We walked down the hill and looked at the booths in the main piazza that were being set up for the festival the following day, including Giuseppe’s. The weather reports called for a clear, but chilly day tomorrow.

We walked to one of Giuseppe’s favorite trattorias; a little hole in the wall, with a Christmas tree set up out front. We were shown immediately to a table even though there was a line. A fire crackled in a fireplace. Uniformed waiters dropped off platters of hors d’oeuvres and uncorked two bottles of wine. Our first course was pasta followed by a roasted chicken concoction with potatoes.

“You look happy, Aiden,” Sydney said. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a while. You worry enough for everyone.”

If only she knew.

“Cuoco, you’re finally relaxing,” Violet said, taking a sip of her wine. “About time. In this light I can see a few silver strands in your gorgeous hair.”

“I don’t have any of the silver in my hair,” Flavio said.

“A few silvers are good,” Violet’s mother said. “They’re sexy, especially on a man with dark hair. Think George Clooney.”

“I remember when my lover, Elvis, spotted his first silver hair,” Florentina said. “He was checking his makeup before one of his Vegas shows. He startled, brought his hand to his sequined chest, and said the words I’ll never forget.”

“Oh my God, Florentina,” Violet said. “You dated Elvis?”

“I don’t like to use the word, ‘date,’ little flower. He was my lover.”

“I never believed you dated Elvis,” Vincent said. “I think you made that up.”

“I don’t date. Never have. Never will. I only take lovers.”

“What were the words, Florentina?” Jeanie asked. “What did Elvis say?”

“I can’t remember. Give me a minute. It’s been a while.”

“As always, no story,” Vincent said.

“I remember! He said, ‘Florentina, I’m not sure about this silver-haired thing. I’m feeling—all shook up.’”

“Aw, come on!” Violet said and burst into giggles.

“I said, ‘Elvis, my love. That would make a great song title. You need to run with that.’”

And everyone laughed. I could get used to this.

* * *

I was dry. I was parched. I was raw.

It had been a long time for me. Not just a long time since I’d had sex. A long time since I’d felt that fresh glow of love.

I was on fire for Violet Accardi.

I lay on my stupid twin mattress in the room I shared with this overly-coiffed meathead, and in spite of his snores and the way his musky cologne made me sneeze, all I could think about was Violet.

The way her eyes met mine when we scoped out the food festival.

The way her lips quirked up in a smart-ass smile.

The way her chin jutted out and she got all fired up when she really believed in something: a thought, a plan, her view of the world.

She was in the room above mine, just yards away, really.

I glanced over at Flavio, his black velvet sleep mask securely over his eyes. He was sawing wood. Perhaps all the muscles in his body were constricting his airways.

I shrugged on my jeans and a long-sleeved thermal shirt and stared out the window at the full blue moon. Soft opera music emanated from a window below. Lights still twinkled from the town below the castle.

I crawled out the window and stared up at Violet’s room. A dim light was still glowing. It was maybe only twelve feet away. I stared down at the ground below me. A fall from the second floor would result in more than a strain or a sprain. What would I risk it to touch Violet Accardi? To kiss her lips? To feel her soft naked skin against mine?

By my own rule, I was not supposed to touch her. Not supposed to engage. Since I’d left the church, I’d been so unrelenting and rigid. No women. No relationships. No fucking around. I didn’t want to be that person who would accept trust and then misuse it.

But then I heard Violet’s words loud and clear in my head. “Cuoco, you’re too bottled up. You need to let some of this go. Just be yourself and stop being everything to everyone else for a change.”

I’d kissed her a few times. I’d had the opportunity to claim her completely but I let it go. And life was passing me by. Something shifted in me, like a door had been unlocked for the first time in years. I was overwhelmed by the realization that I had left the church over five years ago. It was okay to want. It was okay to need. It was okay to love.

I perched on the ledge and grabbed the trellis on the side of the building with one hand. It felt solid. I released my other hand and pulled myself over but the branch I’d originally grasped broke under my grip.

“Fuck!” I slid several feet down the bundle of vines and managed to catch myself below my window. I glanced down and saw blood welling on my arm and chest.

Great.

Would this count for the blood pact?

I pulled myself back up the non-reliable thicket of vines and kept climbing until I reached Violet’s window. It was open a crack. Perfect. I held onto the thick foliage on the castle wall with one hand and lifted the window with my other.

Not easy.

She was in bed texting someone. “Violet,” I said, none that loudly.

“Aiden?” She dropped her phone, rushed to the window and helped push it open.

I crawled inside and stared at her. My breath caught in my chest.

“What are you doing here?” She brushed my clothes with her hands. “You have dried leaves and little twigs all over you.”

“Remember that time you asked me back to your place in Chicago and I turned you down?”

“Yes.”

I took her face between my hands, leaned down, and kissed her lips. She was delicious. Her warm breath escaped from her mouth and I explored her sweetness with my tongue. My cock throbbed. She leaned close and ground her pelvis into my erection. I pulled my lips from hers, pulled off my shirt, and gazed into her eyes. I ran one hand through her silken hair. “Remember when I told you on the plane I was an asshole for turning you down?”

“Yes.”

I fingered the soft flannel on the neckline of her pajama top and unbuttoned the front. She shrugged of her top and stood before me, naked from the waist up. Her tits were as beautiful as I’d imagined and I ran my hands across them. I bent my head and sucked on her nipple, nibbling it between my teeth. She inhaled, and a low moan escaped her lips.

“I’ve re-visited my decision. Violet? Can I come inside tonight?”

“You’re already here, Cuoco. I thought you were never going to ask,” she said, and led me to her bed.