Page 80 of The Strength Of A Woman

I’ve never shopped here before because there was no reason for me to do that.All my clothing and necessities had been ordered from Rome, Milano, or even France.

I had nothing against the local goods.

It was, more than anything, the idea that being in exile meant that there was nothing here for me to see.

It turns out that I was wrong.

There is so much to enjoy and relish in this town.

His men follow us from a safe distance. Safe enough that they can intervene if something unexpected happens, yet far enough from us that we can have some privacy.

For lunch, we haveCasarecce––a short, scroll-shaped pasta with a twisted S-like shape––with fennel and Sicilian pistachio pesto for me and anchovies pesto for him, paired with a glass of Organic Grillo, which is a dry Sicilian white wine with citrusy notes and apple aromas.

Syracuse is famous for its artisanal ice cream and traditional granita, so we sit at a table to taste pistachio gelato at a Gelateria in Piazza Duomo. And then I try a ‘Mattonella’, a gelato sandwich made of two layers of soft brioche, in this case, a couple of scoops of ice cream––vanilla and pistachio are my two choices––coated with crushed pistachios and drizzled with chocolate sauce.

I make a mess, holding it with both hands, taking a bite, and then coating my cheek with crushed pistachios and letting some chocolate sauce drip down my chin.

Miraculously, my dress remains without a stain, but I can’t stop laughing, and he can’t stop grinning as I struggle to eat, swallow the dessert, and suppress another chuckle.

His eyes burn like the edge of a volcano, and I might be in for a big surprise. The man who seemed nothing but icicles and glaciers has enough warmth in him to wrap around me and make me simmer inside.

I feel bad for all the sexual fantasies I have had about him. Not that they were wrong about who he is as a man, but because he is so much more than a sexual being.

I get lost in his eyes, and every time he looks at me, my world spins into a frantic dance of joy.

I feel things I never felt before.

Sweet desires gnaw at my edges, a deep longing stronger than a shot of hard liquor floods my veins, and my brain buzzes with images of us as if we’ve always meant to be together.

Perhaps it hasn’t been the best story so far. For me. For him.

Perhaps his entering my family wasn’t the most elegant way of getting to know me.

But looking back, everything makes sense now. Even my waiting for him, the things I had to go through, the dark times where I had no hope that something better would happen to me.

All that waiting finally makes sense.

Here I am with him, both dancing on the edge of some horrible events that might change or even end our lives, but so far, it’s been all worth it.

Even if this is all we have.He seems like a different man now, with his eyes full of life, the generosity of his smile giving me the tenderness I have craved my entire life.

I’ve never felt safer, more in my element than I feel with him.He is amused, enthralled, relaxed, and present in the moment. Such a different man from the one who had delivered the news that I’d be sent into exile after my mother's death.

My fingers itch to move through his hair, to trail down his cheek, his neck. To feel the pulsing blood right below his jawline.

I still have sexual fantasies about him, but above all, my heart is full with someone real, for the first time in my life.

He helps me clean my chin with a napkin, his eyes lingering on my lips for far too long not to feel a pulse of desire between my legs.

I’m like a firecracker these days, flooded with a need to connect, to feel someone physically inside me.And not anyone.

I have the man I want right in front of me.

A small struggle ensues in his mind, and I notice its effect on his face.

He seems so tempted to lower his mouth and remove the last drop of chocolate sauce from my lips with his.

We’d probably cut our shopping spree short and head home if that happened.