Page 86 of It's All Sun and Games

‘Let’s check out the rest of the place,’ Andrea suggests, giving me a gentle squeeze.

‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘I suppose there’s plenty of time to enjoy this view. I’ll bet it only gets more gorgeous as the sun goes down too.’

‘Well, if you let me take you out for dinner, then maybe we can watch it together when we get back,’ he replies. ‘The celebrating isn’t over yet.’

We head back inside, into the fully furnished luxury apartment, to check out the open-plan living space. It’s a room that is swimming in natural light, thanks to the large windows, and yet it still feels cosy. I can imagine making my morning coffee and doing my light stretches (I don’t do light stretches on a morning but, I don’t know, maybe now is the time to start, because I feel like that’s what a fancy business lady would do) just as easily as I can imagine making my evening cup of tea before curling up in front of the TV.

I think that’s when you know you’re making yourself at home, when you think about the TV. When you’re on holiday, it’s almost like TV doesn’t exist for a week or two but, now that I’m getting my feet under the table, I’m thinking about the telly, and this apartment has a big one that hangs on the wall in front of a large, plush grey sofa.

The kitchen looks state of the art – not that I would know, but I’m sure my chef boyfriend will make the most of it. Yep, I’m calling him that now. Well, technically I’m calling him ‘il mio ragazzo’, which is the first real thing I’ve learned – it’s genuinely amazing how motivated I am, when it’s something I’m excited about.

Next, we wander into the bathroom, and my eyes widen at the sight. It’s so big, luxurious, with sleek marble tiles, modern fixtures, and a spacious Jacuzzi bath that takes centre stage. My God, I want to get in it, right now, and probably never get out.

‘Yep, this will do,’ I exclaim playfully, already imagining myself relaxing in the bubbles after a long day at work – work where they make wine!

‘I’m jealous,’ Andrea replies with a smile. ‘Living back at home with my parents, I’m lucky if I get time for a bath.’

I flash him a cheeky smile.

‘I might let you use mine,’ I tease him. ‘Come on, let’s see what’s behind the next door.’

Finally, we step into the bedroom, and, yep, I’m home.

The room is spacious enough that the king-sized bed doesn’t seem like it is filling the space at all. The bed and the curtains look like they’re made of fabric I could only dream of affording. I can’t resist running my hand over the white sheets – but not before checking my hands are free from make-up (or the chocolate-filled Cornetto I ate on the walk here).

This room also has a balcony that looks out over the wharf. I’ll bet it looks so good on a night-time when the lights on the boats twinkle beneath the moon. I’m torn between wanting to savour every second and wanting to experience everything all at once.

‘It’s almost perfect,’ I say, sighing contently.

‘Almost perfect?’ Andrea questions, sounding a little surprised. ‘What more could you want?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s really, really close to perfect,’ I reply with a chuckle, moving closer to him. ‘In fact, my entire life is pretty great right now, but there’s just one thing missing from it, and from here… A translator.’

Andrea cocks his head curiously, his brows furrowing in confusion.

‘Che cosa?’ he says, and I smile at his adorable perplexity.

I never thought a man could be so sexy when he was confused.

I don’t know what that means, which only proves my point, but if I had to guess, I’d assume it meant ‘What?’

‘I think that my life here, for however long I am here, is going to be pretty great,’ I begin. ‘I know that I’m here for a while, though, and if there is one thing I’ve realised during my trip, it’s that I definitely, desperately need Italian lessons – lest I become the butt of any more jokes.’

Andrea laughs. I don’t think anyone – not me, him, or anyone in his family – is ever going to forget what I said that day. I still cringe when I think about it.

‘Like, I might be trying to order some food, and God knows what I’ll order by mistake, or something like that,’ I point out.

‘Which reminds me, we really need to work on your pronunciation of “penne”,’ he says with a laugh.

‘Pene,’ I say. ‘What? What’s wrong with it?’

‘Robin, no!’ he says with a laugh that is so, so close to a giggle.

‘What?’ I reply. ‘A bowl of pene?’

‘No, no, no, it’s penne, with two Ns,’ he insists. ‘Never ask for a bowl of pene.’

‘Do I want to know what that is?’ I ask, wincing. ‘It doesn’t mean what I think it does, does it?’

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