Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I stripped off my tank top and shorts, kicking my sandals to the side before I slipped into the maxi dress. It was the kind of fabric I’d never had against my skin before, the kind that I had never been able to afford and never dreamed of affording, either. It was soft and luxuriously heavy, the way only quality fabric could be, hanging on my hips and bust in a way that made it look like I actually had a little curvature. I turned this way and that in the mirror, admiring the way the fruity orange looked against my tan skin, the way the thin straps accented my collarbones, the way the fabric flowed just below my knees before tapering down to the ground in the back, showing just a little of my legs.
I hated it.
I hated that it fit so perfectly, that the transparent top layer was so gorgeous and flowy against the slightly darker, heavier bottom one. I hated that the color set my tan ablaze, and that for the first time in my life, I was in a dress and I didn’t want to cower into a corner. I hated that the deep V cut of the back somehow made me love my spine and ribcage. How was that even a thing?
I hated it because I loved it.
And there was no way I could ever take it home with me.
I sighed, giving myself one last look over before I tentatively made my way through the curtains and into the boutique.
Evelina was talking to Theo in Italian, something that made them both chuckle, but when I walked out, their eyes snapped to me.
“Bellisima!” Evelina said on a gasp. She shook her head, advancing on me and tugging at the fabric in a few places before she snapped her fingers and scurried off toward the shoes.
My eyes found Theo next, and he was trailing his gaze up from where my bare legs showed through the bottom of the dress, up my thighs, along the lines of my hips and waist and bust until he met my eyes.
Fiery hot coals smoldered in his irises, his pupils dilating the longer he stared at me. He was still reclining on the couch, seemingly unaffected save for the swallow I watched strain his throat.
“Do you like it?” I asked on a whisper, absentmindedly playing with the strings that tied around the waist.
His nostrils flared, but before he could answer, Evelina rushed back over, thrusting a pair of beige wedges into my hands.
“With these,” she said, and then she pulled my hand into hers, opening my fingers and dropping the yellow sapphire earrings into my palm. “And these. Trust me,” she insisted, and before I could argue she was ushering me back into the dressing room. “It will be perfect.”
Against my persistent arguing, we left the boutique with me wearing the orange maxi dress and the earrings. Blessedly, I’d convinced Theo and Evelina that I couldn’t walk in the wedges, so they’d settled on a strappy pair of leather sandals that I loved as much as the dress. In the white paper bag that swung from my arm were the clothes I had been wearing, along with the olive one-piece swimsuit, which was the compromise I offered to keep Theo from buying me a five-thousand-euro Italian leather jacket.
I still couldn’t believe he’d bought all of it for me. I thought it would sink in as we walked the streets and hidden valleys of the town, or that I’d forget about it altogether as I got lost behind the lens of my camera. But I marveled at the way the silky-smooth dress felt against my skin every second, every minute, every hour of that day. And my fingers absentmindedly wandered up to tuck my hair behind my ear now and then, and every time, I’d brush the gemstones of those sapphire earrings and smile.
If I’d thought the places we’d hit on the coast so far had been gorgeous, they paled in comparison to the sights Positano offered.
My memory card filled with colorful shots of lemon tree farms and cobblestone streets, of the dozens and dozens of staircases around every corner, of clothes drying on a line strung from one pastel house to the other. I gasped at the sight of the water through small windows and alleyways, lost my breath at the way the ivy crawled the ancient walls of every building, and craned my neck in wonder as we walked down a street with flowers weaved together in a wondrous ceiling above us.
“Theo?” I asked as we both stared up at the floral ceiling, the soft hum of tourists buzzing around us.
“Yes?”
“Why did you name your boat Philautia? What does it mean?”
Theo smiled a little when I glanced at him, but his eyes were still on the flowers above. “That’s an easy question with a complicated answer.”