Page 61 of Under a Dancing Star

“This whole thing did start when I said I would like to take a lover,” I point out. “It seems like that would be the logical conclusion.”

Ben runs a hand through his hair, rumpling it in a way that I find very attractive. “That’s true,” he says slowly, “but I wasn’t sure if you actually wanted to…”

“Oh.” I winkle my nose thoughtfully. “I suppose I should have been more direct.”

Ben lets out a shaky laugh. “You’re very direct, Bea; it’s one of my favourite things about you. I just didn’t want you to feel like there was any pressure… Like I expected…”

I decide that the easiest way to halt this slightly stumbling conversation is to stop his mouth with a kiss.

“Violets,” he says a little unsteadily. “You taste like spring.”

Laughing, I pull him towards me again. He kisses me back, and his hands reach up to frame my face, cradling my jaw and pulling me closer. I’m on my knees now and so is he, our bodies pressed tightly together. My own hands rest lightly on his shoulders and as I move them to his chest I feel his heart thundering. He lowers me to the ground and I twine my arms around his neck; the kiss is desperate, tender, hungry, sweet – I never knew that a kiss could be like this, that it could be so many things all at once.

His clever fingers skim down my side resting at my hip and I shiver against him – it’s an unconscious movement, one of expectation and delight. I feel meltingly hot, as though something is burning me up from the inside out.

Finally, he breaks away from me, his face suspended over mine, his blue eyes seem almost violet now, the colour of larkspur. “Are you sure?” he asks gently. “Do you want to?”

“Yes,” I say, reaching for him, smiling against his mouth. “Please.”

Part Five: Villa Di Stelle

August, 1933

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever;

One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never.

– Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, Scene 3

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

As we travel back to the Villa di Stelle, I know that something is different between Ben and me. The events of last night are seared on my brain, and I confess I have been quite distracted all morning. As knowledgeable as I thought I was about the mechanics of lovemaking, I could never have anticipated the torrent of emotion that came along with it. It was more than I could ever have prepared for.

“More than satisfactory,” I told Ben, as he laughed, pressing kisses against my skin.

I feel changed now, as though something has altered not just between the two of us, but in me, for ever. I just don’t know exactly how to talk to him about it. Instead, I concentrate on the scenery slipping past the window, the way the world rushes past us, each view a fleeting blur, instantly replaced by another. I smile across at him and he smiles back, my own giddy happiness reflected in his eyes.

I find my thoughts drifting, and I dare to wonder, for the first time, if this experiment with Ben might not last only for the next two weeks. If there’s a way it could stretch out beyond the summer, stretch out interminably into some rosy vision of the future. The idea is as paper-thin and fragile as the wings of a butterfly, and as it flutters gently awake I hardly dare to hold it still in my mind. Could it be possible that Ben is thinking the same thing? I don’t know. Everything I knew about him before this trip told me that such a thing would never happen, but there’s something different now; I know there is. In Florence, I have seen him differently. With his guard down, without the smooth facade.

“I’m sorry that we had to leave Florence,” I say a little awkwardly. “I really loved it.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “It was nice to be back.”

“Will you…” I hesitate, clearing my throat. “Will you go back there when you leave the villa?”

There’s a pause. “I don’t know,” Ben says slowly. “Hopefully I will have a new commission by then.”

“Oh,” I say, picking at a loose thread on the seat beside me. Of course. It’s the exhibition tomorrow. I can’t believe I’d forgotten.

As the train leaves the city further and further behind, it feels as though our new closeness is unravelling, as though we’re going to go back to how we were before. Perhaps I’m being a fool, trying to convince myself that I’m different, that I mean something more to him than a few stolen kisses. Perhaps it’s all in my own head.

No, I think. It has always been there between us – something electric and exciting, right from the start.

“I don’t want the experiment to end.”

The words are out of my mouth before I know I’m going to say them, but I’m not sorry. I sit up straight, my chin high. To stay quiet would be the easy thing. To let the possibility of happiness slip away without even trying to fight for it … that’s the coward’s way. And whatever else I am – stubborn, difficult, argumentative, perhaps – I am no coward.

“Bea.” His voice is quiet, and I try to look calm and collected as I meet his eyes. He leans forward, and I do too. He takes a deep breath; the silence between us is like a real tangible object, it’s so thick and heavy. “I—” he begins.