The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (57 page)

“That’s how you make me feel, Caro, like the world just goes away and it’s just you and me. I … I didn’t think I’d ever feel like that again. All those other women, I know it bothers you, but it was just sex. It wasn’t … this.”

“So, there was never anyone special, where it was more than just sex?”

He looked thoughtful.

“There was one girl, Stacey, that I sort of dated for a while. She was … okay, but I wasn’t interested in anything long-term.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged and looked away.

“I heard her telling her girlfriend that she’d got me ‘tamed’.”

I winced inwardly. How dumb had this girl been to even think that she’d ‘tamed’ him, let alone to say it out loud?

“Oh, I can guess how much you enjoyed hearing that. What did you do?”

He twitched his shoulder in an irritated gesture.

“I slept with her best friend.”

I took a sharp intake of breath. “I see.”

He didn’t look guilty or upset, and I felt a brief frisson of sadness for Stacey and the way he’d treated her, especially when I knew he was capable of such gentleness.

“You asked me why Ches’s wife didn’t approve of me, and that’s the reason,” he went on. “Stacey was a friend of hers. And before you ask, no, I didn’t sleep with Amy—it was another girl. I would never do that to Ches.”

I took a deep breath.

“Well, I’m not surprised Amy doesn’t like you after you did that to her friend … and it’s not very reassuring to hear that you’ve shown your dick to half the female population of California—and Paris, or so I’ve heard—but that’s your business. But surely you see that you made things difficult for Ches.”

“How’s that?” he said, rather testily.

“You put him in the middle, making him choose between his best friend and his wife.”

“What?” he said, angrily. “How was I making him ‘choose’?”

“Well, I bet you anything Amy would have said she didn’t want you in the house if you were going to treat her friends like that, and Ches would have had to find some way of defending what was, frankly, indefensible behavior.”

I paused, wondering if Ches would have explained about Sebastian’s history—our history—as a reason for his friend’s actions. I hated the thought that Sebastian had used ‘all those women’ because he’d imagined that I’d left him without a backward glance. It was such an ugly distortion of the truth.

“You get on your fucking high horse damn quickly, Caro,” he snapped.

I was taken aback at his angry tone. “I’m just saying…”

“What? What the fuck are you ‘just saying’?” he said, his voice growing louder with each syllable. “You were a fucking journalist, Caro! You could have found me any time if you’d wanted to. It would have been so easy for you. So easy! I didn’t even know your fucking last name. I was so desperate to find you that I even tried to see that prick of a husband of yours, but he slammed the door in my face and called my CO. I was on fucking punishment duties for weeks after that. But you didn’t give a shit, did you? It’s just lies. You just tell me what you think I want to hear. How can I ever trust you?”

“Sebastian, I…”

“I really want to hear this, Caro. I really want to hear how hard you tried to find me,” he jeered. “You knew my fucking father was forcing me to enlist
because of you
, but you didn’t even bother to make a few fucking phone calls.
Three years
I waited for you, Caro.
Three fucking years
, while you were off building your career and having a great life traveling all over the world. So yeah, I fucked some women who deserved it, because I’d already been fucked over once and I wasn’t going to let it happen again.”

I felt sick. All that hatred and anger pouring out of him.

“It wasn’t like that, Sebastian. Just listen to me for a moment! Let me explain, because I…”

“Go tell it to the Marines, Caro,” he sneered, “because I’m not listening.”

I needed to get some space from him: the bathroom seemed like it could be a place of refuge until he’d calmed down. His anger was scaring me and I didn’t want to say anything that I’d regret later, although it was clear he wasn’t having the same reservations.

I sat on the edge of the bed and reached for my t-shirt.

“Where are you going?” he shouted. “Running away again? Yeah, well, it’s what you do best, isn’t it? Run away. Fuck that! I’ll save you the trouble.”

He leapt out of bed, pulled on his jeans, thrust his bare feet into his boots and scooped up his t-shirt and jacket.

And then he walked out.

A moment later I heard the throaty roar of his motorcycle.

I pulled the sheet around me tightly, wondering what the hell had just happened. It was hard to believe that the man who’d made such sweet love to me could talk to me like that. Or rather, yell at me like that.

So much anger—at me.

It seemed clear now that the gentle side he’d shown had simply been a mask to lure me in, a mask that hid his true feelings.

But he’d gone and I had no idea if he was coming back. Well,
fuck him!
He wasn’t the only one who’d suffered; he wasn’t the only one who’d had to struggle. Oh sure, my life had been so easy: I’d cleaned other people’s toilets for nearly three years before my writing earned me enough to give it up.
How dare
he speak to me like that!

I jumped out of bed and whirled around the room shoving everything into his small overnight bag. I knew his phone and passport were in his jacket, so he hadn’t left anything that he needed.
Not even me
, said the sad, little voice in my head.

I thought through my options: I could book a cab to take me into Genoa, and from there, take a flight to Geneva. Then it was back to Plan A: wait for my permits to come through for Leatherneck—assuming Sebastian didn’t try to screw that up again, although the odds didn’t look good, given his current rage—do my job and get on with my life. And then I’d write off this
episode to experience. Or something.

But it hurt. It really hurt. Just as I’d begun to trust him and let him back into my life…

And then I wondered if he’d be back after he cooled off. I really didn’t want to face very-angry-and-scary Sebastian again tonight. But if I wedged the chair under the door, I wouldn’t be the least surprised if he’d just decide to kick it in. Not that we’d be welcome staying at Casa Giovina after tonight’s stunt anyway, but I didn’t want to add a broken door to our troubles.

In the end, I pulled on my t-shirt and panties and tried to get some sleep. After thrashing around for several hours and replaying the whole horrible scene over and over, I finally lapsed into unconsciousness about an hour before dawn.

My alarm pulled me awake at 7
am
and I immediately looked over to the other side of the bed: it was cold and empty—like me.

Fierce disappointment mixed with relief washed over me. At least I didn’t have to face his recriminations again. Wake-up arguments definitely didn’t do it for me.

I headed for the shower, but the tepid water did little to relieve my heavy mind. I didn’t feel much like breakfast, but the least I could do was apologize to the hosts for our behavior. His behavior.

I wandered out to the patio and saw that the little table had been laid for two. I felt hot tears prick my eyes and I angrily scrubbed them away.

When I heard footsteps behind me, I turned hopefully. But it wasn’t Sebastian and it wasn’t the owner; instead the little grandmother was walking stiffly toward me, carrying a pot of coffee.

“Sit, young woman,” she said. “And don’t worry: it will all seem better once you have eaten. He’ll be back.”

I swallowed and tried to smile. She patted my shoulder sympathetically and left me alone.

The coffee was very good: rich and strong and just the shot in the arm that I needed. I drank almost the whole pot, then managed to eat a small plate of fette biscottate with salted butter. And I did feel better. And angry.
Really fucking angry.
How dare he talk me into this road trip, then drop me in the middle of nowhere the minute it suited him!

Or maybe this was his plan all along: maximum humiliation.
Screw him!

I marched back to my room, scooped up the overnight bag and went to find the owner.

“Ah, signorina,” he said, worriedly.

“Please accept my apologies for last night’s disturbances,” I said, with polite formality. “How much do I owe you for the room?”

He twisted his fingers unhappily. I could tell he felt bad about charging me, but I was determined to pay my debts. I pulled out my wallet expectantly.

He sighed. “Forty Euros, signorina.”

“Thank you, signore. You have a very pleasant establishment.”

“Grazie, signorina.” He bit his lip and tried to smile.

“Can I book a cab to pick me up and take me to the airport?”

“Ah, regretfully, signorina, taxis do not like driving up my narrow road, but if you walk two kilometers toward Quinto Al Mare, you will find a taxi office.”

I thanked him, hefted the bag over my shoulder, and strode out into the beautiful Spring morning.

I’d got as far as the main road when I heard Sebastian’s bike roaring up behind me.

My stomach lurched, twisting with anxiety. When I heard him cut the engine, I put my head down and walked as quickly as I could.

“Caro, wait!”

He jogged up behind me and grabbed the handles of the bag, forcing me to stop.

“Caro, I’m sorry. Okay? Are you going to talk to me?”

“I think you’ve said enough—for both of us.”

“Fuck, Caro! It was the alcohol talking, that’s all.”

“It was more than that and you know it, Sebastian.”

“Can’t you take a fucking apology?”

“I don’t know—can you make one?”

We stood staring at each other; both hurt, both angry.

He ran his hand over his hair and scowled. “Can we just go somewhere and talk? Or are you going to walk back to Geneva?”

I folded my arms and glared at him. “Yes, frankly. I was going to get a cab to drive me to the airport. I’m sure I’d have no trouble getting a flight.”

“Don’t leave like this, Caro,” he said, in a slightly less aggressive tone. “Let’s just talk. If we can’t … fix this, I’ll take you to the airport myself.”

Damn him!

I nodded coldly and let him carry the bag. Silently he passed me my helmet, and stowed our solitary piece of luggage in the saddlebag.

He climbed on the bike and held out his hand to help me, but I preferred to scramble on by myself. And, instead of fastening my hands around his waist, I held onto the small grab-bar at the rear of my seat. It was uncomfortable and I didn’t feel very safe, but it was preferable to touching him.

He swung the bike around in a slow U-turn and headed southeast, away from the airport, following the coast road. After a few miles, he pulled into a parking lot next to a beach café in the small town of Bogliasco.

“Do you want a coffee?” he said, stiffly.

“An espresso and a glass of water, please.”

He placed the orders with a bemused waiter, who clearly hadn’t been expecting any customers so early. In fact, I suspected that we’d interrupted his morning gossip with his cronies, a group of grizzled old men who eyed us curiously, but relaxed when they heard Sebastian speaking in Italian. The waiter ambled away with reasonably good grace.

I stared across at Sebastian’s beautiful sullen face, wondering why we were even bothering. I realized his eyes looked rather red. Obviously he’d chosen to dive straight into a bottle of whiskey last night, or grappa, perhaps. He stared out at the water, refusing to look at me or to speak. Not a great start to ‘talking’.

Our coffees arrived along with a basket of rolls, and I wondered who was going to break the silence first.

He pushed the basket toward me.

“No, thank you. I’ve already eaten.”

“Did you check out of that place?”

“Yes.”

“Did you pack up my stuff?”

I blinked at him. “Of course!”

“Okay, thanks. What do I owe you for the room?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Just tell me what I owe you, Caro.”

“Seeing as you didn’t stay in it, I don’t see why you should pay.”

“Is this how you’re going to be?”

“How would you like me to be, Sebastian? Because, honestly, I just don’t know.”

He grabbed a roll and started tearing it into pieces.

“Look, maybe we should just cut our losses,” I said. “I’ll get a cab to the airport and you can … do whatever you want, Sebastian.”

For a moment I thought he was going to agree, but then he looked down at the crumbs on his plate.

“I don’t want you to go,” he muttered.

I waited for more: an explanation for his behavior, perhaps. But he was silent.