Chapter 6: Test Driving a Ferrari

MARGHERITA

In the morning, I used the Moka pot and prepared espresso. The door to our guest bedroom was ajar, so I tiptoed in and put my free hand on Azzurra’s shoulder.

“Good morning, sweetie.”

“Ah, wonderful, you brought me...” She took a sip. “Delicious. You’ve ordered your own pot?”

“Yeah, it should come soon.”

“Margherita, thank you for this, but didn’t you forget something?” Her arm gestured toward my body, which was naked.

“I was hoping we could shower together.”

I tried for an innocent look, but she wasn’t buying it.

“If I say no, you’ll take back my espresso?”

“Of course not! I didn’t mean...”

“Shh. It’s fine. Let me finish this cup, and we’ll use your big shower.”

She was showing the original blue-green coloring from when she first materialized in our living room. I’d never before been so intimate with a woman’s body. Her skin was so much softer than Frank’s; I washed her directly with soapy hands instead of using a cloth. I enjoyed the view of her turquoise triangle full of suds, and I delighted in washing the slick folds below.

I got carried away, though. Azzurra noticed how hot I was getting, and eased away the tension with a little humor.

“I think it’s clean, honey,” Azzurra giggled, ringing those little bells, the campanellini, in the overtones of her voice. Abashed, I realized I’d overstepped and got back to my feet.

“I’m sorry, you’re my first...”

“I figured. It’s OK, I know I’m your first. Just kiss me.”

After the kiss, I draped myself over her back and held her breasts in my hands, feeling their weight and the stiffness of her nipples.

I dropped to my knees again and washed her glorious ass cheeks, then cleaned her legs from ankles to thighs.

“Put your hand on my shoulder.” I steadied her so she could pick up her feet—one at a time—for me to wash. The highlight for me was washing her gorgeous, long, turquoise locks.

I rinsed her off and turned to get a towel. But Frank was there handing one to me instead. Unsurprisingly, he was rock hard, too, after watching us. I was used to this reaction when I showered, so watching two of us must have turned him up to 11. Gently, I patted her while Frank dried my body. I reached for the hair dryer, but Azzurra stopped me and clicked her tongue.

“Poof!” Our long hair was dry on our heads. I should have known, magical hair drying would be an easy trick for our guest.

“I’m dripping wet downstairs,” I cooed, “so come to bed with us.”

“My dear Margherita, I’m not going to have sex with you. Let’s go have more coffee and your breakfast, and we’ll talk.”

My heart sank; the entire time I had her body in my hands, I was picturing us having sex afterwards. She kissed me quickly and left us in the bathroom.

“Sorry, honey,” Frank said. “I know you wanted to. Let’s put some clothes on and have breakfast.” My arousal was cooling along with my skin. Frank was right, it was appropriate to get back into morning routine.

I whipped up some eggs and toast, and the three of us sat together to talk.

“I don’t enjoy disappointing you, Margherita, but I’m only here for a brief time. You and Frank have the rest of your extended lives to enjoy each other. Besides, if you want another woman to join you, you should call your lawyer.”

“Meghan?” I asked.

“Exactly. You left her in L.A. pining for you both. Call her!”

“OK, fine. But what are you going to do, Azzurra?”

“I’m going to go next door and look in on Eva and Jacob.”

JACOB

I might have been rude last night when Azzurra left us. If I said “ciao” or “arrivederci” to her at all, I’m sure I sounded distracted.

I was more than distracted—I was smitten, lovestruck, or captivated. Eva beguiled me from the moment I laid eyes on her. I couldn’t tell you why or explain what was happening to me. All of the fascination I had for Azzurra after our brief encounter transferred to Eva. It grew stronger and stronger through the evening as we enjoyed Azzurra’s exceptional cooking.

Eva was absolutely thrilled to participate in a full conversation in Italian, her first language. She explained it had been almost a dozen years since she left South America behind. Oregon was a beautiful place, she acknowledged, but she had yet to find any Italian-speaking residents to talk to.

“I’m from a small town, and those big cities to the east like New York and Chicago don’t appeal, even if they do have large communities of Italians,” Eva said. I was listening attentively but at the same time drinking her in with my eyes. She wasn’t thin, nor was she fat. Her long black hair fell in loose ripples all the way to her waist, with warm brown eyes and pale pink lips I found adorable. She wasn’t wearing makeup that I could detect; her skin was smooth and evenly toned. I struggled with an urge to reach out and caress her cheek.