The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (22 page)

“Yes. I do.”

He exhaled deeply as if he’d been holding his breath.

“That’s all that matters.”

He pushed his chair back and walked over, draping his arms around me. He rested his chin on my shoulder and nestled his face in my neck, his breath warm on my skin.

We stood like that for some moments, allowing the fear and tension to drain away.

“You’ll have to let go if I’m going to finish making you supper,” I said gently.

I felt his smile as he tightened his grip momentarily and then let his hands slide away. He sat back at the table and grinned at me.

“It’s good to know you want food more than you want sex,” I couldn’t help commenting.

He laughed. “It’s about even at the moment, but you told me that I’d need my energy so I’m just following your advice.”

I loved to see him like this, happy and relaxed, teasing me. I felt guilty for causing the tension in the first place, but relieved we’d talked it through—for now, at least.

I finished making the pesto and served up the linguini with toasted pine nuts and freshly grated parmesan.

“Aren’t you having some?”

I shook my head. “I had mine hours ago.”

“It smells great.”

He ate rapidly, shoveling in huge mouthfuls. He was clearly ravenous. I thought it was rather poor that the club hadn’t ensured that their young staff had had a proper meal break.

“What’s this photography course that you’re interested in?” he said, between mouthfuls.

“When I met up with Carl Winters at
City Beat
he really liked my photos of Base life. I thought I might try and take a course in photojournalism. What do you think?”

“That sounds great. I haven’t seen your photos—I’d really like to.”

“Would you?”

He rolled his eyes at me as he chomped through another enormous mouthful.

“Okay, well, I’ll show you later if you like.”

“Later, like tomorrow,” he said assertively.

A thrill of anticipation ran through me at his words. Yes, later.

“I’m going to have a glass of wine. Would you like one?”

“Isn’t that illegal,” he smirked at me. “Plying a minor with liquor!”

I glanced over my shoulder at him as I retrieved the bottle of red wine I’d opened earlier.

“If I’m going to go to Hell, I may as well do it thoroughly.”

He laughed. “I’d rather have a beer, if you’ve got one.”

I pulled a face. “Beer doesn’t go with pesto. Here, try this.”

I passed him a small glass of red wine.

He tasted it hesitantly then smiled. “That’s really good: what is it?”

“It’s a ten year old Barolo. It’s better when it’s not too fruity. Most people like the oakier-tasting ones but I guess I get my old-fashioned ideas from my dad.”

Sebastian looked impressed.

“Do you know a lot about wine?”

“A bit. Well, only what Papa taught me. His family used to grow Moscato grapes.” I shrugged. “Maybe they still do.”

“Let’s find out!” he said, his eyes sparkling with adventure, “when we take that road trip.”

“Can you ride a motorcycle?”

“Sure! Well, I don’t have a completion certificate from the motorcycle training course, but I took a few lessons, and I’ve ridden Ches’s. It’s cool.”

I saw that he’d cleared his plate and was eyeing the fruit bowl.

“Help yourself.”

“Thanks!”

I stood up and carried away his empty dishes. I liked listening to music when I washed up so I put on a CD of my favorite arias.

“Puccini?”

I smiled. “Of course. Do you know this opera?”

Sebastian shook his head. “I recognize it but I can’t remember what it’s from.”

“It’s ‘O Mio Babbino Caro’ from
Gianni Schicchi
.”

“Caro! Like your name, except that’s the male way of saying it, isn’t it?”

“I don’t mind: I like that you’re the only person who calls me that.”

His answering smile was huge.

“Papa used to call me ‘mia cara’.”

The music swirled around us and I was swept up in a deluge of memories.

“What’s this song about?” asked Sebastian after a couple of minutes.

“It’s an aria sung by a girl to her beloved father, begging him to let her marry the boy she loves.”

“It sounds very Romeo and Juliet.”

“Yes, except it’s a comedy.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, right!”

I laughed at him. “It is!”

He listened to the music a bit more. “I can pick out some of the words—something about buying a ring?”

“That’s right: and if he doesn’t let her, she’s threatening to throw herself off the Ponte Vecchio bridge.”

“Sounds a bit over the top.”

“Well, it is opera.”

“I’d like to buy you a ring.”

He sounded so serious I turned around from the sink. Sebastian was staring at me.

“I want to marry you, Caro.”

I gasped and dropped the glass I was holding. It slid down into the soapy water but didn’t shatter.

“Sebastian…”

“I mean it. I want to marry you. Will you, Caro? Will you marry me?”

I shook my head. “Sebastian … I can’t talk about this now. I
am
married—to David. And anyway, I wouldn’t do that to you—you’re too…”

“Too young? Is that what you’re going to say, because if you are, don’t bother.”

He rested his head in his hands then looked up again.

“In just over three months, I’ll be 18. I could enlist and a few months later I could be sent to the Middle East. I’ll be old enough to fight, to die for my country, but you don’t think I’ll be old enough to marry you?”

He didn’t sound angry, just determined.

My brain had ceased to function—I simply carried on staring at him.

He looked at me accusingly.

“You met David before you were 18—and you got married almost straightaway.”

“Yes, and what a disaster that’s been,” I said, bitterly.

Sebastian looked like I’d slapped him.

I immediately regretted my words.

“I’m sorry, but…”

“But what?”

“Sebastian, we’ve been together for just a couple of weeks—under the most intense circumstances. Can’t we just … spend some time together? Get to know each other properly. Sometimes I feel that we hardly know each other at all.”

“I love you and I want to marry you. What else do you want to know?”

“Everything! What’s your favorite book? What’s your favorite film? What was your best subject in school? Who was your first crush? What CD have you got in your player at home right now? What do you eat for breakfast? Do you prefer football or baseball? Were you a jock at school? Did you ever date a cheerleader? Do you remember your dreams? What’s your favorite color? Have you ever cried watching a movie? I don’t know—everything!”

He let out a deep sigh.

“Okay, I get it. I’m rushing you.”

I frowned.

“That’s not it—well, not entirely. It’s just … we’ve done everything backward.”

I walked over to him and laid my hand on his chest. “I want to know everything: inside as well as out. I want to know
you
.”

He held my hand and played with my fingers but he still couldn’t look at me. He was really upset. I guess being turned down when you ask someone to marry you would get you that way. I’d hurt him—and he was the last person in the whole world that I wanted to hurt.

I pulled my hand free and held his face until he had to look at me.

“Sebastian, I feel like you’ve woken me from a dream. But I barely know who
I
am, let alone … I’m sorry I hurt you. I would never want to do that.”

I rested my lips on his, two, three times, trying to convey a message with my light touch.

He pulled away and looked at me.

“Old Yeller.”

“Excuse me?”

“That was a film that made me cry … when he had to shoot his dog.”

“How old were you when you saw it?”

“Ten, maybe. I’m not sure. I always hoped we’d have a dog, but Mom said they made too much mess. Do you like dogs?”

“Yes. When I was growing up a neighbor had a little Jack Russell terrier called ‘Tano’. He said the name meant ‘number five’ but I don’t remember what language that was. She was so sweet. I cried for three days when she died. Dad wanted to buy me a puppy but Mom wouldn’t let him, so I got a goldfish instead.”

“A goldfish?!”

I grinned at him. “Yes, not quite the same thing! I called him ‘Splash’—not very original.”

“We could get a dog.”

“What, and take him on the back of our motorcycle through Italy?!”

“Yeah! A biker dog! That would be awesome!”

I laughed.

“What’s your favorite film?” he said.

“I can only think of animal films now. I don’t know, ‘White Fang’ maybe or ‘Call of the Wild’. Oh, but I love ‘Gone with the Wind’.”

He pulled a face.

“What was the last film that made you cry?”

“I cry at most films. Um … ‘Edward Scissorhands’—that always makes me cry.”

“Who was your first crush? It had better be a film star though or I might have to hunt him down.”

“Better get your gun then!”

“Why?”

“Anthony Kiedis.”

“Who?”

“The vocalist from the Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

“You like rock?”

“I like all sorts of music.”

He laughed happily.

“God, I love you!”

I couldn’t help smiling back at him. “What?”

“Just when I think I know you, you surprise the shit out of me.”

I sat on his lap and put my arms around his neck.

“Okay, your turn: favorite book?”

“Heart of Darkness.”

“Ugh! Why that? It’s a horrible story!”

“I guess because it shows how … how far a man can go when he’s in a place without limits.”

“Hmm, I don’t think you’ll turn me into a Conrad fan. Okay, first girl you ever kissed?”

He reddened and looked down.

“Go on, tell me. I won’t be jealous. Well, maybe a bit.”

“Brenda Wiseman.”

“And how old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

I couldn’t help thinking that wasn’t so very long ago for him. And then my overactive brain imagined him making out with her and…

“What happened to her?”

“Nothing.”

“Well what happened
with
her?”

He shook his head, clearly embarrassed. I was intrigued.

“Come on, tell me. It can’t be that bad.”

“We dated for a while…”

“And…”

“We broke up.”

“When was this? When did you break up with her?”

He shifted uncomfortably beneath me.

“Four months ago.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

“You went out with her for two years?”

He shook his head. “No, not … about ten months.”

“Oh.”

I stood up and he looked at me helplessly.

“I’m sorry, Caro…”

“No, don’t apologize. I’m just … surprised. I got the impression that you hadn’t…”

“We didn’t sleep together.”

“Why not? Most teenage boys…” the words burned my throat, “most teenage boys would have been desperate to…”

He shifted uncomfortably.

“We were going to—then I heard that she’d been screwing Jack—that guy you met once.” He shook his head. “But I’m glad I didn’t—with her. I didn’t love her. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved: it’s always been you.”

I found it hard to take in. Where did his certainty come from?

“Caro?”

“I’m okay. I’m just … surprised.” There was that word again. “What would you have done if I hadn’t come back?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

But I knew. One day he would have met someone his own age, someone special, and he’d have fallen in love; he’d have had a chance of a normal relationship. And if
I
hadn’t met
him
? I’d still be sleepwalking through my life.

But I
had
come back and we
had
met again. And I couldn’t go back to the way I was: I didn’t want to.

I held out my hand to him.

“Come on, it’s late. Let’s go to bed.”