped as if recognizing its other half. Features carved with weariness, his white teeth flashed in the darkness as he came to greet me. We folded into each other, and his muscled heat felt like coming home. “You look so tired,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his rough cheek. The scents of sun, sand, and salt drifted to my nostrils. I pushed his hair back, which immediately sprang back forward. “We can skip going out and go back to the cottage. Aunt Silvia is in Sorrento tonight with friends, so we have the place to ourselves.”

“Do you mind?” He pressed his forehead to mine and took in a breath. “It was a long day and I’ve been looking forward to being alone with you.”

“No, Julia and Ava will understand. Let’s go.”

We held hands and climbed the steps leisurely as he told me about his day. “Dad was scheduling the appointments and double-booked me. I ended up with a very angry family who insisted I take them on a private trip rather than refund their money. It was easier to agree.”

“God, Rafe, you’ve been going nonstop since six a.m. You can’t keep doing this. I thought Italy was the laid-back and take-a-riposte country.”

He laughed. “Sì, but my business caters to tourists, and they do not like the ripostes.”

“Do you know what Americans say to that?”

“What?”

“Screw them.”

He laughed again and his demeanor lightened. We settled back at the house and cracked open the refrigerator, putting together an assortment of snacks to eat. We picked on salty olives, chunks of cheese, and crusty bread drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, talking quietly and soaking up each other’s presence. There was a peacefulness I always experienced around Rafe, as if I could truly take a breath and just be. At the same time, the physical connection always buzzed beneath the surface. Everything would have been perfect if not for this restlessness still nipping at my nerves; the doubts that kept poking through my happiness and reminding me our lives together wouldn’t be like our summers. I remembered my mom used to warn me when I’d beg to live where we vacationed that it would never be the same. “You still have to go to school in Disney World,” she’d tease. “We’d need to work, clean the house, and have the same responsibilities we do back home. It’s not as fun as you imagine.”

I used to wave off her remarks, refusing to believe living in Disney wouldn’t be the best. But lately, I kept wondering what our lives would truly be like day after day when we were finally together.

When our bellies were full, we took a blanket outside and lay on the grass in the garden.

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