My Pretend Romance in Sicily ✔ | 18+

sei.

Three.

It had been three days since Raffaele fingered me on the lounger, pleasing me with his fingers in a manner I had never been pleased before. At night, I recalled how risky it was to commit such a sinful deed in the watchful eyes of truly anybody in the vicinity. How phenomenal he had managed to make me feel with his words, his hands, his lips.

Recalled how his touch set me ablaze, and how the way he looked at me when I touched myself had me wanting more.

And in those three days, I hadn't seen or heard from him at all, not even once. I wasn't looking for him, but I did wonder where he'd suddenly disappeared to.

Most especially when I thought about that night on the beach, too. 

"What are you thinking about cara?"

I looked up from my book and spotted Fio walking in from the back door, holding a basket filled with fruits and vegetables. Mom followed close behind, two bottles of Pinot Noir in her hands. She had gardening gloves on, wearing a large sun hat.

I was in the kitchen, reading a French novel Dad had lent to me a couple days ago.

"Nothing, just bored, that's all." I replied, shrugging a half-hearted smile when she set her vegetables down, turning to look at me with a hand on her hip.

"Why, are you homesick?" Mom asked, leaning against the counter as she looked at me too.

I shook my head, "Quite the opposite, really." I pressed my back into my chair, sighing. "I haven't even started ticking things off my list of things to do."

"Ay, don't worry cara." Fio expressed, pulling out the bottom drawer to take out a chopping board. "The summer is still long."

I shrugged. "Yeah I guess."

"Sì, the kids your age have only just finished school now, so you can meet them at the festa." Fio took a seat opposite from me, laying out a pepper on the board and tightening her grip on her knife.

Mom took another seat next to me, bringing one bottle of red Pinot Noir closer to her. She tapped the corkscrew in the middle of the cork, careful not to break it. She held the small lever located next to the corkscrew on the top of bottle with her left hand, and with her right hand, pulled the corkscrew, up, letting the cork out with a loud pop.

"Ay, the festa has started earlier!" Fio exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly.

Mom and I laughed, and she passed the glasses around. I declined a glass, validating how early it still was. I snickered, remembering how on our way here, mom had granted me the liberty of drinking, even though I wasn't twenty-one—courtesy of vacationing to a European country.

So long as I didn't tell Dad.

"What party are you talking about Fio?" I asked, resting the side of my head on my folded arm.